Snow Day - part 4
Apr. 25th, 2009 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfan"How much longer do you think, Trapper?"
"An hour. Two. And then we should probably take him down to a hospital that has enough staff to keep a watch on him." Trapper bit back a yawn under the surgical mask.
"Okay, I'll call District and tell them." Houlihan said. "What about you? Are you getting tired? I could call up to the cabin. Your friends should be there by now."
"Oh, man, I forgot all about them."
"I left a note when I went back for the stretcher. Said not to expect us till morning." Mike propped himself against the doorjamb. "If you could use the help, I'm sure they'd come."
"By now they will have eaten and gone to bed," Trapper said. "It's tempting, but I'm sure that we can handle this. And I know that they'll have been tired. Let 'em sleep."
"Wish I could do the same." Mike said unhappily. "Oh, well. The paperwork will keep me awake."
---
Stanley listened to Gonzo's steady breathing and wondered how the man could possibly have gone to sleep. Didn't he know that people froze to death under conditions like these? Certainly, Gonzo had done his best to be helpful in the building of the snow wall that they had built to cut off some of the wind from the little hollow where they were both curled up to wait out the night, but even exhaustion didn't seem to be enough to turn off the racing thoughts in Stanley's head. Gonzo had known about building the wall, and putting the plastic sheet underneath for protection from the snow. Gonzo had known about layering the remaining clothes from the bag, and melting the water in the soda bottle by body heat too. Stanley had insisted that Gonzo wear the remaining ski mask and gloves, to protect his burns from the weather, but it had been Gonzo who had suggested that Stanley cut off the sleeve of a turtleneck for makeshift gloves, and had gotten Stanley to pull the zipper all the way up the hood, to form a narrow tunnel of warmth in front of his face. And Gonzo had explained how they had to curl up together and use the bag and extra clothes as covers to conserve warmth. But once they had gotten settled he had gone blithely to sleep. Stanley wanted Gonzo to be awake, thinking about ways to get them off of this horrible mountain and to John, who would forgive them losing him the jeep in gratitude for their safety. It wasn't as if Stanley knew what to do about being lost in the wilderness. He swallowed back a lump of sudden anger. Gates would go and get himself hurt, just when Stanley needed him. And it wasn't as if Stanley had come out of that avalanche unscathed. His arm burned where the bag strap had scraped it's way off, and there was a lump on the back of his head that was too tender to touch, and his stomach hurt and his legs hurt...
Gonzo made a sleepy noise and shifted, then whimpered and pulled his arms up to his face. Stanley, remembering how much burns hurt, and how delicate they were, carefully eased the arms back down and made reassuring comments until Gonzo's breathing steadied again.
Maybe it was a good idea to sleep, after all. It would make morning come faster. And in the morning, John would come, and rescue them both. Stanley started trying to build a picture of John arriving on a snowmobile, with hot chocolate and marshmallows in a little thermos in the trunk. He nudged a little closer around Gonzo and closed his eyes. Hot chocolate, marshmallows, and whipped cream.
---
Stanley woke suddenly, to find himself still in the nightmare. He held on to Gonzo a little tighter as he waited for his own heart to stop racing, grateful to feel the expansion of Gonzo's ribs within his arms. At least that part of the dream had been false. But his legs were so cold he wasn't sure he could feel his feet, and the lump on his head throbbed with renewed pain when he tried to shift position. To add to his discomfort, the pressure on his bladder was growing in insistence by the minute. He brought his watch to the front of the parka hood tunnel and fumbled with the switch till he had it lit. A little past six a.m. And still dark. Although not as dark as it had been, he realized, recognizing the shape of his own arm. Carefully, he began to work his way into a sitting position, tucking the clothes that fell away from him against Gonzo's back and legs to keep him warm. He got to his knees then, and unzipped the hood enough to look around for a sheltered place to take care of his kidneys. It was beautiful.
The clouds were gone. The wind was still brisk, but he barely noticed it against his face as he looked out over an alien planet. Fold after fold of mountain fell away from him, down to the Central Valley, where a few pinpricks of light marked towns. And beyond that dark area he could see the gleaming ghosts of the Sierra Nevada, peak after peak shrouded in sparkling snow. And above the mountains, the sky was full of stars. It was starlight that let him see, and moonlight from the full moon setting somewhere back of the mountain behind him that had lit the snow on the distant peaks. Even as he watched the moonlight faded, but the stars merely shone the brighter, and the great sweep of the Milky Way shimmered over the shadowed hills. Shooting stars flashed across the display now and again. Stanley had never seen anything like it in his life. He might have knelt there, looking at the stars for longer, but Gonzo suddenly twitched and made an unhappy, querying noise.
"It's all right," Stanley said, quickly, putting a hand on Gonzo's shoulder. "I'm still here."
"Stan? What? Oh, yeah... I remember." Gonzo sat up and tugged fretfully at the ski mask. "My face hurts."
"Let me take a look at it," Stan dug the flashlight out of his pocket and then helped Gonzo with the mask. The bandages underneath were slightly askew, and the stink of stale beer wafted from Gonzo's hair, but there didn't seem to be any new damage. "Is the wool irritating the burns?"
"I can't tell. It itches, but mostly it just burns." Gonzo tugged off one mitten and brought up his hand to touch his face tentatively. "I wish we had something to use to irrigate it."
Stanley checked the soda bottle that he had put in another parka pocket. "The snow in the bottle has melted, we can use that. But we can't leave your face wet. The wind's gotten quite cold." Gonzo frowned. "No. That wouldn't help, I guess. I'll just have to put up with it."
"Maybe after the sun has come up we can try it." Stanley said. "How do you feel otherwise?"
"Stiff. My feet are cold. And I have to take a leak."
The logistics of biology took up the next few minutes, but eventually Stan got Gonzo back into the nest of clothes in the hollow, and positioned himself for sleep again. But sleep wouldn't come. Finally he said, "Gates?"
"Yeah, Stan." Gonzo couldn't sleep either.
"I can't feel my feet."
"Is the circulation cut off?" Gonzo asked. "How many pairs of socks do you have on?"
"Two. Thin ones and thick ones. That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes. How about the gaiters? Are the strings too tight?"
"I can get a finger under them."
"Then it's just the cold. Sorry, Stan. If we had a way to build a fire that might help, but until then you'll just have to wrap them in the bag and hope."
"Aren't your feet cold?"
"Everything's cold but my face," Gonzo admitted. "But I can still tell my toes are there. I just can't believe I... that we're stuck up here like this."
"Neither can I," Stanley said. "If only I hadn't stopped to rest. We could have gotten past those rocks before they ever fell."
"Cut it out, Stan," Gonzo said crankily. "This isn't your fault. You didn't decide to take the pass road. And it's not Trapper's fault for wanting us to come, or Houlihan's fault for inviting us, or even your father's fault for stiffing you and running off to New Zealand. It just happened. Okay? Sometimes things just happen. People get tired and stupid and things happen."
Stanley stewed over the aspersion cast on his father for a minute or two before he realized whom Gonzo had omitted from his list. And he realized, too, that the deep breaths Gonzo was taking were the next thing to sobbing. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally found the words. "What about the pass road, Gates?"
He was trying to sound neutral, but it came out peevish, and Gonzo twisted himself into a ball, as far away from Stanley as he could get in the narrow space. "All right, it's my fault. I screwed up!" he shouted, through what was beginning to really be sobbing now. "Is that what you wanted to hear, Stan? I made a stupid decision and got myself blinded for life and it's not your fault, okay?"
Stanley blinked nervously at the hedgehogged surgeon, trying to figure out which part of Gonzo's pain needed dealing with first. "You're not going to be blind for life, Gates," he said, with all the certainty he could put into his voice. "You're not even going to be blind for a week. The damage simply wasn't that significant."
"How would you know?" Gonzo turned so fast his forehead almost collided with Stanley's nose.
"Because it's my job! And I'm good at it!" Stanley couldn't help but be indignant. "I'd like to get you to an ophthalmologist, certainly, but it's the burns on your eyelids that are causing you pain right now. Your eyes will be fine. Now, explain to me about the pass road."
Gonzo sagged a little. "Why do you always do that, Stan? Why do you always pick at people when they've made a mistake? No wonder nobody likes you."
That hurt. Stanley wrapped his arms around himself and scooted back against the snow wall. "I'm a supervisor. I have to know what went wrong in order to prevent it from happening again. We have people's lives in our hands. They depend on us. And I can't do anything about a problem when I don't understand why it's a problem." He bit his lip and carefully dried the one tear that had escaped with his sleeve. Gates couldn't see it, but it still wasn't a good thing to have a wet face in this cold. "And right now I don't know why the pass road was a stupid decision. You didn't know that there was going to be a fog, or an avalanche."
Gonzo curled himself up against the opposite wall, and put his arms on his knees and his head in his arms. He was very still for a long time, and Stanley thought that maybe he had gone to sleep. But then he spoke.
"Are you sure? About my eyes?"
"Yes." Stanley said, because he was. "The sclera were clean, and there was no cloudiness on the retina in either eye. Some inflammation, yes, and the tear ducts will need to be checked, but the irritation of the eyeball itself was minor. Judging by the burns on the exterior eyelid, I would say that you were able to close your eyes against almost all of the liquid which hit you." It was easier to fall into medical terminology. The ground was surer there.
Gonzo was quiet again for a while. Then he lifted his head. "The pass road," he said, quietly, "is usually closed in winter. From the junction where I turned, the main roads would have taken us another fifty miles, while the pass road would take only ten. The gate was open. It didn't look like it had been plowed lately, but I saw tracks, and I figured the jeep could make it. But I only saw the tracks for the first half a mile or so. And then, when I hit the fog, I should have given up and backed down. But I was already on the switchbacks by then. And I was so sure I could just stay near the mountain, but I couldn't see it. That's why I woke you up. And now I'm not sure. It wasn't plowed. Maybe the gate wasn't supposed to be open. And even if we had gone by the main roads, we were coming the long way. Trap's going to have expected us to have come up by I-5. Even if he's got every cop in the state out by now, they're not looking in the right place."
"That's not so bad," Stanley got out, past the knot of panic in his throat. "It just means ... umm... it means... we've got to... umm... I don't know what it means! What do we have to do now?"
"It means you're going to have to walk out and get help." Gonzo said.
"Me? By myself?" Stanley's voice cracked. "You mean alone?"
"It's only about seven miles. And it's not like we're lost in the woods, all you have to do is stay on the road and you'll come to the ranger station."
"If it's that easy we can both do it."
"I can't see, Stan. I'd just be in the way."
"I don't know anything about mountains! Or deep snow! You're the one who knew about building a wall and making a bed. You're the one who knew about melting snow in the bottle. And there's only one bottle, Gates. You need liquids with those burns, and walking through snow is exercise and that means dehydration without water. And besides, what happens if a bear comes along or a wolf or something? If you can't see them, how are you going to get away? I think splitting up would be the worst possible thing we could do."
Gonzo began to laugh. He couldn't help himself. "The bears are hibernating, Stan. And I don't think there're any wolves. But you're right, we probably shouldn't split up."
The tension began to ease in Stanley's shoulders and he smiled, even though he knew it wouldn't be seen. "Of course I'm right. And I'm cold, too. Can we stop fighting and go back to sleep now?"
Gonzo nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we can." He eased himself back down onto the plastic, and held open his arms, "Come here, Stan. It's your turn to have a warm backside and a cold stomach."
Stanley dusted the snow off his coat before he positioned himself inside the curve of Gonzo's body, piling the clothing over both their legs before he settled. He was a little surprised when Gonzo put his arms around him, but he was too cold, and too tired, to stay self-conscious about it for long. He had almost drowsed off when Gonzo gave a funny little sigh and said, "Stan? What I said about nobody liking you. It's not true."
"I know," Stanley said, with sleepy certainty. "John likes me. Most of the time."
"Me too." Gonzo sounded like he was almost asleep himself. "Most of the time."
------
The poacher, with more stitches than a crazy quilt, was in an ambulance on the way down to Sacramento, with a patrol car full of State Troopers as escort, but fortunately, Houlihan's supervisor had appeared to take over the paperwork. The district ranger had thanked Trapper for all of his help, and then, with the judgment of a man who has seen exhaustion before, aimed him into the passenger seat and told Mike to take the day off. Trapper had propped his head against the shoulder belt in the hope of a few minutes of sleep as Mike drove back up to the ranger station, but the snow packed roads were too uncertain for drowsing, and he gave it up after yet another spectacular bump jarred him upright again. "Are we there yet, Mommy?"
"Five minutes," Mike said. "Then we sleep."
"Are all your weekends this much fun?" Trapper asked, scratching at his beard and trying to decide if he was too tired for a shower.
"Oh, yeah." Mike said, equably. "Poachers. Lost kids. Lost parents. Hippies. You know, the forest takes care of itself just fine. It's the people who need rangers."
Trapper shook his head. The stars were fading out rapidly, he noticed, and the sky was transforming itself into blueness. Trees that had been black shadows began to have limbs and needles, and a chickadee appeared briefly outside his window as they passed, it's feather fluffed out and it's eyes sleepy. They reached the ranger station sign and Mike signaled for the turnoff automatically as they went up the drive. He had parked in front of the shed before Trapper realized that there was no other car in the parking area.
"That's funny." He said. "Gonzo and Stan should be here by now."
Mike turned off the engine and blinked at the empty space where the jeep should be. "Hmm. Are you sure they knew the right place to come?"
"Gonzo said he knew the area. And this is the only station just south of Mendocino pass, right?"
"Right." Mike shrugged and got out of the car. "Maybe there's a message on the machine."
"You've got an answering machine?" Trapper asked, surprised. "Up here?"
"Sure -- even the folks in the boonies hear about nifty new toys eventually, y'know." The cabin smelt like slightly scorched chili, and Mike went off to deal with it while Trapper checked the machine. The blinking light reassured him, but when he hit the playback button it turned out to be the nurse from the clinic in Willow, telling him that he had left his glasses on the sink ledge. "Damn!"
"What is it? Are they hurt?" Mike came out from the kitchen at the exclamation, looking concerned.
"I don't know. They haven't called. And I left my blasted glasses in Willow." Trapper flung himself into a chair and bit his knuckles, trying to decide how much of the unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach was no sleep and no dinner, and how much was plain old worry. "Mike, can I use the phone?"
"Sure."
"It's long distance."
"Everything is long distance from here, John. Go ahead. The Forest Service can send you a bill."
Trapper had to reach the length of his arm to keep the phone dial in focus, which irritated him, but he knew the number he was dialing.
"San Francisco Memorial - Emergency."
"Ernie?"
"Is that you, John? How's the vacation? Don't tell me you're getting up this early to go fishing." Shoop sounded like she had actually had a chance to drink her coffee already.
"This time of year? Not likely. Ernie, listen. Did Stan and Gonzo start up here last night?"
"Sure. Snowshoes and all. They left right after shift." A note of concern crept into her voice. "Why? Aren't they there yet?"
"No. Did they take the jeep or the Titanic?"
"The jeep. Gonzo said you'd given him the keys."
"Here, let me give you this number. I want you to try beeping them. And then call me back and let me know what happens."
"I'll call back in fifteen minutes," Shoop promised, and he heard the click of the receiver.
He put the phone back on the cradle. "They started for here last night after shift. That's more than twelve hours ago, Mike."
"Any chance they changed their minds?" Mike said, putting a bowl of chili and a spoon into Trapper's hands. "Here, eat something. You need it."
"Without calling?" Trapper took the bowl gratefully. "I doubt it. Besides, once Gonzo got Stan into the car I think he'd head out of town as quickly as possible, just to get clear of the traffic."
Mike settled into the opposite chair with his own meal. "So something must have happened. Is the car in good shape, do you know?"
"It's my jeep. And I had a tune up just before Thanksgiving." Trapper answered.
"Do you have chains?" Mike asked, his voice taking on the timbre that Trapper recognized from thousands of diagnostic interviews with patients. He wasn't entirely happy to be on the receiving end of it.
"Yes. I don't think it's the car, Mike. I hope it is, but I honestly doubt it." He shook his head. "Do we have to do the third degree?"
Mike smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. "John, finding lost people is something I've done a lot of. And I've learned, over the years, that the trick to it isn't sending out a thousand men, or calling in the National Guard. It's narrowing the search. One way to do that is to explore the possibilities, to find out how the lost person thinks in a crisis, what kind of equipment they have, all the kinds of details that help us look in the right places."
"Unfortunately," Trapper said, "What I'm worried about it that the most likely possibility is that they got into an accident." He turned the spoon in the bowl, keeping his voice even. "The only reason I can think of that neither one of them would call, is because neither one of them can. The right place to look might turn out to be the morgue."
"It's natural enough to think that." Mike conceded. "But, realistically, it's not the only possibility. I've known people to turn up safe and sound under the most unlikely circumstances. We just have to keep on using our heads. That's all."
"I guess, so." Trapper said. "Maybe Ernie will call back and everything will have turned out to be all right."
"And if it isn't, I'll call the State Patrol on the radio and we'll get a run down on last night's accidents. I've got a friend in Headquarters who's good about that sort of thing." They finished eating and Mike wrote down a description of the jeep and the two men while they waited for the phone to ring. It was nearer twenty minutes than fifteen when the first jangle startled Trapper.
Mike answered it. "Mendocino South Ranger Station."
"Is Trapper there?" Ernie's voice was audible from across the table. Trapper reached for the receiver.
"Yes, Ernie?"
"No response to the beepers. Gloria thought you should know that Dr. Riverside is wearing the clothes he bought at Murphy's, and Gonzo is wearing black pants and his green duffel coat. They had a bag of sandwiches when they left the hospital, so it isn't very likely that they stopped for dinner. And Jackpot says to tell you that he bought the beer, so they didn't have to stop for that either."
"Thanks, Ernie," Trapper said, unhappily. "Can you do me a favor and check with the police in town? Mike has a friend on the state patrol we're going to check with from up here."
"I can do that, certainly." Ernie sounded equally unhappy. "John, you should know that Gonzo did seven surgeries yesterday, and Dr. Riverside was in late the night before last. They might have stopped to rest for a while."
"I hope so. Call me if you hear anything."
"And you do the same."
Trapper said goodbye absently and hung up. "That tears it. Even if Stan backed out at the last minute, he would have responded to his beeper if he were in town. We'll have to start looking."
"An hour. Two. And then we should probably take him down to a hospital that has enough staff to keep a watch on him." Trapper bit back a yawn under the surgical mask.
"Okay, I'll call District and tell them." Houlihan said. "What about you? Are you getting tired? I could call up to the cabin. Your friends should be there by now."
"Oh, man, I forgot all about them."
"I left a note when I went back for the stretcher. Said not to expect us till morning." Mike propped himself against the doorjamb. "If you could use the help, I'm sure they'd come."
"By now they will have eaten and gone to bed," Trapper said. "It's tempting, but I'm sure that we can handle this. And I know that they'll have been tired. Let 'em sleep."
"Wish I could do the same." Mike said unhappily. "Oh, well. The paperwork will keep me awake."
---
Stanley listened to Gonzo's steady breathing and wondered how the man could possibly have gone to sleep. Didn't he know that people froze to death under conditions like these? Certainly, Gonzo had done his best to be helpful in the building of the snow wall that they had built to cut off some of the wind from the little hollow where they were both curled up to wait out the night, but even exhaustion didn't seem to be enough to turn off the racing thoughts in Stanley's head. Gonzo had known about building the wall, and putting the plastic sheet underneath for protection from the snow. Gonzo had known about layering the remaining clothes from the bag, and melting the water in the soda bottle by body heat too. Stanley had insisted that Gonzo wear the remaining ski mask and gloves, to protect his burns from the weather, but it had been Gonzo who had suggested that Stanley cut off the sleeve of a turtleneck for makeshift gloves, and had gotten Stanley to pull the zipper all the way up the hood, to form a narrow tunnel of warmth in front of his face. And Gonzo had explained how they had to curl up together and use the bag and extra clothes as covers to conserve warmth. But once they had gotten settled he had gone blithely to sleep. Stanley wanted Gonzo to be awake, thinking about ways to get them off of this horrible mountain and to John, who would forgive them losing him the jeep in gratitude for their safety. It wasn't as if Stanley knew what to do about being lost in the wilderness. He swallowed back a lump of sudden anger. Gates would go and get himself hurt, just when Stanley needed him. And it wasn't as if Stanley had come out of that avalanche unscathed. His arm burned where the bag strap had scraped it's way off, and there was a lump on the back of his head that was too tender to touch, and his stomach hurt and his legs hurt...
Gonzo made a sleepy noise and shifted, then whimpered and pulled his arms up to his face. Stanley, remembering how much burns hurt, and how delicate they were, carefully eased the arms back down and made reassuring comments until Gonzo's breathing steadied again.
Maybe it was a good idea to sleep, after all. It would make morning come faster. And in the morning, John would come, and rescue them both. Stanley started trying to build a picture of John arriving on a snowmobile, with hot chocolate and marshmallows in a little thermos in the trunk. He nudged a little closer around Gonzo and closed his eyes. Hot chocolate, marshmallows, and whipped cream.
---
Stanley woke suddenly, to find himself still in the nightmare. He held on to Gonzo a little tighter as he waited for his own heart to stop racing, grateful to feel the expansion of Gonzo's ribs within his arms. At least that part of the dream had been false. But his legs were so cold he wasn't sure he could feel his feet, and the lump on his head throbbed with renewed pain when he tried to shift position. To add to his discomfort, the pressure on his bladder was growing in insistence by the minute. He brought his watch to the front of the parka hood tunnel and fumbled with the switch till he had it lit. A little past six a.m. And still dark. Although not as dark as it had been, he realized, recognizing the shape of his own arm. Carefully, he began to work his way into a sitting position, tucking the clothes that fell away from him against Gonzo's back and legs to keep him warm. He got to his knees then, and unzipped the hood enough to look around for a sheltered place to take care of his kidneys. It was beautiful.
The clouds were gone. The wind was still brisk, but he barely noticed it against his face as he looked out over an alien planet. Fold after fold of mountain fell away from him, down to the Central Valley, where a few pinpricks of light marked towns. And beyond that dark area he could see the gleaming ghosts of the Sierra Nevada, peak after peak shrouded in sparkling snow. And above the mountains, the sky was full of stars. It was starlight that let him see, and moonlight from the full moon setting somewhere back of the mountain behind him that had lit the snow on the distant peaks. Even as he watched the moonlight faded, but the stars merely shone the brighter, and the great sweep of the Milky Way shimmered over the shadowed hills. Shooting stars flashed across the display now and again. Stanley had never seen anything like it in his life. He might have knelt there, looking at the stars for longer, but Gonzo suddenly twitched and made an unhappy, querying noise.
"It's all right," Stanley said, quickly, putting a hand on Gonzo's shoulder. "I'm still here."
"Stan? What? Oh, yeah... I remember." Gonzo sat up and tugged fretfully at the ski mask. "My face hurts."
"Let me take a look at it," Stan dug the flashlight out of his pocket and then helped Gonzo with the mask. The bandages underneath were slightly askew, and the stink of stale beer wafted from Gonzo's hair, but there didn't seem to be any new damage. "Is the wool irritating the burns?"
"I can't tell. It itches, but mostly it just burns." Gonzo tugged off one mitten and brought up his hand to touch his face tentatively. "I wish we had something to use to irrigate it."
Stanley checked the soda bottle that he had put in another parka pocket. "The snow in the bottle has melted, we can use that. But we can't leave your face wet. The wind's gotten quite cold." Gonzo frowned. "No. That wouldn't help, I guess. I'll just have to put up with it."
"Maybe after the sun has come up we can try it." Stanley said. "How do you feel otherwise?"
"Stiff. My feet are cold. And I have to take a leak."
The logistics of biology took up the next few minutes, but eventually Stan got Gonzo back into the nest of clothes in the hollow, and positioned himself for sleep again. But sleep wouldn't come. Finally he said, "Gates?"
"Yeah, Stan." Gonzo couldn't sleep either.
"I can't feel my feet."
"Is the circulation cut off?" Gonzo asked. "How many pairs of socks do you have on?"
"Two. Thin ones and thick ones. That's right, isn't it?"
"Yes. How about the gaiters? Are the strings too tight?"
"I can get a finger under them."
"Then it's just the cold. Sorry, Stan. If we had a way to build a fire that might help, but until then you'll just have to wrap them in the bag and hope."
"Aren't your feet cold?"
"Everything's cold but my face," Gonzo admitted. "But I can still tell my toes are there. I just can't believe I... that we're stuck up here like this."
"Neither can I," Stanley said. "If only I hadn't stopped to rest. We could have gotten past those rocks before they ever fell."
"Cut it out, Stan," Gonzo said crankily. "This isn't your fault. You didn't decide to take the pass road. And it's not Trapper's fault for wanting us to come, or Houlihan's fault for inviting us, or even your father's fault for stiffing you and running off to New Zealand. It just happened. Okay? Sometimes things just happen. People get tired and stupid and things happen."
Stanley stewed over the aspersion cast on his father for a minute or two before he realized whom Gonzo had omitted from his list. And he realized, too, that the deep breaths Gonzo was taking were the next thing to sobbing. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally found the words. "What about the pass road, Gates?"
He was trying to sound neutral, but it came out peevish, and Gonzo twisted himself into a ball, as far away from Stanley as he could get in the narrow space. "All right, it's my fault. I screwed up!" he shouted, through what was beginning to really be sobbing now. "Is that what you wanted to hear, Stan? I made a stupid decision and got myself blinded for life and it's not your fault, okay?"
Stanley blinked nervously at the hedgehogged surgeon, trying to figure out which part of Gonzo's pain needed dealing with first. "You're not going to be blind for life, Gates," he said, with all the certainty he could put into his voice. "You're not even going to be blind for a week. The damage simply wasn't that significant."
"How would you know?" Gonzo turned so fast his forehead almost collided with Stanley's nose.
"Because it's my job! And I'm good at it!" Stanley couldn't help but be indignant. "I'd like to get you to an ophthalmologist, certainly, but it's the burns on your eyelids that are causing you pain right now. Your eyes will be fine. Now, explain to me about the pass road."
Gonzo sagged a little. "Why do you always do that, Stan? Why do you always pick at people when they've made a mistake? No wonder nobody likes you."
That hurt. Stanley wrapped his arms around himself and scooted back against the snow wall. "I'm a supervisor. I have to know what went wrong in order to prevent it from happening again. We have people's lives in our hands. They depend on us. And I can't do anything about a problem when I don't understand why it's a problem." He bit his lip and carefully dried the one tear that had escaped with his sleeve. Gates couldn't see it, but it still wasn't a good thing to have a wet face in this cold. "And right now I don't know why the pass road was a stupid decision. You didn't know that there was going to be a fog, or an avalanche."
Gonzo curled himself up against the opposite wall, and put his arms on his knees and his head in his arms. He was very still for a long time, and Stanley thought that maybe he had gone to sleep. But then he spoke.
"Are you sure? About my eyes?"
"Yes." Stanley said, because he was. "The sclera were clean, and there was no cloudiness on the retina in either eye. Some inflammation, yes, and the tear ducts will need to be checked, but the irritation of the eyeball itself was minor. Judging by the burns on the exterior eyelid, I would say that you were able to close your eyes against almost all of the liquid which hit you." It was easier to fall into medical terminology. The ground was surer there.
Gonzo was quiet again for a while. Then he lifted his head. "The pass road," he said, quietly, "is usually closed in winter. From the junction where I turned, the main roads would have taken us another fifty miles, while the pass road would take only ten. The gate was open. It didn't look like it had been plowed lately, but I saw tracks, and I figured the jeep could make it. But I only saw the tracks for the first half a mile or so. And then, when I hit the fog, I should have given up and backed down. But I was already on the switchbacks by then. And I was so sure I could just stay near the mountain, but I couldn't see it. That's why I woke you up. And now I'm not sure. It wasn't plowed. Maybe the gate wasn't supposed to be open. And even if we had gone by the main roads, we were coming the long way. Trap's going to have expected us to have come up by I-5. Even if he's got every cop in the state out by now, they're not looking in the right place."
"That's not so bad," Stanley got out, past the knot of panic in his throat. "It just means ... umm... it means... we've got to... umm... I don't know what it means! What do we have to do now?"
"It means you're going to have to walk out and get help." Gonzo said.
"Me? By myself?" Stanley's voice cracked. "You mean alone?"
"It's only about seven miles. And it's not like we're lost in the woods, all you have to do is stay on the road and you'll come to the ranger station."
"If it's that easy we can both do it."
"I can't see, Stan. I'd just be in the way."
"I don't know anything about mountains! Or deep snow! You're the one who knew about building a wall and making a bed. You're the one who knew about melting snow in the bottle. And there's only one bottle, Gates. You need liquids with those burns, and walking through snow is exercise and that means dehydration without water. And besides, what happens if a bear comes along or a wolf or something? If you can't see them, how are you going to get away? I think splitting up would be the worst possible thing we could do."
Gonzo began to laugh. He couldn't help himself. "The bears are hibernating, Stan. And I don't think there're any wolves. But you're right, we probably shouldn't split up."
The tension began to ease in Stanley's shoulders and he smiled, even though he knew it wouldn't be seen. "Of course I'm right. And I'm cold, too. Can we stop fighting and go back to sleep now?"
Gonzo nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we can." He eased himself back down onto the plastic, and held open his arms, "Come here, Stan. It's your turn to have a warm backside and a cold stomach."
Stanley dusted the snow off his coat before he positioned himself inside the curve of Gonzo's body, piling the clothing over both their legs before he settled. He was a little surprised when Gonzo put his arms around him, but he was too cold, and too tired, to stay self-conscious about it for long. He had almost drowsed off when Gonzo gave a funny little sigh and said, "Stan? What I said about nobody liking you. It's not true."
"I know," Stanley said, with sleepy certainty. "John likes me. Most of the time."
"Me too." Gonzo sounded like he was almost asleep himself. "Most of the time."
------
The poacher, with more stitches than a crazy quilt, was in an ambulance on the way down to Sacramento, with a patrol car full of State Troopers as escort, but fortunately, Houlihan's supervisor had appeared to take over the paperwork. The district ranger had thanked Trapper for all of his help, and then, with the judgment of a man who has seen exhaustion before, aimed him into the passenger seat and told Mike to take the day off. Trapper had propped his head against the shoulder belt in the hope of a few minutes of sleep as Mike drove back up to the ranger station, but the snow packed roads were too uncertain for drowsing, and he gave it up after yet another spectacular bump jarred him upright again. "Are we there yet, Mommy?"
"Five minutes," Mike said. "Then we sleep."
"Are all your weekends this much fun?" Trapper asked, scratching at his beard and trying to decide if he was too tired for a shower.
"Oh, yeah." Mike said, equably. "Poachers. Lost kids. Lost parents. Hippies. You know, the forest takes care of itself just fine. It's the people who need rangers."
Trapper shook his head. The stars were fading out rapidly, he noticed, and the sky was transforming itself into blueness. Trees that had been black shadows began to have limbs and needles, and a chickadee appeared briefly outside his window as they passed, it's feather fluffed out and it's eyes sleepy. They reached the ranger station sign and Mike signaled for the turnoff automatically as they went up the drive. He had parked in front of the shed before Trapper realized that there was no other car in the parking area.
"That's funny." He said. "Gonzo and Stan should be here by now."
Mike turned off the engine and blinked at the empty space where the jeep should be. "Hmm. Are you sure they knew the right place to come?"
"Gonzo said he knew the area. And this is the only station just south of Mendocino pass, right?"
"Right." Mike shrugged and got out of the car. "Maybe there's a message on the machine."
"You've got an answering machine?" Trapper asked, surprised. "Up here?"
"Sure -- even the folks in the boonies hear about nifty new toys eventually, y'know." The cabin smelt like slightly scorched chili, and Mike went off to deal with it while Trapper checked the machine. The blinking light reassured him, but when he hit the playback button it turned out to be the nurse from the clinic in Willow, telling him that he had left his glasses on the sink ledge. "Damn!"
"What is it? Are they hurt?" Mike came out from the kitchen at the exclamation, looking concerned.
"I don't know. They haven't called. And I left my blasted glasses in Willow." Trapper flung himself into a chair and bit his knuckles, trying to decide how much of the unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach was no sleep and no dinner, and how much was plain old worry. "Mike, can I use the phone?"
"Sure."
"It's long distance."
"Everything is long distance from here, John. Go ahead. The Forest Service can send you a bill."
Trapper had to reach the length of his arm to keep the phone dial in focus, which irritated him, but he knew the number he was dialing.
"San Francisco Memorial - Emergency."
"Ernie?"
"Is that you, John? How's the vacation? Don't tell me you're getting up this early to go fishing." Shoop sounded like she had actually had a chance to drink her coffee already.
"This time of year? Not likely. Ernie, listen. Did Stan and Gonzo start up here last night?"
"Sure. Snowshoes and all. They left right after shift." A note of concern crept into her voice. "Why? Aren't they there yet?"
"No. Did they take the jeep or the Titanic?"
"The jeep. Gonzo said you'd given him the keys."
"Here, let me give you this number. I want you to try beeping them. And then call me back and let me know what happens."
"I'll call back in fifteen minutes," Shoop promised, and he heard the click of the receiver.
He put the phone back on the cradle. "They started for here last night after shift. That's more than twelve hours ago, Mike."
"Any chance they changed their minds?" Mike said, putting a bowl of chili and a spoon into Trapper's hands. "Here, eat something. You need it."
"Without calling?" Trapper took the bowl gratefully. "I doubt it. Besides, once Gonzo got Stan into the car I think he'd head out of town as quickly as possible, just to get clear of the traffic."
Mike settled into the opposite chair with his own meal. "So something must have happened. Is the car in good shape, do you know?"
"It's my jeep. And I had a tune up just before Thanksgiving." Trapper answered.
"Do you have chains?" Mike asked, his voice taking on the timbre that Trapper recognized from thousands of diagnostic interviews with patients. He wasn't entirely happy to be on the receiving end of it.
"Yes. I don't think it's the car, Mike. I hope it is, but I honestly doubt it." He shook his head. "Do we have to do the third degree?"
Mike smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. "John, finding lost people is something I've done a lot of. And I've learned, over the years, that the trick to it isn't sending out a thousand men, or calling in the National Guard. It's narrowing the search. One way to do that is to explore the possibilities, to find out how the lost person thinks in a crisis, what kind of equipment they have, all the kinds of details that help us look in the right places."
"Unfortunately," Trapper said, "What I'm worried about it that the most likely possibility is that they got into an accident." He turned the spoon in the bowl, keeping his voice even. "The only reason I can think of that neither one of them would call, is because neither one of them can. The right place to look might turn out to be the morgue."
"It's natural enough to think that." Mike conceded. "But, realistically, it's not the only possibility. I've known people to turn up safe and sound under the most unlikely circumstances. We just have to keep on using our heads. That's all."
"I guess, so." Trapper said. "Maybe Ernie will call back and everything will have turned out to be all right."
"And if it isn't, I'll call the State Patrol on the radio and we'll get a run down on last night's accidents. I've got a friend in Headquarters who's good about that sort of thing." They finished eating and Mike wrote down a description of the jeep and the two men while they waited for the phone to ring. It was nearer twenty minutes than fifteen when the first jangle startled Trapper.
Mike answered it. "Mendocino South Ranger Station."
"Is Trapper there?" Ernie's voice was audible from across the table. Trapper reached for the receiver.
"Yes, Ernie?"
"No response to the beepers. Gloria thought you should know that Dr. Riverside is wearing the clothes he bought at Murphy's, and Gonzo is wearing black pants and his green duffel coat. They had a bag of sandwiches when they left the hospital, so it isn't very likely that they stopped for dinner. And Jackpot says to tell you that he bought the beer, so they didn't have to stop for that either."
"Thanks, Ernie," Trapper said, unhappily. "Can you do me a favor and check with the police in town? Mike has a friend on the state patrol we're going to check with from up here."
"I can do that, certainly." Ernie sounded equally unhappy. "John, you should know that Gonzo did seven surgeries yesterday, and Dr. Riverside was in late the night before last. They might have stopped to rest for a while."
"I hope so. Call me if you hear anything."
"And you do the same."
Trapper said goodbye absently and hung up. "That tears it. Even if Stan backed out at the last minute, he would have responded to his beeper if he were in town. We'll have to start looking."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-09 07:37 am (UTC)