Snow Humps, continued

The last thing I remembered was trying to open my eyes and imagining the Buzzard pecking at me and tugging me while staring me down with his beady eyes. I slapped at him, trying to shoo him away, but he was persistent, yanking and pulling at me, lifting me out of the snow drift with his tremendous strength.

I screamed, "Noooo! Leave me alone. Stop. Let me sleep. It hurts!" as every nerve ending in my body awoke with a roaring, burning pain.

"Come on, man. Wake up. You are not going to die here, buddy. Not on my watch. Stand up, loser, before I slap the shit out of you," Budzinski yelled at me hoarsely, his breath turning into white fog in the frigid air and escaping upward.

"Buzzy? Wh-what are you doing here?" I asked the huge, bearded monster, who was towering over me, like a gay Paul Bunyon.

"I'm your fucking knight in shining armor, dude. You owe me a BJ for this," he joked, hollering over the wind.

"In that case, leave me to die, Buzzard. I ain't putting anything of yours in my mouth."

"And, he lives!" he crowed proudly, yanking me into a bear hug.

Budzinski, affectionately known as the Buzzard by all who feared getting undressed around him in the rescue unit's locker room, had heard the call to Base telling them I was wounded and had intervened without Collins' permission. Thank God. When the call to report to Base came in, he had been trying to locate missing snowboarders on Windhill East. Being the hot dog that he was, it would take more than a command by Collins to make him give up on a missing snowboarder.

When he heard my transmission, he wasted no time coming down the hill to me, following the lift towers and side-stepping snow humps on his custom-made snowmobile he called the "Cooter Shooter" (not that Buzzy was interested in shooting Cooters. But that's another story.) Later, he explained his reasoning for abandoning the snowboarders to come for me. Being an avid gambler, he said the odds of finding me alive were greater than finding the others because I was a trained rescuer. Plus, he had heard my voice and figured I would still be alive when he arrived. He hated losing.

I didn't care at that point. Truth be told, if it took a BJ to get me down to Base in one piece, I might have done it. Or not.

Lifting me as though I weighed nothing, he threw me over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Then, he waded through the snow to the "Cooter," situating me in front of him, to make sure I didn't tumble off with my useless, frozen limbs flapping around listlessly.

He took his time following the lift towers down to Base, cautiously avoiding any unusually shaped snow piles. Several more hard tremors chased us down the mountain, and I was positive we were done for. I couldn't wait to get back to ground level and sanity. The mountain had finally revolted against mankind and our games. I may never put on a pair of skis again.

By the time we got to ground level, it was pitch dark. The wind and snow were still churning through the icy air, making me glad Buzzard had decided to look for me. No way would I have survived on the mountain tonight. With the pain still coursing through my body, I knew he had grabbed me before frostbite had set in. The pain was a good thing, I kept reminding myself, as he was jostling me off his machine and dragging me by the armpits to the ski lodge.

The lodge was full of skiers and staff in various states of physical condition. Every available inch of floor space was taken up by someone who was bleeding, unconscious, bandaged, or splinted. Most had someone tending to them. Others were alone, lying still, looking stunned, with silent tears streaming down their raw, wind-burned faces.

Buzzy propped me up at a picnic table near the huge fireplace and went to find me something warm to drink. They were out of bandages, so he ripped a piece of tablecloth off the picnic table and bound my still-bleeding hand. The sounds were heart-wrenching: sobs surrounded me, whimpers of children looking for parents, parents calling out for their children, wails of the injured, and cries from those with broken bones being splinted or those with lacerations being stitched up by harried, panicked resort workers and paramedics from the battalion of ambulances and rescue vehicles parked outside.

Collins was bustling around, trying to triage patients to take out to the ambulances and answering questions from a dozen people at once.

"When will everyone get down off the lifts?"

"My kids have been up in the air for two hours! Do something!"

"Where is the National Guard? We need the military. You people are useless."

"Have you seen this girl?" a frenzied parent stuck a photo in his face.

I gained a new respect for Collins, watching him calm people down and organize search parties for people who had been on the lower slopes. He could be a major prick, but his military training took over and made him a steady hand in a disaster.

Sitting idle made me feel like a freeloader. All around me were hurting people, and my body made me useless. I was praying this was temporary, and once my circulation was fully restored, I could help.

Buzzy came back and sat down, passing a cup of hot coffee to me, while sipping on his own. His eyes looked haunted as he took in the surreal view of the cavernous lodge. "Never seen anything like this. Never," he declared solemnly.

"I feel so useless. I should be helping, but I can't move my arms and legs yet," I complained.

"You almost kicked the bucket, Dude. We're all just glad you made it down the mountain. Sucks about Brady and Dianne, huh? I can't believe they're gone," he said in a hollow voice, "Mark and Heather are gone too. Lost in the first couple of shakes when we were trying to find the snowboarders. Bam. Gone. Just like that. No trace."

"Crazy. Just crazy. Dianne was coming out to help me find Brady and when I turned around, she and her snowmobile and mine were gone. Vanished into thin air," I commiserated. How does that happen? How do people and things vanish like they never existed?"