Snow Day - part 5

[rabidsamfan]

Even after he knew that the light wasn't getting any brighter, Stanley kept his eyes closed and rested, waiting for Gonzo to stir, and hoping that the ache in his head would go away. He wasn't warm, but he had reached a sort of stasis, where the cold didn't seem to bother him as much, and he had slept, if lightly. If only the bump on his head would stop hurting, he would be able to face the day. He tried to imagine what it would be like, but it was too alien a prospect. When he was young, his father had never considered taking him along on winter outings, and by the time he was old enough to afford his own choices, he had chosen to spend his time on his studies, and his medical career. He still remembered the sixth grade career day where he had made up his mind. The principal had gotten up to make a speech, and had begun with "Every father wants his son to grow up to be a doctor." The man had meant it as a lead in to the realm of other possibilities, Stanley knew vaguely, but he had barely heard the rest of the lecture. At twelve, one of the few adults he had trusted to listen was Dr. Craymore, his pediatrician, who had never failed to ease the terror of an asthma attack, and whose crisp lab coat and confident authority had fascinated the boy. He had sent Stanley an otoscope when he graduated from med school.

"Urf." Gonzo made a noise and put a hand up to his face. "Ouch."

Stanley sat up and turned to see. "Does it hurt?"

"Not any more than it did last night," Gonzo grumbled, pulling himself up as well. "Is the sun up, yet?"

"Yes. And there's not a cloud in the sky." Stanley wasn't going to be diverted. "Here, let's get the mask off for a minute so I can take a look."
"Don't be an old woman, Stan," Gonzo fussed, but he submitted to the examination anyway. The damage was about as bad as Stanley had thought, although daylight showed some minor blistering that hadn't been visible by flashlight on Gonzo's chin and nose. Under the bandages, the blisters looked awful, fat with fluid and so large that one ran into another. Stanley didn't think it would be safe to try to lift the swollen lids to check on the eye damage, not until some of the blisters eased at any rate, and said so. Gonzo winced. "They feel pretty bad," he agreed. "I wish we had something to put on them."

"Sorry." Stanley found some fresh gauze pads in the first aid kit, and carefully re-bandaged the damaged area. "This kit is pretty primitive. But there is acetaminophen," he discovered. "That might help."

"I'll take it," Gonzo said gratefully.

Stanley got out the water bottle, and was a little dismayed to find that it had a skin of ice on top of the water. He shook it to break the ice and then put the pills into Gonzo's one hand and the bottle into the other. "Careful. The water's very cold. There's ice in it."

Gonzo knocked back the medicine and took a swallow. He shuddered at the water. "Thanks for the warning."

"I don't understand," Stanley said. "It was all melted last night."
"Maybe the temperature's gone down. Cloud cover warms things up in the wintertime. Can you see our breaths?"

"Yes," Stanley said, and then remembered. "Hang on, I've got a thermometer here somewhere." He went through pockets till he found the packet. "It's supposed to hang on the zipper tab, but I haven't attached it yet." It came out of the plastic easily and he turned it to read it. The indicator line was sinking as it adjusted from the warmth of his pocket. "Fifteen degrees," he read off, when it seemed to stop.
Gonzo bit his lip. "That's pretty cold, Stan. Have you got a scarf or a mask or something to breathe through?"

"I can find something," Stanley frowned. "That's to prevent lung damage, isn't it?"

"Right." Gonzo pulled the ski mask back on, adjusting it carefully by touch. "What happened to my mask?"

"It was full of oil and things," Stanley said. "I just left it on the ground."

"Maybe it's still there." Stanley looked over the top of the snow wall at the jumble of snow and rocks they had barely escaped and felt his stomach lurch. "No." It came out as a squeak; "I don't think so." There was no sign of the jeep at all. Snow had poured off the side of the mountain onto the saddle, and although the bulk of it seemed to have gone off to the north, the way they'd come up, enough had come south, near where they were sitting, to spill over onto this slope too. He looked down slope, and realized that he had come to a stop the night before barely four feet from a drop off. If he had walked the wrong direction in the fog, if the snow had carried him farther, or if he had pushed Gonzo past the shelter of the rock, they both would have ended up falling at least a hundred feet down the steep slope. The nearness of their escape hit him like a blow to his already unsteady stomach, and he had to hastily pull back the parka hood to keep it clean as he lost what little was left of his supper.

He felt Gonzo's hands on his shoulders, steadying him, and was grateful. With little in his stomach, the heaving didn't last long, and he accepted the bottle Gonzo handed him. "Sorry."

"Are you all right?" Gonzo sounded worried. Stanley realized that Gonzo was worried. He was dependent on Stanley's eyes to get them both off the mountain.
"I hate heights," he managed, weakly. "I couldn't see how far down was, last night."

"You're shivering," Gonzo said. "Take it easy on that cold water."

Stanley nodded his head, which was pounding from the effort, and then realized Gonzo couldn't see that. "I will." It wasn't easy to pull himself together, but the bandages under Gonzo's ski mask were an incentive he couldn't ignore. He made himself breathe more slowly, and put his hood back on as he watched Gonzo fumbling around, trying to find the clothes they had used for blankets and stuff them back into the bag. When he felt like he could move without trembling, and talk with a normal voice, he went to help. "Here, you can put this one in there too."

Gonzo accepted the handful of cloth. "How do you feel?"

"Embarrassed mostly," Stan said, deciding that Gonzo didn't need to hear about how the bump on his head was aching. If you had to lean on a prop, you wanted it to be sound; and Gonzo was pretty much stuck with leaning on Stan. "I'll be all right. Move back a little, I need to get the plastic." Gonzo moved clear and Stanley pulled up the plastic, brushing off the snow as he folded it to go into the bag. Everything they had was in the bag, now, and it still drooped sadly, the painted "Gates, George A., US Army" faded, but visible in the bright sunlight. He found the strap and hooked it. "All right. We're ready."

"Let me carry the bag," Gonzo said. "You'll have to break trail. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm not staying here," Stanley replied. He got to his feet and helped Gonzo stand and adjust the bag. Then he stood in front of the blind surgeon and waited till Gonzo got a good grip on the back of his parka. "What is it you're supposed to say when you start out? Wagons ho?"

Gonzo's voice had a grin in it. "No, you're supposed to say, 'mush'. Come on Nanook, let's go."

"Mush!" Stanley agreed, and they began.

---

"Nothing," Mike said, putting down the receiver and coming back over to the kitchen table where Trapper was leaning over a map of California. "You can check off the Arbuckle police, too. The police chief in Dunningham has been covering for Arbuckle this week while the chief in Arbuckle is out with kidney stones."

"No one saw them come through?"

"It's not likely, not on the interstate. If they'd stopped for a cup of coffee, maybe that would be remembered, but just driving through?" Mike shook his head.
"What about snowplow drivers?" Trapper asked, reaching for glasses that weren't there and then turning the gesture into scratching his nose. "They might remember something."

Mike shrugged. "It won't hurt to call the DPW, I guess."

The radio made a rude noise that startled both of them, and then settled into a scratchy voice. "Mendocino North to Mendocino South."

Mike went to answer it. "Mendocino South, what's up, Ray?"

"I hear you caught the Big Bad Wolf last night."

"That's a Roger," Mike said, with satisfaction. "He tried to tangle with that big mountain cat. Any luck on the Three Little Pigs?"

"Negative." The distant voice sounded resigned about the lack of success. "They were playing yesterday, while I was up at Saddle Camp fixing last week's damage. You'd better check your campsites."

"I'll do that. Thanks for the warning." Mike signed off and so did the distant voice. He came back to the table, shaking his head. "Just what I needed to hear."

"Three Little Pigs?" Trapper asked.

"Vandals. We've been having a problem with signs pulled down, locks cut, tables sawed in half, all that kind of crap. We're not really sure how many people are involved, but it's probably high school kids. We get a rash of vandalism every so often. It's usually a summer problem, but this year..." he shrugged. "More of your tax dollars going to waste."

"How long will it take you to check the camp grounds?" Trapper asked, realizing that Mike was hesitating.

Houlihan grimaced. "Couple of hours," he estimated. "At least, to look at the likely ones. These jokers use a four-wheel drive, and so far, they've stayed off the foot trails. But I'd be an idiot to go the rounds on ten minutes of sleep. Whatever's busted will just have to stay that way for a day or so."

"Can you do that?"

Houlihan shrugged. "Except for some winter campers down in Linger Longer, the forest is pretty quiet this weekend."

"Other than mountain lions, poachers and vandals."

"Yeah." Mike slumped into his chair. "Not to mention missing persons. And I promised you a nice relaxing weekend."

"Look," Trapper said. "Why don't you go catch forty winks. I'll mind the phone, and the radio, and if I need you I'll wake you up. There isn't much more we can do about Gonzo and Stanley except for calling the DPW."

Mike shook his head. "No, you should take first nap. You were working all night, and all I was doing was paperwork."

Trapper dug out a quarter. "Flip you for it?"

Mike bit back a yawn, but nodded. "Heads."

---

Comments

[lame-pegasus.livejournal.com]

My goodness, how frustrating. Sitting there, not knowing where to start searching... and then having to deal with stupid vandals. Bugger.

[rabidsamfan.livejournal.com]

Very frustrating indeed. False herrings a specialty!