Chapter Two
LUNA
“ I ’m going wherever you’re going,” I reply emphatically, looking at my best friend, Naomi. We’ve spent the last week in Ouray, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, and exploring the quaint town, only to have everything fall apart in one fateful moment.
Three search and rescue workers with Ouray Mountain Rescue embroidered on their beanies and coats kneel over my bestie, stabilizing and wrapping her catastrophically injured ankle.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye. She went down wrong in a field of icy boulders, her ankle collapsing outward. Instead of the bindings on her skis or the blades giving way, her bones and joint did.
“No, actually, you’re going to return to your vehicle and meet us at the ER at Montrose Regional Health,” a salt-and-pepper bearded paramedic directs, narrowing his eyes at me. He introduced himself earlier as Peter…or was it Philip? Something with a “P.” I can’t think straight, thanks to the adrenaline coursing through my body.
“Montrose? But isn’t that like an hour from here?” I pant.
“Forty-five minutes. That said, the weather’s taking a turn for the worse, so we suggest driving slowly and carefully. We don’t need you two bunking at the hospital.”
I squeeze Naomi’s fingers, looking at her drained face and blue-tinged lips. She fell two hours ago. Fortunately, it was sunny this afternoon, and far easier to stay warm than the last half hour or so. In that span, the wind picked up, and the sky darkened. In the distance, nature’s fury sits poised, ready to unleash its mighty, icy fury.
The blonde, with a heart-shaped face and no-nonsense accent straight out of Oklahoma, urges, “He’s right, Luna. It makes more sense for you to get the car and head back into town. That way, you can check out of the inn, grab our luggage, and handle everything we need to do because I messed up our trip.”
I shake my head emphatically, shushing her. “You didn’t mess up anything. It’s my fault for talking you into skiing today.”
The mountain rescue guy who piped in before clears his throat, grumbling, “It’s nobody’s fault. Engaging in winter recreation in Ouray comes with natural risks. Ankle breaks are a common injury this time of year.”
Another fat, hot tear slides down my cheek, and my reaction embarrasses me. Naomi is holding up better than me, and she’s the one with the horrible injury.
“I’m not in any pain at the moment,” she reassures, worrying her thick bottom lip. “And I can’t think of a better place to fracture some bones…enveloped in the equivalent of a giant ice pack.”
My stomach tightens, remembering the sickening snap and her impossible attempts to stand up. She said, “There’s no strength in the joint, as if putting pressure on it will blow it out.” I’ll never forget the moment she removed her boot, and I got my first real visual of the damage… The sight will haunt me to my dying day, and that’s when I called emergency services.
I sniffle, trying to laugh half-heartedly. “Yeah, I guess you have a point.”
Peter or Philip clears his throat, ordering, “Alright, ladies, time to say your goodbyes. Ms. Solace, are you good to get back to your car? It’s just a half mile in that direction.” He points.
The search and rescue crew sped to us in a LiteTrax with high ground clearance that only fits four people. Besides, I’m nearly at the trailhead, and it’s well-trafficked and clearly marked, so getting back to where we parked is a no-brainer.
“Can you take her skis, or should I try to manage them?”
The man smiles grimly. We’ve got her skis, backpack, and gear. You worry about getting yourself safely off this mountain.”
I nod, feeling my heart pound against my ribs. “I can do that.”
Naomi laughs weakly. “Are you sure, babe? Because, as I remember, you used to get lost in the middle school hallway, and there were only one hundred and fifty students in the whole place.”
The corners of my mouth turn down. “I did a lot of daydreaming in middle school.”
“True.” She reaches for my hand, squeezing it again. “Alright then. I’ll see you later at the hospital.”
“You’re the bravest person I know,” I say as the men hoist her stretcher, beelining for the LiteTrax, where she carefully dismounts and takes a seat. “See you soon. Thank you, Mountain Rescue!”
The men nod, and I watch the vehicle speed away in a cloud of snow, brokenhearted. I wince, inwardly willing Naomi’s journey to the hospital will go as smoothly as possible.
My eyes flutter to the angry clouds drawing closer by the minute. The air feels thick and ominous, and the wind’s angry whistling has replaced the idyllic chirping of winter birds. If cold could be an odor, it pervades my senses, pure, sterile, and angry, riding the insistent wind that slaps my cheeks.
Thankfully, I don’t have to ski into the wind. Instead, it pushes me from the back, helping me cover the frozen distance to my white 2014 Subaru Outback at record pace. My knees shake as the adrenaline from earlier bottoms out, coupled with low blood sugar. I feel dehydrated, but the chill in the air and the queasiness of my roiling stomach push me forward without stopping for water.
I scold myself mentally to take better care of myself as my SUV comes into view. All I can think about is Naomi and getting to the hospital in Montrose.
The last stretch proves demanding as the wind picks up, whipping around me like a mini frosted tornado. My long brown locks smack against my cheeks, and I paw back the tresses with my gloves to see my way to the finish line.
Shards of wind-borne ice blast my cheeks, the frantic gusts pushing me into the vehicle. I quickly remove my snow-encrusted gear and throw it in the back. Shivering and struggling with painfully numb fingers, I fasten my skis in place on the roof rack.
When I climb into my car and turn the key, massive tremors rock my core. I shiver in the driver’s seat, frantically blowing warm air into my cupped hands as the car heater goes from cold to lukewarm and finally deliciously toasty.
The white accumulation on the window remains fresh and unpacked, so I don’t have to scrape my windshield and windows. Instead, I turn on the wipers, letting the swish-swish restore my visibility. Rolling down the windows clears more of the white blur.
Putting the vehicle into four-wheel drive, I back up tentatively before inching forward and starting my descent along the forest service road toward the quaint alpine town of Ouray. Snowflakes swirl frantically around the car, smashing into my windshield and creating a strange gravity-less feeling. My eyes wander, following individual snowflake trails, and I squint hard, trying to make out road markers, signs, or other indicators I’m on the correct route.
The white whirlwind blinds me with its brightness still half-lit by brazen sunshine as shadows from the storm creep over my vehicle. My heart pounds in my chest, and I turn the radio down with shaking hands, uncertain where I’m at or where to go. My throat thickens as I ease my foot onto the brake pedal, and the tires slide and slip, struggling for purchase. The brakes automatically pump under my foot, announcing the treacherous slipperiness of the driving conditions.
Fortunately, I’ve driven on enough ski and snowshoeing trips to understand the basics of safe winter driving. It’s certainly not something I learned growing up in the California Bay Area. But despite experience, the current conditions are what I’d term undrivable. According to the last forecast I saw, these driving conditions will only get worse. So time is of the essence for getting to Montrose.
Pumping my brakes to come to a gentle stop, I program my navigation system for the fastest route into town, feeling a little stupid about the whole thing. After all, Ouray boasts less than one thousand residents. It shouldn’t be difficult to navigate its tiny network of roads. But visibility’s approaching zero as the angry wind howls around my vehicle.
I pray under my breath as I watch the massive snowflakes pelt the car and pile up on the hood. I wonder how Naomi and her rescuers are faring.
Taking a deep breath, I put my car into drive again and move forward slowly, reminding myself that any progress is better than no progress. “You’ve got this, Luna.” I remember the insane driving conditions I experienced while living and working in Baker, Nevada, outside my favorite national park, Great Basin, last spring. Still, nothing tops this ivory nightmare.
Suddenly, the pale, twisting flakes give way to a large, dark object, and I hit the brakes reflexively despite knowing better. Everything happens too fast. The wheels lock up despite four-wheel drive, and the vehicle spins around backward. I slide slowly but sickeningly, dropping down with a nauseating thud over the embankment, facing the wrong direction. The windshield wipers swish-swish as I clutch my chest, trying to catch my breath and slow my pounding pulse.
At first, my mind refuses to register the situation. Instead, I shift into drive, trying to climb out of the ditch. The disheartening sound of rubber on slick ice greets me as my wheels polish the surface below them smooth, unable to achieve friction. I press my foot to the metal again and again, countless times, driven by panic…until logic sinks in. “You’re stuck, Luna. Like stuck stuck.”
Sitting there shaking, I grab my purse on the passenger seat next to me, my hands and arms still trembling with adrenaline. Locating my cell phone, I pull it out to a screen with no bars. Fear transforms into anger as I pound the steering wheel and dash, screaming in frustration. Because of the events earlier with Naomi, I have less than no energy left, finally laying my head on the steering wheel and sobbing quietly.
I have no idea how long I do this. But snow buries my car, and my windows fog over from my breathing. Suddenly, a little voice inside my head commands, “Go up top for a signal. Get help.”
Usually, I’m not one to listen to disembodied commands. But looking around, I admit I can’t stay here any longer. If I do, I’m going to freeze to death. So, I jump out of my vehicle, slamming the door behind me. Wading through snow above my knees, I scramble up the embankment my car toppled down like an earthworm crawling on a wet sidewalk. It’s not a pretty sight, but the exertion warms me quickly. Cresting the top of the trench, I let out a desperate cry as a silent world of infinite white greets me.
Snowflakes pile on my head, and my tears freeze on my cheeks as I search for landmarks or indicators of where I am. Looking abjectly at my phone, I still see no signal. The tiny, stupid voice was wrong. I let out another scream soaked in frustration. If I live a hundred years, I never want to see Ouray again.
Suddenly, in the distance, I hear engine noises and snow crunching beneath tires. It’s faint but consistent. Holding my breath to stop my noisy panting, I strain my ears, listening again. It’s still there. Only a little louder now.
My breath rattles in my throat. “Oh, please. Oh, please.” I don’t even know what I’m begging for because I’m unsure what I hear. All I know is any noise is better than the raging swirl of this blizzard. And then, I see it—a snow-crusted, dark gray, lifted, Jeep Wrangler inching its way in my direction.
Letting out a cry of joy, I wave my hands frantically in the air, desperate to get the driver’s attention.