Chapter Text
Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!!!
The wendigos screamed and snarled as they tore at each other; a mess of lengthened limbs and jagged teeth in the centre of the room. The staircase was reduced to little more than splintered slats, broken wood jutting out in the wake of the devastation their brawl had wrought upon it, the coffee table knocked aside as if it were made of nothing.
And all Chris could do was stare.
Petrified, he stood there and looked on Sam and Mike up ahead, trapped in the main room beyond the fractured staircase with the grappling creatures wreaking havoc before them, so very close. Another wendigo sprung from its perch on the mezzanine balcony and joined the fray, attacking the largest of them. Somehow, his friends managed not to flinch.
Emily stood a short distance in front of Chris, frozen in place a few steps closer to the action. Hidden from view, their presence was ignored for now, their small group paralysed; still as statues.
Don't move.
The smell of gas finally reached him - a familiar scent that set alarm bells ringing in his head - but the hiss of the burst pipe was lost amid the sounds of the wendigos grappling with one another. He saw them as silhouettes against the darkness, watched as one ripped the other’s head from its body and tore it asunder. The victor stood tall and screamed as it tossed its fallen opponent aside, discarding its lifeless body without remorse.
Don’t. Fucking. Move.
They were running out of time. The wendigos could tear each other apart for all the fucks he gave, but they had to get out of there.
A creak of floorboards caught the creature’s attention, deafeningly loud, and Chris’ heart skipped a beat. He watched the wendigo turn in the darkness. Raised to its full height, it strode across the room on long limbs, prowling, eyes wide and searching; a menacing figure glimpsed through the broken slats and bannisters. A few feet from Sam, it stopped.
Eyes wide, Chris’ jaw dropped.
No no no, not you, oh FUCK!
Another movement caught Chris’ attention, glimpsed out the corner of his eye. A grey figure shifted in the shadows, but it wasn’t a monster this time. With the creature distracted, Mike was moving farther into the room, keeping close to the wall.
Again, the wendigo screamed. Somehow, Sam didn’t move.
Stay still! Just...
They had to get out of there. If he could distract it or--
His gaze returned to Mike. Chris saw the brunette slowly raise his arm and grasp the light bulb beside him. Squeezing it tightly, Mike crushed it in his hand. For a moment, it didn’t make sense. But then, with the ting of cracked glass, it clicked in Chris’ mind.
The gas.
Fuck, Mike...
...No...
The crazy fuck was going to blow the place up.
The sound didn’t go unnoticed. The wendigo shrieked as it turned away, the search for Sam dismissed as it sought out new prey.
Chris swallowed. The door was close, only a few feet away. If he could--
Just fucking GO!!!
With the creature’s attention elsewhere, Chris chose his moment and backed away, limbs revived by the adrenaline coursing through him. He hurried out into the cold night until the snow was underfoot. Panting relief, breath steaming the air, he looked back at the lodge.
Now what?
His boots made uncertain footsteps in the snow as he paced back and forth, torn between the urge to run and the desire to help his friends.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What the fuck do I do now?
Think. You’ve gotta think.
Okay… okay, so he could go back in and try to help somehow--
The gas.
...But there was the gas to consider - an unspoken plan already in motion. One spark and the whole place would go up in flames. And, even without that huge fucking problem to deal with, Chris was unarmed. Hell, even if he had a gun, he’d seen first-hand what little damage they did.
Fuck. Then... what? What do I do?!
Self-preservation told him to leave; to run and never look back. But where? Back into the woods? With the cable car out of action, there was nowhere to run to.
What the fuck was he supposed to do?
“Hey!”
He heard Sam’s yell and the shriek that followed.
Oh God…
He’d left them in there. To be ripped apart or burned to death, only time would tell. But he’d left them behind.
You’ve gotta do it.
Steeling himself, Chris made for the porch. But the movement was premature and he stopped in his tracks, frozen by fear when a figure emerged from the doorway. He braced himself.
It wasn’t a wendigo.
Emily met him on the snowy ground. She glanced back at the lodge over her shoulder then to Chris.
“What--”
“They’re-- it’s still in there,” she replied, and Chris saw the way her gaze darted between the doorway and the world outside, as if she too was weighing up her options.
Side by side, they waited with bated breath; every muscle tense, every nerve on edge as they stared up at the darkened building. They heard more muted shrieks from inside, dampened by the wooden walls separating them from the danger within.
“Should we…?” Emily asked, but she was already taking a step backwards.
The question went unanswered, Chris’ gaze trained on the doorway.
Come on…
They had to make it out. They had to.
Come ON!
“Chris, what--”
A scream cut through the air - an unearthly sound that sent a spike of fear along Chris’ veins. A moment later, another figure stumbled out into the night. Mike didn’t stop until he was well clear of the lodge, bumping into Chris’ chest with a start. They exchanged nervous glances but he, like Chris, couldn’t find his words.
Chris peered up at the lodge, a knot of desperation tightening his throat.
“Sam…” he whispered.
He’d left her behind.
Blood in the tunnel, abandoned in the dark. Blood on the shed floor, spattering frayed rope and splintered chair legs. And now there would be blood on the wooden beams; so much blood on his hands that he’d never be clean.
“Look!” Emily gestured at the sky, but Chris didn’t get a chance to see what she was pointing at.
The explosion lit up the early morning sky, tearing it in two; a brilliant searing orange that forced his eyes closed. Chris shielded his face as a wave of heat rolled over them before he was flung away, thrown to the ground.
The world was blurry when he regained his senses. Mind numb, Chris readjusted his glasses with a practiced movement and pushed up from the ground, pain flaring in his leg as he gingerly got to his feet. He looked around, his snowy surroundings made warm by the flames licking at the burning building. He saw Emily, sprawled out on the ground but moving. He saw Mike sitting in the snow, looking up at the lodge in a daze. And then, he saw her.
“Sam!”
On shaky legs, Chris staggered towards her. She was lying awkwardly some distance away, body black against the snowy ground. The night air screamed and Chris recoiled from the rush of heat passing overhead, but it was fleeting. Determined, he pressed on.
She wasn’t moving.
“SAM!”
Mike reached Sam first and, hooking his arm under hers, helped her to her feet. Only when Chris saw her eyes open, blinking confusion, did relief kick in.
“Fuck, Sam...”
But she was looking beyond him. Chris followed her gaze. He heard it then over the roar of the blaze. He’d been so focused on the doorway, on the lodge, that he hadn’t noticed it before: a helicopter, hovering in the sky above them.
The searchlight traced their huddled group, so blindingly bright Chris had to squint to see the helicopter's outline against the dawn sky. A moment later, it was moving on, gradually descending below the treeline some distance away.
“Where is it going?!” Emily asked, looking up at it as she frantically waved her arms. “Wait! We’re here! Come back!”
It was leaving without them. Or…
“The back lawn. It’s gotta be going there. It can’t land here. No room,” Chris said the thought aloud.
It was all the prompting the others needed. They followed Chris’ lead, weaving through the trees as they rounded the building until they saw it for themselves and pushed on ahead. The helicopter had landed in the clearing, planting itself on the snow-covered lawn. Rotors spinning, its door slid open and a figure stepped down to meet them, waving them over.
There it was. Safety.
“Holy… What in the hell happened?” the ranger asked over the din as they drew closer, but he didn’t give them a chance to reply, already ushering them aboard. “Is anyone else inside?”
“No, there-- no,” Mike replied, waiting for Emily to climb in ahead of him before following suit.
“Wait!” Sam stopped beside the helicopter with Chris behind her, raising her voice to better be heard. “Our friends are still out there.”
“It’s not safe here with that fire burning, miss. We’ll get you to the Ranger station then circle back.”
“But…”
Her words tapered off and, unable to argue with that logic, Sam reluctantly accepted the man’s hand and clambered aboard. Chris sat down in the seat beside her opposite Mike and Emily and watched dumbly as the ranger pulled the door closed behind them before giving Emily a foil space blanket. A moment later, they were taking off.
“Is anyone hurt?”
Mike went to answer, but Sam had already begun to talk.
“There are still people down there.”
Her face was home to fresh cuts and grazes, but she didn’t seem to feel them and pressed the point with dogged determination. It was the same insistence that might have elicited a teasing ‘gee, okay, mom’ at her expense some other time, but right then, Chris welcomed it. Someone needed to take charge.
“How many?” the ranger asked, handing Sam a blanket.
At that, the group looked to each other. There had been so much uncertainty that night, so much loss and separation. It was difficult to piece it all together.
“Jess,” Mike said with conviction, looking to his friends for reassurance. “That’s one.”
“Ashley?” Sam asked hopefully, gaze flicking between Chris and Emily.
Chris felt it at the sound of her name: a pang of fresh grief.
So much blood.
He shook his head mutely.
“How many?” the ranger pressed.
It was a struggle to think anymore; about any of it, anything at all. But, with gritted teeth, Chris forced himself to try.
Okay, so. Jess, maybe; Mike seemed set on that idea. Matt could still be out there - Emily hadn’t seemed to know for sure. And Josh somewhere, if Mike and Sam had found him in time. They’d returned empty handed, but Chris hadn’t had a chance to ask them yet. Maybe Josh was still down there? Jess, Matt and Josh. So, that made...
“Thr--”
“One,” Mike cut in.
“...What?”
He stared at Mike, but Mike couldn’t meet his eye, and Chris’ mouth twitched into another question, but no sound came out. Silently, Chris turned to Sam and searched her gaze, but she didn’t speak. She didn't have to. It was written on her face, devastatingly clear.
“One,” Mike repeated quietly with grim finality. “Jessica Riley.”
Emily turned in her seat, peering up at Mike with incomprehension. “But… Matt?”
Mike fell silent.
“Are you sure? I mean, what if--”
“Em, I-- We... saw him.” Mike looked to Sam for confirmation.
Meeting Emily's gaze, Sam gave a solemn nod.
“Oh God…”
Emily pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes darting as unwelcome thoughts passed behind her eyes. Dazed, she didn’t fight it when Mike put an arm around her, old grudges forgotten temporarily.
“When did you last see her?”
“Uh,” Mike frowned and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He seemed shaken, but with it enough to speak. “It was... midnight, I think? There’s an old mineshaft…”
Mike’s voice became a blur on the periphery of Chris’ hearing, lost in the constant whirr of the rotors. Chris could see the brunette’s mouth moving, but he wasn’t listening anymore. Gradually, the grim reality of Mike’s words began to sink in.
One.
And there it was, laid out for them in a single word; the bleak final tally. The empty seats around them were testament to that. There was hope for Jess, one person out there to search for and save, perhaps. One left.
But not his one.
Chris numbly took the blanket offered to him.
He’d felt the loss for a long time. Ever since he’d returned to the shed - the site of his failed rescue attempt - it had hung heavy over him. But somewhere, hidden deep among the grief and loss, there had always been a tiny glimmer of hope; a small spark that couldn’t be extinguished; a part of him that couldn’t fully accept what he knew deep down to be true. Now, in the wake of what he’d learned, it was fading; snuffed out by shared knowledge as the helicopter took them ever farther from the blaze below.
Just one.
He pulled the blanket around his shoulders, but it did little to warm him.
Fuck, he should have been more careful. He should have stayed by Ashley’s side. He should have gone with Mike to find Josh. Maybe there was something he could have done, something that would have made it all turn out okay?
I should’ve done a lot of things differently.
But he hadn’t. And there was nothing Chris could do about it.
Chris watched the ranger exam Mike’s wounded hand. His thoughts drifted to the graffiti they’d seen at the foot of the mountain beside the cable car station. It had only been a matter of hours since he’d glanced at the scrawl, but it seemed a lifetime ago. It was Josh’s writing, Chris knew that now, connecting the dots. A message Chris was only just learning the meaning of.
THE PAST IS BEYOND OUR CONTROL
It was a throwaway statement - overtly angsty and worthy of an eyeroll - yet the words rang so painfully true after all that had happened. Josh had left it there for them. A lesson they couldn’t unlearn. A parting gift.
Belatedly, Chris realised the ranger was beside him. The man gestured to the burn across his cheek, leaning in to take a closer look, but Chris agitatedly shrugged off the attempt. When the ranger backed off to tend to Emily instead, Chris leaned back against his seat. It felt like he was sinking into it, his mind and body so very tired and heavy.
“You don’t have to babysit me anymore.”
Chris’ lips stretched into a bitter smile. More words made painful by hindsight. Josh had never needed a babysitter, as he’d so bluntly put it. But he’d needed someone. Maybe not Chris, but someone. And in the end, he’d had nobody.
The scene around Chris seemed to be happening elsewhere. The ranger was talking to the pilot up front between snatches of radio conversation while the others sat there in resigned silence. The energy that had kept them moving, kept them running, had gone - completely spent - and all he saw were tired faces. With the blanket around her shoulders, Emily had shifted away from Mike to lean against the window. In her absence, Mike sat alone, looking down at his hands. For the first time that night, the brunette looked lost.
Chris felt like he should say something to fill the weary quiet, but what was there left to say? Nothing reassuring, that much he knew. They were alive, yes. Of the eight who had made the journey, they were the lucky few who had made it back. Then why didn’t he feel lucky? Or grateful? Or anything other than the deadening weight of the night’s events on his shoulders, tugging at his chest?
But...
In the quiet, all the what ifs and could-have-beens picked at his thoughts until he couldn't bring himself to think about them anymore. But his mind didn't listen, churning up old memories and widening the wounds.
“Just… stay with me. For as long as you can stand it.”
Chris winced and bowed his head with a grimace, overcome by a fresh swell of hurt. Once, that had actually meant something. But now they were a dead man’s words spoken through a crooked smile Chris hadn’t seen in the longest time, made bittersweet by memory. Josh hadn’t allowed Chris to see that promise through. He’d cut their deal short and forced Chris to go back on his word, and now all he was left with were the fruits of what had come before.
So many missed chances. So many opportunities frittered away. So many plans come undone. And there was nothing Chris could do about that, either.
Fuck, Josh.
There was no undoing it, no going back to fix things. Not this time.
“They’re gone,” Chris spoke the thought aloud, barely audible. But Sam must have heard, for her hand slid into his own, squeezing softly. In silence, Chris followed her gaze and watched the lodge recede beyond the window, reduced to a patch of orange amid the snow-covered treetops and darkened boughs.
The tears weren’t coming. Exhaustion had wrung him dry, taking everything from him. And now there was nothing left to say. The mountain had taken it all.
Hand in hand, flying ever higher, they watched the mountain burn.