Return to Dyatlov Pass

~ Chapter Nineteen ~

“Are you sure about this?” Steven’s eyes locked with hers as he held the knife over her skin.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“It could get infected.”

“Are you kidding? That swill Igor drinks would kill anything.” She’d expected more grumbling about Igor’s great sacrifice, but the Russian had told her where to find his stash without a fight. “Hey, if this works, I’ll never drink again,” he’d said, and from the conviction in his voice, he might have even believed it. She was just thankful there were no ladies’ unmentionables in his bag.

“True. Okay, you asked for it.”

With a deep breath, Steven sliced the blade across her thumb, where a cut would bleed without nicking an artery. The knife was so sharp Nat felt nothing at first, followed immediately by fire. She turned her hand over, squeezing her flesh, and watched her blood spatter on the floor of the tent.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this. We’ve already agreed to sacrifice our last packet of beef tips.”

She grinned. “Just upping the ante. How are the stakes coming along?” In truth, it was partly penance. She’d been horrified to discover that every single power pack she’d brought to charge the phones was useless, drained. There wasn’t much of a chance of getting a signal in the mountains, but even so, the power packs had represented one of their last hopes, and now they were gone too. Why hadn’t she checked them earlier?

“Great, actually. Who knew Igor was such a whittler?”

“It’s amazing what talents one uncovers when people are motivated.”

“True. I only hope it’s enough.”

“Steven…” He’d promised her to can the negative talk. Her plan was a bit crazy, a bit arts ’n’ crafts, and it was cobbled together from a few different horror movies, but it was a hell of a lot better than sitting around a campfire waiting to die. And she was confident she could kill the fuckers. After all, she’d already got one.

“Sorry. I’m just scared, is all.”

“Everyone is scared. But at least we’re doing something. This is what your great-aunt would have wanted, don’t you think?”

“Sure. She struck me as being a tough ol’ broad in the true sense of the word. Would have to have been to be one of only two women on that trip, and to have survived as long as she did.”

Though Nat wasn’t squeamish, the lack of food combined with the sight of her own blood made her feel lightheaded. “I’m going to have to sit down.”

“You’ve earned it. This place looks properly abattoir-like.” Droplets, streaks, and smears of her blood decorated the nylon floor and walls of the tent. Nat couldn’t smell it, but she was willing to bet she knew something that could. “Should we try our hand at whittling?”

“We shall. Let’s go. This place is giving me the creeps.”

The group had an early supper so they’d be finished well before dusk. They avoided calling it a farewell dinner, though everyone understood it most likely was.

Over a meal of lasagna, they toasted each other with tiny cups that held the very last of Igor’s moonshine.

“Na zdorovie!” Igor yelled, hoisting his cup in the air. It looked like a thimble in his hand.

“Na zdorovie,” the remaining three repeated in unison.

“I’d like to say something, if I might.” Nat rose to her feet.

“Speech, speech.” Andrew waved his ski pole in the air. How lucky for them that the snowmen had stolen the skis but left the poles. If you could call any part of this adventure lucky.

“In spite of our rocky start, and the many bumps along the road”—she looked at Steven, and the mountaineer raised his glass to her—“I’ve really enjoyed being out here with you guys. We’ve made a good team, sometimes in spite of ourselves, and if we continue to work together, I know we will make it out of here alive. I don’t just think; I know.”

The men cheered and hooted. This was one time when they wanted to make as much noise as possible. Let the snowmen come to shut them up. She hoped it would be the last thing those monsters ever tried.

“We cannot show mercy. Remember what they have done to our friends. We are doing this not as heartless killers, but as survivors. To avenge the deaths of Joe, Anubha, Lana, and Vasily. We cannot hesitate. As long as one of them is alive, we are not safe here.”

“Don’t forget about me. Fuckers busted my leg. If it weren’t for them, we’d be halfway down the mountain already,” Igor said. The firelight reflected in his blue eyes, making him look otherworldly, like some creature who had ascended from hell to avenge them. Nat wished they had that kind of supernatural power on their side, rather than four hikers armed with ski poles and their wits.

“And Igor’s leg! We must seek justice for Igor’s leg.” Andrew thrust his cup into the air with such zeal she would have thought he was drunk, except for the fact there wasn’t enough alcohol left in camp to get a mouse tipsy.

“For Igor’s leg,” everyone cried.

Soon after, the howling began.

The group now recognized the sound for what it was—a battle cry. The levity they’d enjoyed seconds before vanished.

“I-I’m not sure I can do this,” Andrew said, giving voice to what she was sure everyone was thinking. If there were three or four creatures, they might have a chance. But what if there were dozens? Or hundreds?

She took his hand in hers, squeezing it. “Yes, you can.”

He squeezed back before helping Steven move Igor into position. The Russian slung an arm around each man for balance, but he already moved pretty well on his own, hopping around on his makeshift crutches. Nat cringed each time she saw him hopping on the snow. All it would take was one false step and down he would go. At this point, a single fall could spell his doom.

Within minutes, the tableau of a critically injured man, abandoned and helpless, was complete. Nat hoped they would fall for it.

“You all set, Igor?”

Andrew had covered the Russian up to his neck with a blanket so only his head was visible. Igor grinned. “Bring. It. On.” With his heavily accented English, it reminded her of one of Arnie’s memorable lines from the Terminator movies.

She and Andrew hunkered down on the other side of their newly decorated tent. This close, the fumes were eye-watering. Steven disappeared into the darkness behind Igor. This was the riskiest part of her plan. If something went wrong, they were too far apart to come to each other’s aid.

The chorus of howls died abruptly. Somehow, the silence was more ominous. Then she heard Igor holler a string of English and Russian curses that were doubly impressive under the circumstances.

“How could you leave me to die, you fuckers? You heartless cunts. If I ever get my hands on you, I’ll tear your eyes out through your ass.”

“Eyes through your ass? Interesting turn of phrase,” Andrew whispered.

It was the signal. Igor had seen something.

The snowmen had arrived.

Nat prayed fervently, hoping to hear another cry, this one of pain. Entwining her fingers with Andrew’s, she prayed that the sweet, sensitive man beside her would be able to access his inner warrior. That the mountaineer would not betray their fragile truce again.

“He’s sniffing at it! He knows something’s there.”

Seizing Andrew by the jacket, she jerked him out of sight behind the tent, her heart pounding. “Are you crazy? They have way better night vision than we do. It might have seen you.”

“It didn’t see me, but I don’t think this is going to work—”

A scream split the night air, but it wasn’t the one she’d been waiting for.

It was Steven.

Forgetting how she’d scolded Andrew a second before, she risked a peek, in time to see Steven charge the creature with a makeshift club held aloft.

“What is he doing? This wasn’t our plan.”

Startled, the snowman moved back a step, and that was all it took. The ground beneath him gave way and everything but his hooded head disappeared from view. Steven was on him in a second, swinging his club at the creature’s face as though it were a baseball. Blood spattered on the snow, but he didn’t stop. He swung again and again, until a sickening crunching sound brought an end to the terrible howls and snarls coming from the pit.

The mountaineer tossed his club on the snow, panting. Steam rose from his head into the frosty air, making him look like he was on fire.

“Right on, Steven. I can’t believe it worked.” Andrew moved to join him, but Nat grabbed his coat again.

“There are more of them. You have to stay here.” She crossed her fingers, hoping Steven would recover his strength quickly. There was no time for celebration, not yet, and he was in a vulnerable position, with his back facing the woods.

As if he’d read her mind, the mountaineer scooped up his club and vanished into the shadows behind Igor again. The Russian gave him a thumbs-up as he passed. One down, but how many to go?

She’d never agreed to any of them facing the creatures head on. The monsters were too powerful. Judging by the defensive wounds on Dyatlov and Vladimirovich’s hands, the Russian skiers had made that mistake. But in this case, Steven thankfully had had the element of surprise working in his favor. Otherwise, the pit they’d spent hours digging would have been a waste of time.

“Welcome, you ugly bastard. Come to finish me off, have you? Why don’t you come over here and suck my dick?”

Igor again. With the pit uncovered, there wasn’t much left to protect him.

“Let’s see if we can get it to come over this way,” Nat whispered. Her lantern flared in the darkness, hopefully making it appear that they were inside the shelter rather than beside it. Holding a dry corner of the tent, she jostled it, forcing herself to laugh like she’d heard the world’s funniest joke. “It’s going to be great to get home, I tell you. I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.”

“Me either. After I spend a full day in the hot tub, I’m going straight to Urasawa and ordering everything they have.” Andrew’s tone matched her wistful joviality perfectly. Only someone who knew him well would have picked up on the fear underneath.

She listened hard for a moment, but heard nothing. “Sounds fantastic. Count me in. We’ll make a party out of it.”

A long, low howl very different from the ones they’d heard earlier that evening made her jump.

“I think he’s found his friend,” Andrew said.

The sound ended as abruptly as it had begun. While they waited, the cold from the snow underneath them crept into her bones. She held her breath, listening for anything that would tell her where the creature was.

Scraping and rustling noises came from the direction of the pit.

“Never mind him. Look at me, you fucker. What are you doing, you ugly prick? I was saving that for my dinner, you sad fuck.”

Igor’s taunts gave her the courage to risk another peek. The snowman had lifted his dead comrade from the pit and slung him over his shoulder. In the firelight, his coat looked oddly shiny, like no hide she’d ever seen. Despite his immense strength, the creature staggered under his buddy’s weight, his feet sinking into the snow.

“He’s taking him. We can’t let him leave.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to stop him?”

“I don’t know, but we have to do something. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck waiting for him again.”

Among their homemade arsenal was one true weapon: Anubha’s crossbow. There was only one problem: none of them knew how to use it. Nat had been dumb enough to mumble something about archery classes in high school, so the men had entrusted her with the sleek, aluminum contraption that bore no resemblance to the clunky, wooden thing she’d struggled with as a teenager.

Still, if Jennifer Lawrence could manage a bow in The Hunger Games, how difficult could it be? After several tries, Nat could only hope she’d managed to load it correctly.

Adrenaline racing through her veins, she leapt to her feet before she could think better of it. Pulling away from Andrew’s grasp, she stepped out from the tent into the open. The snowman was past the fire, making his way to the tree line now. A few more steps and he’d be gone. Taking a deep breath, she raised the crossbow, doing her best to sight it.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” she yelled.

“Nat, are you insane? He’s too far away. Get back here,” Andrew said, but she held her ground, and as the monster turned, she fired. With the full force of her fear and rage behind her, the bolt went farther than she’d expected, hitting the creature square in the hood. From the resulting squeal, it had pierced the strange hide and found flesh. Snarling, the snowman tossed his friend to the ground as though the body were a sack of leaves. It came for her, closing the distance between them with frightening speed.

“Nat, run!”

“Stick to the plan,” was all she had time to say before she ducked inside the tent, praying with everything she had that the creature would come after her and leave Andrew alone.

A second later, the snowman tore open the front of the tent with its claws. She screamed, the suddenness of its movements more frightening than its dark form charging her. Scrambling backward, she crawled toward the hole the snowman had slashed in the side the night before. Fresh air assaulted her face—her upper body was free. Now to—

Her right leg was pinned, trapped. The creature had hold of her ankle and it was like being wedged in a vise. There was no give, no leeway. She felt hot breath against her skin as her snow pants tore and she cried out, begging for help that wouldn’t come in time. This was her plan, this was the way she had wanted it. If she fell, she wouldn’t take anyone with her.

But she’d never expected to fall.

“Do it now,” she shouted at Andrew, accepting all she was about to sacrifice.

“But you’re still inside!”

“I don’t care. Do it anyway.”

For a second, time stopped. Impossibly, Nat heard the click of Andrew’s lighter over the creature’s snarling and her own harsh panting.

A fireball engulfed the tent as the creature screeched. The roar of the inferno, the intensity of the heat on her face, was blistering. Something seized her under her arms and ripped her backward. Her boot came free and Nat yelped as her bare foot was pulled through the blaze.

“Jesus Christ. What were you thinking?”

Steven. He didn’t let go until they were halfway across the campsite. Her tent, soaked with her own blood as bait and Igor’s moonshine as accelerant, burned brightly enough to turn night into day. And still the creature shrieked. Nat pressed her hands over her ears.

“Where’s Andrew?” Panic crushed her, making it impossible to breathe.

Then she saw him, over near Igor, his eyes wide enough to swallow his face. Did he get that she’d escaped, or did he believe he’d burned his best friend alive? She yelled to him, but he continued to gape at the tent.

“Don’t bother. No one can hear you over that. How’s the foot?”

Her foot. Wincing, she surveyed the damage. The right leg of her snow pants was ripped to shreds. Her sock was literally hanging by a thread, and her ski boot was gone. But the foot itself was okay, thanks to Steven. She wiggled her toes and gasped at the resulting sting. Singed, and probably soon to be frostbitten, but she’d gotten off lightly, all things considered.

“Here, put these on.” Steven handed her two wool socks from his own pack, and she gratefully pulled them over her bare skin, ignoring the throbbing from the burn. She hadn’t seen any blistering, so hopefully she didn’t have to worry about an infected foot on top of everything else. Losing the boot was enough of a catastrophe.

“Lana’s boots should fit you. We’ll go get them as soon as it’s light.”

She cringed. “I can’t do that.”

“Nat, she’s dead. They’re of no use to her anymore. And you can’t go without. Not if you want to get home.”

It made sense. Why leave perfectly good ski boots to rot when she was in need? But, common sense or not, she couldn’t imagine stealing the boots from a dead girl’s feet.

Best to change the subject.

“Do you think we got them all?”

Steven squinted at her, as if trying to decide whether or not to tell the truth. “I wish I could say yes, but there were a lot more than two of them making that racket tonight. You know it as well as I do.”

Andrew called her name. She looked up to see him waving at her, an expression of ecstatic joy on his face. So he had thought he’d killed her.

As he started toward her, something loomed out of the shadows behind him. Intent on their reunion, her friend didn’t hear it.

“Andrew, no! Look out!”

But it was too late.

The creature seized him by the neck, lifting him off his feet. There was a moment when his eyes stared into hers with a dreadful knowing.

The snowman twisted Andrew’s neck, killing him instantly and tossing him to the ground. His body flopped like a doll’s.

Nat sank to her knees, in too much emotional pain to move or cry. He can’t be gone. Not Andrew. I can’t survive without Andrew.

With a roar, Igor sprang upright on his good leg and stabbed the snowman in the face with Joe’s knife. He struck the creature again and again, mindless of the gore that gushed from within the hood to splatter his face.

More shadows appeared behind him.

She finally found her voice. “Igor!”

Steven lifted her from the snow, dragging her toward the forest. “We have to go, Nat.”

“We can’t leave him.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. She tried to run to Igor, but her sock slipped on the ice, giving Steven a chance to take hold of her again.

“Look how many there are. We have to go, now. If you want to live, come with me.”