Just before noon, one of the straps on her right snowshoe broke. It came off in midstep and she stumbled forward, one shoe on and one off; only the fact that she dug the thick stick into the ground kept her from falling on her face. As it was she merely went down on one knee and quickly levered herself back to her feet. She tugged her face mask down and dragged in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” she said as Cam pulled even with her, critically examining her for damage before he bent to pick up the snowshoe.
“I can fix it,” he said after briefly looking at the torn strap. “We need a break, anyway.”
They sat down on the sled and took a breather while they passed the water bottle back and forth. He removed the torn strap, replacing it with another strip of fabric cut from yet another garment. At this pace, she thought humorously, if they didn’t get rescued soon, she wouldn’t have any clothes left to use as a covering at night.
“We’ve made good time,” he said, looking around him. “We’re probably five hundred feet lower than we were this morning.”
“Five hundred feet,” she muttered. “I know we’ve traveled five miles, at least.”
His teeth flashed in a grin. “Not quite, but that five hundred feet is significant. Can’t you tell the difference in the wind?”
She lifted her head. Now that he mentioned it, she could. The trees weren’t whipping about quite so much, and though the wind was cold, it lacked the icy sharpness they’d been enduring since the crash. Plus, because they hadn’t been able to go straight down, but had been forced to traverse the mountain, they now seemed to be heading in a more easterly direction, away from the windward side. The temperature probably was only a degree or two warmer, but the difference in the wind velocity made things feel almost pleasant in comparison.
Her spirits had been good, but now they soared. She looked at him and grinned. “You might get to light that signal fire this afternoon after all, Tonto.”
He snorted and gave her leg a light pinch, then finished threading the new strap through the snowshoe. “Good as new,” he pronounced, hunkering down beside her to tie it onto her booted foot. “Ready to go?”
“Ready.” She was hungry and tired, but no more hungry and tired than he was, maybe less so, because with his larger muscle mass he would burn more calories even sitting still than she would. This was their fifth day, and she reckoned she’d lost about ten pounds because of the cold and lack of food, but he’d probably lost at least fifteen. With their food completely gone now, they would begin losing strength, so they were racing against time to get to a more temperate zone. By pushing themselves so hard they were burning more calories, yes, but if the end result was getting rescued this afternoon or first thing tomorrow morning, then it was worth the effort.
When they stood, Cam flexed his shoulders and arms, working out some of the kinks before he got back into the harness. Bailey could only imagine the effort he was putting out, pulling that heavy sled over the rugged terrain. She could see the strain on his face, etched in lines of fatigue. How much longer would he be able to go on?
They set off again, using the same method as before. Even with the short break, even with all the exercise she normally did, her leg muscles were burning. But if Cam could continue, so could she.
Once Cam shouted, and she looked back to see him straining against the pull of the sled; one of the runners had slipped over the edge of a rock and the whole thing was trying to slide over. The drop wasn’t that much, maybe six feet, but it was high enough that the sled would probably be damaged beyond repair. Clumsily she hurried back with the shuffling gait imposed on her by the snowshoes, squeezed past him, and got to the rear of the sled. The way the sled was made there was no place to get a good grip, so finally she just grabbed the edge of the runner that had slid off and pulled up and back with all her strength. She heard an ominous crack but didn’t dare let go, bracing her legs and pulling up while Cam threw all of his power and weight into pulling forward. With the sled’s center of gravity shifted to where it should be, the sled moved forward once again, and she hastily released the runner before her fingers were caught.
Her feet slid forward, and with a cry she slipped right over the edge of the rock.
She landed with a thump, hard enough to jar every bone in her body, then toppled forward on her hands and knees. “Damn it!”
“Bailey!”
Alarm was plain in Cam’s deep voice and she called out, “I’m okay, nothing broken.” But she’d definitely added to her already fine collection of bruises. She got to her feet and dusted the snow off her hands and knees, then looked around for the best way to get back up where he was. Unfortunately, she had to trudge back in the opposite direction for about thirty yards, then clamber up a sharp, rough grade littered with loose rocks that were hidden under the snow and made climbing treacherous. She was panting from the effort by the time she reached him.
Neither of them said anything, because there was no point in wasting their precious breath. He was okay, she was okay, the sled was okay. They pressed on.
Just before five o’clock, she skidded to a halt, staring in dismay at the half-circle shape of the cliff that yawned at her feet. The walls were vertical slabs of rock, dotted here and there with dabs of white where falling snow had found a precarious resting place. They had approached from the side of the cliff, and for quite a while the way had been becoming steeper and steeper, so much so that in some stretches she’d had to walk beside the sled and push against it to keep it moving forward. Now they couldn’t go forward at all, unless they wanted the last thousand feet of their trip to be made at the speed of a free-falling body. To the right, the ground dropped away so sharply there was no way they could make it with the sled. To go around the cliff they would have to go up, a steep climb she knew she couldn’t make, not now. The only other option was to go back.