Snow Humps

"Copy. Rescue Hut #1. Rescue Hut #1. We're gonna need more searchers. Over."

"Copy. What? You lost or something? Need Mommy to hold your hand? Over."

"Copy. No, seriously. Brady and the victim's partner are now missing. Over."

"Copy. You on the right trailhead? Over."

"Copy. Yes, dumbshit. Windhill West. Over. It's creepy as fuck out here, and the blizzard is picking up. I mean, there's nothing. No sign of anyone ever being here. Over."

"Copy. I told you something was going on up there. I'm calling it in down the hill. Stay on top of the trail marker. Don't move. Over."

"Copy. Over."

Fuck that shit. I'm not sitting on my thumbs while Brady and two other skiers are in trouble, I thought as I snapped on my skis. A quick perimeter search looking for clues won't hurt. Grabbing my poles, I pushed off down the hill, where the others must have gone, shushing through the fresh powder pouring from the dark, ominous-looking sky.

Visibility was down to about two feet in front of me as the wind began howling, pushing against my forward movement. Almost as if it was conspiring with the snow to keep me from finding anyone.

"Damn!" I tripped over something hidden by the falling snow, landing on my face. Wiping my goggles off, I squinted against the snowscape, "What the fuck?"

A broken ski stuck awkwardly out of the snow. Panicked, I clawed furiously through the snowpack, looking for a body, a clue, anything.

Frustrated with my feeble attempts being erased by the wind and continually falling snow, I clicked the radio on my shoulder, "Copy, Rescue Hut # 1, Brady, the lost skier's partner, and the lost skier #1, gone. The only clue is a broken ski sticking out of the snow. Advise. Over"

"Copy, Rescue Hut #1. You at the trailhead? Over."

"Copy. I am about twenty yards south. Can't see shit. We need more searchers. Over."

"Copy. That ain't gonna happen. We got called downhill for an emergency at Base. I told them we had missing skiers. All they said was report to base. Over."

"Copy. Fuck that. I'm not leaving three skiers stranded in this storm. They're our responsibility, Dianne. Over."

"Copy. I hear you. Collins isn't going to like it, but I'm coming to you. Do not move. I'll be there in ten. Over."

The radio crackled off, and I crawled, groping my way down the hill where the skiers would likely have gone. I couldn't stand up and fight the wind, and I couldn't see with the snow blowing in my face. But I kept inching forward over the fresh snow on my belly to feel for clues with my hands.

About ten feet from where the first broken ski had landed was another ski, sticking straight up from a snow hump. A different make and model, so this was evidence of two missing skiers. I cautiously dug through the mound of snow where I found the ski, hoping to find at least one of the missing men. Again, there was nothing. You would think that a hat, glove, goggles, or something more would have fallen into the snow with the force that ripped the ski off the bindings and sent it flying.

I felt the tremor of Dianne's snowmobile heading toward the trail. Something was off. Instead of the engine's wail, a rumble echoed through the pines, shaking snow off branches and pelting the ground with sloppy, wet, freezing gobs. A tall, skeletal tree tumbled onto the trail, shattering on impact, scattering shards of bark and twigs in a ten-yard radius.

I shielded my face with my hands. The goggles and heavy parka further protected me from the piny missiles. What was going on? Earthquakes in the middle of Pennsylvania? Great. Snowstorm of the century, missing skiers, and an earthquake. Where the hell was Dianne?

"Copy. Rescue Hut #1. Come in, Dianne. Where the hell are you? We just had an earth-fucking-quake! Over."

"Copy. Rescue Hut #1. Dianne. What the fuck. Come on! Over."

Nothing. Not even static answered. A great time for our radios to be out of kilter. "Copy. Base. Copy. Rescue Hut #1, Johnson calling in. Over."

"Copy. Rescue Hut #1, get your asses down the hill. Now. We have an emergency at Base. Over."

"Copy. Base, we also have an emergency at Windhill West. Two skiers and one rescuer from Hut#1 are missing. Over."

"Copy. This is Collins, Johnson. Your orders were to get back to Base. I don't care what's going on at Windhill West. Got it? Over and Out."

What the fuck? We don't leave our posts until all skiers are accounted for. I am not leaving this trail until all three skiers are found and hopefully rescued. They can fire me if they want. I don't care, I thought angrily as I continued my painstakingly slow search of the trail, wading through the debris left by the toppled tree.

"Damn it!" A long sliver of wood cut through my waterproof gloves and left a bloody gash in the palm of my right hand. "Shit."

I yanked the left glove off with my teeth and pulled the wood out of my palm, letting it bleed before wiping it with clean snow. Wonderful. Maybe I should follow instructions and return to Base. It seemed like my one-man search would not turn up anything at this rate. I was getting cold, and that was making me careless. With more manpower and better equipment, the three missing people would be found sooner.

Resigned to that fact, I followed my path back to the trail marker and my snowmobile. At first, I thought I was dizzy from the injury and cold. The trail marker tilted precariously, and the Arctic Cat was nowhere to be found. Certain that I had left it right at the trailhead, I thought maybe Dianne had moved it, playing tricks on me.

I called out, "Okay. Okay. You've had a good laugh, D. This is serious. We have to get to the Base and find help. Don't be an asshat."

Silence. No Dianne cackles and insults. Nothing but the moaning of the winds in the pines.