ALL'S QUIET ON THE MOUNTAIN

ALL’S QUIET ON THE MOUNTAIN

               Henry stood gazing out of the large picture window, listening to the tinkle of ice pellets hitting the glass. The window faced north, towards the parking lot. Not that you could tell it was the parking lot. It was winter in the mountains, and the parking lot was currently hidden under three feet of pristine snow. It had been snowing for two days straight.

Behind him, the logs burning in the massive stone fireplace crackled and popped, flames causing shadows to dance on the walls of the lodge’s Great Room. The room was perfect – well, according to Henry it was perfect. Marj, his wife, not so much. She had liked the high ceilings that soared two storeys up, the rustic wood panelling that had aged to a golden patina, and the giant field-stone hearth created from boulders scattered around the property. What she had not liked were the heads. There had been so many heads – deer, moose, fox, wolf, sheep, goose, grouse. And there were fish, as well – bass, salmon, bluegill, catfish. There was even a swordfish (Marj was no angler, but even she knew that swordfish was not caught in any mountain lake around here). All those glass eyes watching her every move gave Marj the creeps.

“We left the city because you felt there were too many people. Now, I feel that I’m under surveillance, and these damn dead animals are watching me!” She would sweep her arm around the room at all the heads. “If you want people to get the mountain vibe, you need to get rid of the dead animals. Hang up some art, instead.”

Henry had agreed, reluctantly. He liked the critters, but had replaced most of them with art – including Marj’s own photography, enlarged and framed. The Great Room now felt less hunting cabin rustic, and more modern, mountain lodge. The heads hadn’t creeped Henry out at all, but, happy wife, happy life, so he had gotten rid of them. 

The absolute, no negotiation, deal breaker, for Marj had been the the full-sized taxidermiced grizzly bear that had stood in the corner of the room. Marj had refused to even come into the room until it was gone. It was posed rearing on its back legs, teeth bared, snarl frozen on its face, claws ready to strike. Henry thought it was kind of cool, in a fifteen-hundred-pound-killing-machine kind of way.

“I swear that thing is going to lunge at me some day, and swipe my head right off my shoulders. You need to find it a new home.”

So Henry had. The General Mercantile store in the village had taken Gordon (as Henry had named him), where he now stood sentinel inside the front door of the store, terrifying everyone who entered. Henry missed Gordon and visited him often.

Henry looked around. He loved this room. Hell, he loved the whole damn lodge – every leaky toilet, every squeaky door – everything. To him, it epitomized all that was right in the world. He was living his dream as an owner/operator of the Mountaineer Path Way-Station. He and Marj had purchased the Mountaineer three years ago, as an early retirement gift to Henry.  Marj had not been nearly as exuberant about the prospect of moving from the city to the middle of nowhere as Henry had been, but had made the Mountaineer her new home, nonetheless.  

It wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere, but it was pretty close – people had to drive north out of the from the city for a couple of hours, over one mountain, through a valley, and over and up another mountain, Mt. Locke, where the Mountaineer was situated. The inn was beside the trail that serious hikers and climbers used to traverse the mountain. Last year there had been an Internet challenge – climb the four local mountains in four days. The Mountaineer Path Way-Station was considered the middle of the challenge, and many participants chose to stay the night, which was fine with Henry and Marj. These were the easiest guests – arrive late, leave early – no muss, no fuss. 

That is not to say that was the only reason that the Mountaineer existed – no, there were plenty other climbers and hikers who climbed for the love of climbing, and hiked for the love of hiking. But the Mountaineer wasn’t easy to get too. They were extremely remote. The road, or as Marj called it — the “goat path” — that led to the lodge was only accessible in the summer and fall, only when it was dry, and only with four-wheel drive. People didn’t just arrive at the Mountaineer by accident, they made reservations, and they came prepared for the rough terrain. Even in good weather, very few people drove to the inn — most hiked in, on their way from one place to another. The hike in was a fairly taxing trek – think of the Inca Trail in Peru, or the Kalalau Valley Hike in Hawaii. Only those folks with enough stamina walked into the Mountaineer. Tough, yes, but not so tough that no one attempted it except elite athletes.  No, the Mountaineer guests were usually dedicated hikers, who viewed the lodge as an opportunity to rejoin civilization, if only for a hot meal, a shower and a bed. 

Henry realized that winter was the hardest season for Marj. Although they had access to snowmobiles, and the larger snowcat, they were pretty isolated at the Mountaineer. Before the roads closed in the late fall, they brought in all the bulk supplies to hold them over – flour, sugar, coffee, tea, dry goods, canned goods. Henry would go into town whenever the staples ran low – eggs, milk, and occasionally greens of some sort. But mostly they were left on their own. They were hooked up to the grid, but it regularly went down in bad weather, which was, on average, every couple of weeks. They had a hard-wired gas generator, but that was only good as long as they had fuel. There was the enormous fireplace in the Great Hall, and an ancient wood stove in the kitchen to provide heat in the main building. When there was an outage, all the guests could be brought into the Great Room for warmth – not that there were that many winter guests — it was pretty quiet in the winter. But it had happened twice in the past three years. Marj likened it to a pyjama party with people they didn’t know.

Henry remembered that Marj had commented a time or two that first winter that the Mountaineer Path Way-Station was a little too much like The Overlook Hotel in The Shining. Not that she expected either of them crack from cabin fever, nor had either of them ever even seen a spectre. No, it wasn’t the scary aspects of The Shining, it was the isolation. They had the Internet, but if the grid went down, so went the Internet. They both had cell phones, but reception was spotty, at best. Throw in a blizzard, and you were the proud owner of an expensive paper weight. They did have a land-line (unless the wind blew down the lines) and a battery operated two-way radio that connected directly to the Sheriff’s office. Plus, town was only about an hour away – a very cold hour on a snowmobile, but still, only an hour. It wasn’t exactly like being stranded at the Overlook Hotel, but it was close.

It had been sleeting for about two hours as Henry looked out the window. The had sun set and it was dark. Henry was happy that they weren’t expecting any guests for the next week. This weather was ugly. And dangerous. Trails were slicked with ice. The sleet was expected to change to snow around midnight, and then to freezing rain closer to dawn. It was a nasty night to be out.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Marj looked towards the back door. She had been stoking the wood cook stove, just in case the power went out, startled when she heard the sound.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Marj tentatively walked towards back door.

Woof!

She moved the curtains that covered the window on the door, aside, and looked down.

There, shivering in the cold was Hugo, Sheriff Will Harrison’s dog. He was wearing his working Kevlar vest that was emblazoned with “Sheriff’s Department, Canine Officer” across the back.

Marj opened the door, and Hugo bounded in.

“Hugo! What are you doing here?” She bent to brush the ice pellets from his coat. “Henry! Hugo’s here, and he’s alone!”

"Uh-oh.'

Marj knew that was not good, especially since he was wearing his working vest. Hugo was search and rescue trained, as well as being the county’s drug dog, and Will’s personal pet. Will never went anywhere without Hugo. Ever.  

Henry came into the kitchen. Hugo looked from one to the other, ran a couple of steps towards the door, ran back, and looked at them again. He repeated this.

Marj looked at Henry. “I think he wants us to follow him.”

Henry nodded. “Maybe Will’s hurt. We need to check and make sure that’s the case and Hugo didn’t just wander off.”

Marj gave Henry the stink eye. “Just wandered off, Henry? Town’s an hour away, by snowmobile.”

“True enough, but I’ll just give the station a call.” 

He left the room, heading to the back office where the land-line and the two-way radio were located. 

Marj looked at Hugo. He was agitated, moving back and forth from the door. Marj took out a towel, rubbed him off, and offered him a bowl of tepid water – warm water was best to heat a body from the inside out. He drank greedily.

Henry came back into the kitchen. 

“Landline’s down. No answer on the radio.”

“This isn’t right. Something’s wrong.” She looked at Hugo. “We should go, look for Will.”

Henry agreed, and they both got into their snowmobile suits and boots. They were going to take one of the snowmobiles with a sled attached, because if Will was hurt, they needed a way to get him back to the inn, and the forest was too dense for the snowcat.

Marj knew that Henry would drive the snow machine, and she would follow Hugo on foot  She also knew Henry wanted to be on foot, but he knew that his bum hip would only slow them all down, especially when using snowshoes.

“If we hurry, we should be able to follow Hugo’s tracks, before they fill in.”

They hustled out, each with a flashlight and a walkie-talkie. Hugo started running back and forth again, toward the forest, back to Marj. Marj moved forward into the dark, frigid night, flashlight illuminating Hugo’s tracks in front of her. Henry left to get the snowmobile from the garage. He would catch up.

The night was brutal. Ice pellets stung Marj’s face, wind whipped through the trees. The crust on the snow made it hard to walk in snowshoes – each time she took a step, she cracked through the thin layer of ice, sunk down, then had to pull her foot straight out of the hole or her snowshoe would get caught. That slowed her down a bit, but she trudged forward, knowing that a man’s life could be at stake.  Within minutes, the snowmobile was directly behind her and Hugo, its bright light illuminating the snow in front of them, as they pushed farther into the forest. Suddenly Hugo darted forward.

Woof! Woof! Woof, woof, woof!

Marj hustled forward. She saw a dark shape on the ground. Hugo was barking and running back and forth. Marj fell to her knees beside the still shape. It was Will. He was face down in the snow, unconscious. Marj flipped him over, and searched for a pulse. It was there. Barely.

Marj looked around the scene. There were two distinct sets of footprints surrounding Will. And about a million dog prints. And there was blood. A lot of blood. She looked back at Will. There was a hole in the back of his coat that was seeping blood. Marj, who had been a trauma nurse in the city, recognized a bullet wound when she saw one. 

Henry pulled the sled beside Will. 

“Help me put him on the sled!” Marj yelled over the sound of the motor. “He’s been shot.”

Together they maneuvered Will onto the sled, and covered him with blankets. Marj jumped on the sled, straddling Will, stabilizing him. Hugo ran beside the sled, his eyes never leaving Will.

They made it back to the Mountaineer quickly. Henry stopped the sled at the back door. Together they dragged Will into the Great Room, and placed him on the floor in front of the fire. Marj cut off his wet clothes, examining his wound. It had entered the back of his clavicle, and exited through a ragged hole in the front of his shoulder. Marj could feel the broken collar bone and probably his scapula, as well. 

Henry stood by, bringing Marj what she needed – scissors, rubbing alcohol, towels, sheets, duct tape, hot water – lots and lots of hot water. Hugo lay by Will’s head, whining.

Marj knew that there were two important things Will needed right now. The first was he needed to be warmed up. She had no idea how long he'd been face-down in the snow. While the cold may have slowed the bleeding and possibly saved his life, Marj could tell by touch that he needed to be warmed up. Henry filled all the hot-water bottles that they had on hand for cold hikers. Marj placed them all over and under Will, while covering him with blankets that had been heated on the stove. Marj examined him for frostbite, and, thankfully, she found only signs of frost nip on Will’s cheeks. His winter weather clothes had saved him from the worst of the elements. But now Marj needed to stop the bleeding. Both the entrance and exit wounds were bleeding, the exit wound more than the entrance wound. She cleaned both wounds, then packed the wounds with clean towels. She had Henry apply pressure to the wounds while she wrapped them tightly with duct tape.

Suddenly, Will’s eyes flashed open, and he started screaming and struggling, pushing Marj and Henry away from him. Marj held him, while speaking soothingly to him. Hugo jumped up, looking from Will to Marj and back to Will.

“Will! It’s Marj. Your safe. It’s going to be okay. We’ve got you.”

Will stared at her with unseeing eyes. “He shot me!”

Marj leaned into him. “Who shot you, Will? Tell me! Who shot you?”

But he had lapsed into unconsciousness again. 

Marj finished triage by wrapping sheets around his torso, immobilizing his arm and shoulder. She piled pillows behind and in front of him to keep his weight off of the wounds.

Marj pulled out Will’s radio, and handed it to Henry. “Here! Try to raise someone.” Henry left the room, returning five minutes later.

“I raised the Highway Patrol. Officers will be here as soon as the weather breaks, but it’s going to be hours. They will send a medical helicopter for Will, but only when it is safe to do so. They don’t expect the weather to break until morning, and then it’ll take a while for anyone to get here.”

“What was he doing up here, alone?” Marj asked.

“Apparently there was a bank robbery in town and the guy fled to the woods. He shot the security guard.”

“Grant? Old Grant McQueen?”

“Yes. He’s alive, but in critical conditional. Will and Hugo were following his tracks in the snow. Will said he also wanted to make sure that we were okay, because the guy was headed our way. That was the last time that anyone heard from him.” Marj saw the worry in Henry's eyes. “They said this guy is dangerous, and we need to lock the doors, and not open them to anyone except the police. Apparently, the Patrol knows him, and he’s bad news.” 

Marj took the radio Henry offered. “The hospital wants to talk to you about Will. The Highway Patrol will patch you in to the doctors at the hospital. I told them you were a trauma nurse. They were happy. For Will’s sake.”

Marj took the radio and had the Highway Patrol patch her through to the regional hospital. Within minutes she was talking to a trauma doctor.

Hugo lay close to Will, his head resting on Will's stomach, watching Marj and Henry moving around the room. He knew that Will was hurt badly — he could smell Will’s blood, and was worried.

Hugo also knew about the man with the gun. Hugo had tried to stop him, but he shot Will, and ran away. Hugo hadn’t known what to do — chase the man with the gun, or get help for Will. He chose Will over the man with the gun. But he would never forget the man. Hugo knew his smell.

Hugo was suddenly alert. His ears perked up, and he turned his head towards the kitchen and the back door. He heard someone out there. Henry and Marj were humans, and they couldn’t hear the person, but Hugo could. He got up from beside Will, and quietly padded towards the back door, listening intently.

“Hugo hears something,” said Marj, looking at Henry.

Hugo watched as Henry nodded curtly and left the room, returning within seconds carrying his “varmint gun.” He saw Marj rifle through the pile of Will’s discarded clothing and pick up Will’s gun and check the clip. Hugo knew guns. It was his training.

“Nobody’s getting in here, unless we say so,” said Henry, looking at Marj.

Suddenly the lights went out, leaving only the fire to illuminate the room. Hugo growled low in his throat, crawling towards the back door on his belly. Marj and Henry stood on either side of the doorway leading into the kitchen, staring at the back door.  

The doorknob turned. Hugo let loose with a fury of vicious barks. It was the man with the gun.