Beacon

Beacon

The green light, small but constant, glowed in the thickening gloom. I think it was trying to reassure me.

I was beyond reassuring. If I had the energy, I would have hated that light. It spoke too clearly of my predicament, of my shame, of my impending doom. I should have done everything better.

As daughter and grand-daughter of professional mountaineers, I thought I could read the terrain and the weather. The forecast said showers but those clouds had suggested more.

The hike up the ridge was a good one. The cloudy day made for comfortable travel. The river, although not down to late summer levels, was easily fordable, and the track only a bit squishy from the last lot of rain.

I was carrying the right gear too. My jacket is nearly as waterproof as plumber’s tape and weighed less than 500 grams. It had been a Christmas present from Mum. Trail rations sat in my pockets, I had my phone, the one with satellite coverage, and the locator beacon for the most dire situations.

I almost reached the summit. I wanted to go that last half a kilometre but a peel of thunder warned me off. The very sky, all purple and black with spectral anger, was telling me to turn back. There are some warnings you have to be a complete idiot to ignore. Thunder amongst the mountains is one of them.

The rain hit five minutes later. It came down in sheets. Visibility dropped. I had not got above the bush line so there was some shelter, but not enough. Grateful for my jacket, I tried not to think of my pants, the nylon soaked through.

Thought of the river rising fast hurried me along, back down the track. I still had time to get across before the rain currently hitting the headwaters reached the ford. Otherwise, I was set for a damp night in the bush, waiting for the level to subside. It would not be pleasant, but part of what could be expected when choosing to go hiking in the mountains.

The track was suddenly slick beneath my boots. Previous rain had washed away any debris that could give added traction. Now, with water cascading over the clay, it felt like I was sliding along on terracotta glass. This was not good. My window to reach the river was disappearing fast.

Manuka, Kawakawa, and bush lawyer worked together to block what light the rain let through. I was down to inching my way along the downhill trail, hardly able to see where I was going.

A flash followed instantly by a crash of mountainous proportions caused me to jump. That was all it took. My feet went from under me. I went down hard and screaming.

Pain, a huge fireball consumed me, then split into two excruciating fires, one in my ankle and the other in my butt.

“Fuck.” My curse got lost in another roll of thunder.

By the time I could hear again, I was aware I was in serious trouble. My ankle was probably broken. It though was held together by my boot. My tailbone, though had no helpful support. It was a ball of pulsing agony.

Not to mention, I had ripped my jacket somehow. Water was already seeping in.

Without the thunder deafening me, I heard something else, just as frightening. Water was roaring past. That was the river. I was closer than I had thought. It was already rising, and rising fast. Even if I could stand, could walk, there was no hope of getting across.

Then came the awful realisation. While I was not going to get to the river, there was every chance it would come to me. I did not know exactly how near the river came to this part of the track. My mind was too fuzzy to recall the detail, but I knew I was going to have to get to higher ground.

Except even attempting to turn caused me to sob. The pain bloomed out from my butt. There was no way I could even crawl.

Fear gripped me tight, causing me to tremble. That water sounded really close. I wanted to make a plan but the pain put paid to that. I could barely think through it. Goosebumps prickled across my back, shoulders and down my arms. My coat felt clammy. Nausea twisted at my guts.

I blinked away my tears and saw my death. Mere metres from where I was lying, a thin stream of water had pushed through the undergrowth. Its bright brown hue was exactly the same as the mud I slipped on.

Would it be appeased by me as a sacrifice? No. There was no god controlling the flow. Nor was the river an animal to be sated by a snack of human proportions. Gravity was demanding the water take the easiest route to the ocean. It would not care if it took me or not.

But my family would care. I had to act even though there was nothing I could do.

“Higher ground,” I muttered.

But to do that would mean leaving the track. One part of me knew I could not actually move far enough to get out of the way of the water. Another part of me knew leaving the track was just about as deadly as the rising water. It took almost nothing to get disorientated in the bush.

I felt wetness slither down my back. Oh joy. The rip in my coat was allowing the rain in to soak my clothes. Bad, bad, bad. Add hypothermia to my list of woes and it seemed unlikely I would make it home.

I shifted position and let rip a scream that reminded me why I could not escape. Maybe dying would not be so bad.

My family would disagree.

I could imagine Dad, sobbing, because his daughter had not listened to him. Mum, her eyes without light, packing up my things. Granddad, silent, heartbroken and angry.

“Dad,” I whispered. I could not hear my words. “This is embarrassing.”

The locator was under my coat. My fingers were trembling so hard, it took three attempts for me to grip it.

I fumbled to hit the activation button. The test one squawked twice before I got my fingers across to the correct one.

That was when the green light cut through the gloom. My body went limp with exhaustion. Within five minutes, someone, somewhere, would know I was in trouble.

The day kept dimming. It could have been that evening was approaching, the weather settling lower, or me drifting towards unconsciousness.

My body kept shivering. That at least kept me awake although I wished it would stop. Each shiver sent pain shooting up from my bum. I was also aware that my ankle was a bright ember of torment but the cold meant I hardly felt it.

How long? I could barely force two thoughts together in my head. How long before help came? I was not going to make it. Which would take me? The river? There was a stream of muddy water just a few metres away. Hypothermia? Cold, and wet, and unable to get to shelter. A strong possibility. Or the wraiths that existed purely to take foolish souls who ventured too far on these mountains.

If I had a choice, it would be the wraiths. Or a wild boar. There were those up here too.

The stuff going on in my head was not coherent. I was delirious and knew it. Between the pain and the cold, it was all simply too much. It was so hard to fight. The rescuers were unlikely to get here in time. The river was going to win.

The river was gurgling through the bush, talking to me. “Are you ready?” It was asking.

I wanted to say no but I answered, “Yes.”

It chuckled as it tugged at my feet.

Dying was a bright, golden light. I thought it should have been green. The angels sounded like Mum. I had never about angelic voices, but, surely, they should have been like musical notes dropped from heaven, not something so ordinary.

The sound of their wings was weird too. They were so loud, metallic, mechanical.

It did not matter. They were taking me home.

“We alerted Search and Rescue when that storm blew in.” Dad was not sobbing. He sounded in control.

“She did everything right.” Another voice, I did not recognise it.

“Yeah.” Dad.

A strange idea occurred to me. What if the river, or the wraiths, or whatever had not taken my life? To find out if it was true, I was going to have to open my eyes.

I blinked and a room swam into view. Dad was sitting in one of those white, plastic chairs next to my bed. I guessed I was in hospital. Across the room, beside a curtained doorway, a light glowed green. I had no idea what it was for.

“Thank God for that locator beacon. In her state, she wouldn’t have lasted the night.” Dad spoke the truth.