Snow Day - part 3
Apr. 25th, 2009 01:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanThe coastal rain had long since given way to high country snow, but the fall wasn't too heavy, and the wind was gentle when Gonzo reached the pass road. He pulled up and let the motor idle while he reviewed his mental map. He had expected to have to cut over to I-5 on this road, and curve around to come to the pass road from the other side, but the gate here was open, and the road sign didn't have the "closed for winter" placard in place. Maybe they had decided to keep it open this year. It looked like someone had gone up it earlier, although the tracks were disappearing under snow. And if this road were open, it would take 40 miles off the trip. Gonzo had to admit he was already getting tired. He glanced over, but Stanley was still curled up like a hibernating hedgehog, and not available for consultation.
Fifty miles by the major roads, call it an hour and a half in these conditions. Ten miles by the pass road, even in these conditions, couldn't be worse than an hour, and he was probably looking at something closer to twenty minutes; as it was only the first five miles that were really steep. He put the jeep into low gear and turned onto the hard packed snow of the pass road. If it seemed bad, he'd stop and put on the chains.
Twenty minutes later he hadn't even reached the summit of the pass, and he was beginning to feel like a fool. The pass road, which rose rapidly in a series of switchbacks on this side, was dotted with fallen rocks, and icy under the camouflage of new snow. And to make things worse, he had driven into the cloud layer. He inched the jeep forward, trying to see. It wasn't working very well. "Stan. Stan, wake up."
"Hmmm." Stanley uncurled and looked out the window. A frown appeared between his eyes. "Where are we?"
"Mendocino Pass. About eight miles from the cabin. Stan, I can't see the edge of the road through this, and I can't find any place to turn around and go back down. Can you get out and walk point?"
Stan craned his neck as he looked out, trying to assess the conditions. "I suppose so. Just give me a moment." He leaned over the back and fumbled in his bag, coming up with the gaiters, gloves, and hat from Murphy's. Gonzo put the jeep into Park and rested his forehead against the wheel for a moment, swallowing his impatience. Stanley was only being sensible by taking precautions. Come to think of it, putting on some more winter gear might be appropriate for the jeep too. "Do you know how to put on chains?" He asked Stanley.
"Only in theory," Stanley said. "Shouldn't you put on better shoes before you get out of the car?" he asked, surprised, when Gonzo opened the door to get out.
Gonzo, moving fast, had already stepped into snow that had packed itself immediately into his sneakers. "Too late. I'll change them in a minute. Here, give me a hand with the chains." Stanley finished adjusting the gaiters and put on his gloves before he got out. He could see that Gonzo was worried and tired, but that didn't justify ignoring simple precautions. Hypothermia was nothing to fool around with. Still, they did have the heater in the jeep, so Stanley decided not to say anything. Gonzo did have a lot more experience with this sort of thing, and he probably knew more about what constituted a reasonable risk.
Putting on chains proved to be a fiddly process, and involved a lot more lying down on the snow and crawling under the car than Stanley had suspected from the instruction booklet back in the trunk of his own car. He did the left side while Gonzo did the right, and they both came up covered in snow from neck to knee. Stan was pleased to note that his parka brushed off more easily than Gates' duffel coat. "Get it off your pants, too, Stan. The dryer you stay, the warmer."
"Shouldn't you change your socks then?" Stan asked, following Gonzo back to the front of the car.
Gonzo got into the driver's seat and reached over to the glove box to pull out the flashlight. "I should," he said, "And I will before I switch into my boots. But I want to get a little farther along first. Just keep me away from the edge, okay, Stan? And when you get tired, let me know so we can switch off." He turned on the flashlight. "Up and down means straight ahead slow. Side to side means stop. Circles which are going left at the top mean go left and going right at the top means go right. The bigger the circle the wider the turn. All right?"
"Up and down come, side to side stop, circle left or circle right, the bigger the wider. Right." Stanley adjusted his hat and gloves and then took a careful hold of the flashlight. "And if you need me to come back to the jeep, blink the headlights."
"Got it."
That agreed, Stanley went into the snow, careful to keep himself within the range of the jeep's lights, and careful too, to watch for the edge of the road. He estimated visibility at fewer than five yards, and the lights didn't cut much farther than that. The snow underfoot was deep and slippery, and even walking carefully he felt as if he might slip at any moment. The road was too narrow to turn around, he realized, beginning to appreciate Gonzo's difficulties as they reached the first hairpin turn. Stanley got cautious, checking for rocks and drop-offs before summoning the jeep a few feet forward at a time. After a long time, he realized that the ground under his feet was no longer climbing. He waved Gonzo to a halt and went back to the jeep.
"What is it?" Gonzo asked, red-eyed from staring through the fog for the dim circle of the flashlight.
"I think we've reached the top of the pass. Do you want me to do anything different on the downhill side?"
Gonzo shook his head. "I don't think so. Aren't you getting cold?"
"A little. It's strange. I thought we would be on the very top, but there's still a mountainside over to our right."
"The pass road cuts over a saddle between two high mountains. It's real pretty in the summertime. Look, why don't you climb in for a little bit and warm up before we start down?"
Stanley looked at Gonzo and decided that the man needed a break from driving just as much as Stanley needed a chance to rest from pushing through the snow. "All right. Do we have enough gas to let the motor run?"
"Gas..." Gonzo checked the dial and sucked in through his teeth. "About an eighth of a tank. Maybe I should cut it off for a while. The engine's been working a lot harder than usual between all this snow and trying to keep it in gear with the brake on so I won't slide back. Climb in anyway. With two of us in here it won't cool off too fast."
Stanley nodded and brushed himself off before getting into the passenger seat. For a minute or two they both sat quietly, listening to the motor pinging as the metal began to cool. It was wonderful to just sit still, even in the fug of wet wool from Gonzo's socks, and Stanley put his head back and tried not to think about the twinges of his thigh muscles. In looking or distractions, he put his hand in his coat pocket and found the Hershey stash. Stanley was just about to offer Gonzo a chocolate bar when an ominous thudding noise on the mountainside brought both heads up. Gonzo reached for the ignition, but it was too late. A fall of rocks bounced into the jeep. Most of them were small, but one smashed the window just behind Stanley, and the biggest of all landed on the hood and deformed it utterly.
"Aaaahhh!" They had both cried out without realizing it, but when the clatter of smaller rocks stopped they uncurled their arms from around their ears tentatively.
"You all right?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yeah. Maybe we should get out of here."
"Maybe?" Stanley's voice cracked with strain. He grabbed the flashlight and started getting ready to get out again, darting nervous glances up the cloud-shrouded mountain.
Gonzo turned the key, but the motor just made an ugly sound and died. "If we can get out of here." He started to open his door, and was surprised when Stanley caught his arm.
"Boots, Gates. With no heater, we can't afford wet feet."
"Stanley!" Gonzo said exasperatedly. "We can't afford to get buried under an avalanche, either." But he knew Stan was right and reached back for his duffel.
Stanley, indignant about being yelled at, but placated by Gonzo's actions, pulled on his gloves. "I'll start clearing off the hood." He clambered out and started. Most of the rocks were easy to move, but the biggest one was too heavy, and had to wait until Gonzo, booted, gloved, and ski mask hiding everything but his eyes, came to help. Between them, they got it off. The hood sprung into the air, a weird shape that would block the driver's vision, but they were more interested in the damage to the engine for the moment.
Stanley held the flashlight while Gonzo investigated. "I don't think it's too bad. There's a dent in the radiator and the air filter's shot, but everything else looks like it's pretty close to where it should be. With luck, the engine should run. Stan, why don't you start it up, and I'll see if I can figure out what made that noise."
"Right." Stan handed over the flashlight and went around to the driver's seat. He couldn't see anything through the windshield, so he rolled down the window. "Are you ready?"
"Ready!" came back the muffled reply.
Stan turned the key and the engine responded with a grinding noise that settled briefly into a happier growl before suddenly shrieking with mechanical death agonies and a noise that he would have called a clank if it hadn't been so very loud. The entire jeep jerked with the strength of it, and as the engine died, Stanley could hear the sloughing of snow and rocks on the slopes nearby over the fwoosh of steam escaping the broken radiator.
"Gates!" Even as Stanley was flinging open the car door he could hear Gates beginning to make the animal whimpering noises of a man in pain. The headlights were gone, but he saw the flashlight on the ground and picked it up. Every so often a small rock would clatter past from the mountain, and he tried not to think about what would happen if a larger one came down. He found Gonzo five feet back from the bumper, his clothes steaming, and his hands beginning to scrabble at his face. Stanley grabbed his arms and held them down. "Gates, hold still. Let me take a look at it." It was awkward, trying to use the flashlight and keep Gonzo from making things worse. He ended up half-sitting on the man, pinning his arms down. The ski mask, like the rest of Gonzo from the waist up on the front, was soaked with what seemed to be a mixture of radiator water, antifreeze, and oil, and, by the smell, windshield-washing fluid. Stanley carefully worked it off, tucking the flashlight under one armpit so that he would have both hands free. Under the mask, Gonzo's face looked like it had been sunburned, but the unprotected area around his eyes was already beginning to blister, and God only knew how many different chemicals had gotten under the lids.
"It hurts." Gonzo was beginning to be more coherent, and Stanley hoped that he would listen. "Gonzo -- I have to get something from the car. Can you stay here and not touch your face? Do you promise? Don't touch your face."
"It hurts. Stan, my eyes..." Gonzo was breathing like he'd been in a race, and his pulse rattled in his throat under Stanley's touch.
"Don't touch them, Here." He put Gonzo's hands into the pockets of the duffel coat. "Stay like that. I'll be right back. Don't touch your face."
"Don't touch." Gonzo managed, although he had screwed up his face against the pain. "Hurry."
Stan hurried back to the jeep. The can on the back held gasoline. No good. He plowed through the gear in the back and came up with a half-
bottle of spring water. Not enough. And snow would irritate the burns. Then he had an idea.
Gonzo held onto the cloth of his pockets with desperate strength, trying to keep himself from scraping off the pain of his eyes. He had a fragmentary memory of bending over the engine, but he wasn't really sure what had happened. He knew it hurt. And the doctor part of him knew that he shouldn't rub at his eyes, but if Stanley didn't come back soon...
"This is going to sting a bit," Stanley's voice was so close Gonzo jumped. He hadn't heard him come back. He heard the pop and hiss of a beer can, though, and almost opened his eyes to look.
"Beer?"
"There isn't enough water to flush out your eyes. I've got about half a liter to finish up with, but for the moment this will have to do." Stanley hadn't waited to explain, he had just seated himself next to Gonzo, with one leg across his torso to keep the injured man from moving, and started to pour out the can over the contaminated eyes. Sting it did, and Gonzo was surprised when Stanley's hand firmly covered the mouth he had opened to yell. It wasn't until Stanley had to use both hands to open up a second can that Gonzo could speak.
"That hurts, Stan!"
"I know. But every loud noise brings down more rocks."
"Give me something to bite on, then." Sting or not, the beer seemed to be helping the fire go out. Gonzo felt something woolen placed next to his lips and bit into it as Stanley began pouring out the next beer. Adrenaline was making him feel a little better -- more able to put up with the pain -- and he heard clearly when rocks came down. One slough of snow even pushed at his feet, and he pushed out the mitten with his tongue. "Stan, we're going to have to get out of here."
"I know. But this can't wait, Gates. Not if you want to be able to see anything for the rest of your life." Stan pried open one of the eyelids, poured more beer. "We're almost done."
They weren't of course. It took another ten minutes, and the rest of the beer before Stanley was satisfied that Gonzo's eyes were clear of the chemicals, and then he rinsed with the water and bandaged Gonzo's face with the bandages from his little pocket first aid kit. He helped Gonzo sit up then, and checked for any other damage. There was surprisingly little, other than a bruised feeling from falling. His mittens had saved his hands, and the ski mask had saved most of his face. Gonzo had a feeling he'd gotten off lucky.
Stan got Gonzo onto his feet and led him back to the jeep, seating him on the passenger side where the wheel didn't complicate things. Then Stan went around and sat on the driver's seat and tried not to panic. He had been okay while he was taking care of Gonzo. Emergency medicine was his specialty after all, and while he still wanted Gonzo to see an opthomalogist as soon as possible, he was pretty sure that he had been able to save his friend's vision. His good looks, too, no doubt. But when it came to avalanches, Stanley knew that he was in terra incognito. He just couldn't assess the risks of staying here or trying to walk out, and he was scared. He remembered how hard it had been, walking ahead of the jeep on the way up the road, and he didn't think it was going to be any easier for two of them. But he just didn't know. He hoped Gates had a clear head.
"How far are we from the cabin?"
"A little over seven miles." Gonzo answered. "Is it my imagination, or is the wind picking up?"
"It's picking up. The fog is getting thinner, too." Stanley realized that Gonzo's hair was dripping beer, and he dug around in the back for a towel. "Here, dry off a little."
"Thanks." Gonzo accepted the towel. "We've got problems, Stan." Gonzo probably thought that he was speaking normally, but Stanley could tell his voice was half an octave too high. "Usually, the best advice is to stay with the car, but I've got the feeling that we're right under the slide path, and if the wind picks up, sooner or later that's probably going to go. And I don't think there's any chance of the engine working."
"There's a metal thing hanging out of the fender on one side." Stanley said. "And all of the oil and stuff has leaked out."
"Gas too?"
"Gas too. Which means it probably wouldn't be safe to stay in here even if we weren't about to be buried under a million tons of snow and rocks."
"Not to mention that with broken windows, the jeep isn't a very good shelter. All of which means we'll have to walk out."
"Can you use the snowshoes?" Gonzo frowned. "I'm not sure. I've only seen them used, rather than actually used them. It's not the same thing. And we only have one pair."
"Yes, but I think they would still be less tiring than wading through the snow." Stanley said, beginning to stuff as many things as he could find that he thought might be useful into his bag and Gonzo's duffel. "Do you think you can carry a bag?"
"Sure. I'm a little shaky, but it's not bad."
"I can't tell what to take and what to leave. What about a piece of plastic?"
"How big?"
"About half the size of a blanket."
"Take it."
"The lug wrench?"
"Leave it."
"A soda bottle?"
"Does it have a screw-on top?"
"Yes."
"Take it. We can fill it with snow and then carry it under our coats to melt the snow into water." Gonzo resisted the urge to press against his bandaged eyes. "Do we have any aspirin with us?"
"No. Not unless there's some in the glove box." Stanley started to look, and then paused, listening. He reached across Gonzo and opened the door suddenly, stuffing a bag into Gonzo's arms. "We have to go."
Gonzo had to work desperately to keep on his feet as Stanley pulled the other bag from the Jeep and grabbed him by one arm. They were walking, then running, and then falling and scrabbling back onto their feet, and behind him he could hear the building thunder as half the mountainside shifted it's position. Stanley was behind him then, guiding him as rocks and snow twisted away from under his feet and banged into his legs. They were knocked down again, and Gonzo found himself in the lee of a big rock, where he curled tight around the bag in his arms and wished desperately that he could see. "Stanley!" he shouted over the roar. But there was no answer.
The wave of sound passed, and he could hear again. "Stan?" he called more softly this time, not wanting to precipitate another fall. "Stan, where are you?" He started to try to feel his way out of the little hollow that had formed in the lee of the rock. "Stan!" He was beginning to be frightened now. "Stanley!"
"I'm down here." Stanley didn't sound very happy, but Gonzo felt a wave of relief. "Are you all right, Gates?"
"A little more banged up. How about you?"
"I lost hold of the bag." Stanley's voice had an all-too-familiar note of self-reproach. "And the snowshoes."
Gonzo sighed, relief mixing with exasperation. Stanley fussing was better than Stanley hurt, although neither prospect was much fun to think about with his face throbbing the way it was. Gonzo needed Stanley, or he'd never get off this mountain, and the petulant voice wasn't very reassuring.
"...down my neck! I thought the whole idea of a parka was to not get snow down your neck! And I've got snow in my pants, right up both legs..."
Gonzo tried to make his voice both commanding and reassuring. "Pull up your socks, Stan."
"They've got snow in them, too."
"Stan!" Gonzo didn't have the patience. "I can't come down there and get you. I can't even tell where you are." There was an abrupt silence. Gonzo could almost see Stanley swallowing his panic at the reminder that Gonzo was injured and he resolved to take advantage of the situation at every opportunity. The silence went on though, and finally he said, "Stan?"
"I'm coming." It wasn't a happy statement, but at least it was followed by the sound of someone scrambling awkwardly along the snowy slope. "Just give me a minute. I want to see if I can't find the bag."
"We can look for it in the morning," Gonzo said. "Just get up here. I've got the bag I was carrying, and you should get into something dry."
"You mean we're going to have to spend the night here?"
"Maybe. I don't know. But if the slide has already gone down then there isn't anything above us to fall, so this should be as safe a place as any. And my face hurts, and I feel kind of shaky." Gonzo admitted, feeling around for the bag he had been carrying. "Besides, Trapper should be beginning to wonder what's keeping us by now."
Fifty miles by the major roads, call it an hour and a half in these conditions. Ten miles by the pass road, even in these conditions, couldn't be worse than an hour, and he was probably looking at something closer to twenty minutes; as it was only the first five miles that were really steep. He put the jeep into low gear and turned onto the hard packed snow of the pass road. If it seemed bad, he'd stop and put on the chains.
Twenty minutes later he hadn't even reached the summit of the pass, and he was beginning to feel like a fool. The pass road, which rose rapidly in a series of switchbacks on this side, was dotted with fallen rocks, and icy under the camouflage of new snow. And to make things worse, he had driven into the cloud layer. He inched the jeep forward, trying to see. It wasn't working very well. "Stan. Stan, wake up."
"Hmmm." Stanley uncurled and looked out the window. A frown appeared between his eyes. "Where are we?"
"Mendocino Pass. About eight miles from the cabin. Stan, I can't see the edge of the road through this, and I can't find any place to turn around and go back down. Can you get out and walk point?"
Stan craned his neck as he looked out, trying to assess the conditions. "I suppose so. Just give me a moment." He leaned over the back and fumbled in his bag, coming up with the gaiters, gloves, and hat from Murphy's. Gonzo put the jeep into Park and rested his forehead against the wheel for a moment, swallowing his impatience. Stanley was only being sensible by taking precautions. Come to think of it, putting on some more winter gear might be appropriate for the jeep too. "Do you know how to put on chains?" He asked Stanley.
"Only in theory," Stanley said. "Shouldn't you put on better shoes before you get out of the car?" he asked, surprised, when Gonzo opened the door to get out.
Gonzo, moving fast, had already stepped into snow that had packed itself immediately into his sneakers. "Too late. I'll change them in a minute. Here, give me a hand with the chains." Stanley finished adjusting the gaiters and put on his gloves before he got out. He could see that Gonzo was worried and tired, but that didn't justify ignoring simple precautions. Hypothermia was nothing to fool around with. Still, they did have the heater in the jeep, so Stanley decided not to say anything. Gonzo did have a lot more experience with this sort of thing, and he probably knew more about what constituted a reasonable risk.
Putting on chains proved to be a fiddly process, and involved a lot more lying down on the snow and crawling under the car than Stanley had suspected from the instruction booklet back in the trunk of his own car. He did the left side while Gonzo did the right, and they both came up covered in snow from neck to knee. Stan was pleased to note that his parka brushed off more easily than Gates' duffel coat. "Get it off your pants, too, Stan. The dryer you stay, the warmer."
"Shouldn't you change your socks then?" Stan asked, following Gonzo back to the front of the car.
Gonzo got into the driver's seat and reached over to the glove box to pull out the flashlight. "I should," he said, "And I will before I switch into my boots. But I want to get a little farther along first. Just keep me away from the edge, okay, Stan? And when you get tired, let me know so we can switch off." He turned on the flashlight. "Up and down means straight ahead slow. Side to side means stop. Circles which are going left at the top mean go left and going right at the top means go right. The bigger the circle the wider the turn. All right?"
"Up and down come, side to side stop, circle left or circle right, the bigger the wider. Right." Stanley adjusted his hat and gloves and then took a careful hold of the flashlight. "And if you need me to come back to the jeep, blink the headlights."
"Got it."
That agreed, Stanley went into the snow, careful to keep himself within the range of the jeep's lights, and careful too, to watch for the edge of the road. He estimated visibility at fewer than five yards, and the lights didn't cut much farther than that. The snow underfoot was deep and slippery, and even walking carefully he felt as if he might slip at any moment. The road was too narrow to turn around, he realized, beginning to appreciate Gonzo's difficulties as they reached the first hairpin turn. Stanley got cautious, checking for rocks and drop-offs before summoning the jeep a few feet forward at a time. After a long time, he realized that the ground under his feet was no longer climbing. He waved Gonzo to a halt and went back to the jeep.
"What is it?" Gonzo asked, red-eyed from staring through the fog for the dim circle of the flashlight.
"I think we've reached the top of the pass. Do you want me to do anything different on the downhill side?"
Gonzo shook his head. "I don't think so. Aren't you getting cold?"
"A little. It's strange. I thought we would be on the very top, but there's still a mountainside over to our right."
"The pass road cuts over a saddle between two high mountains. It's real pretty in the summertime. Look, why don't you climb in for a little bit and warm up before we start down?"
Stanley looked at Gonzo and decided that the man needed a break from driving just as much as Stanley needed a chance to rest from pushing through the snow. "All right. Do we have enough gas to let the motor run?"
"Gas..." Gonzo checked the dial and sucked in through his teeth. "About an eighth of a tank. Maybe I should cut it off for a while. The engine's been working a lot harder than usual between all this snow and trying to keep it in gear with the brake on so I won't slide back. Climb in anyway. With two of us in here it won't cool off too fast."
Stanley nodded and brushed himself off before getting into the passenger seat. For a minute or two they both sat quietly, listening to the motor pinging as the metal began to cool. It was wonderful to just sit still, even in the fug of wet wool from Gonzo's socks, and Stanley put his head back and tried not to think about the twinges of his thigh muscles. In looking or distractions, he put his hand in his coat pocket and found the Hershey stash. Stanley was just about to offer Gonzo a chocolate bar when an ominous thudding noise on the mountainside brought both heads up. Gonzo reached for the ignition, but it was too late. A fall of rocks bounced into the jeep. Most of them were small, but one smashed the window just behind Stanley, and the biggest of all landed on the hood and deformed it utterly.
"Aaaahhh!" They had both cried out without realizing it, but when the clatter of smaller rocks stopped they uncurled their arms from around their ears tentatively.
"You all right?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yeah. Maybe we should get out of here."
"Maybe?" Stanley's voice cracked with strain. He grabbed the flashlight and started getting ready to get out again, darting nervous glances up the cloud-shrouded mountain.
Gonzo turned the key, but the motor just made an ugly sound and died. "If we can get out of here." He started to open his door, and was surprised when Stanley caught his arm.
"Boots, Gates. With no heater, we can't afford wet feet."
"Stanley!" Gonzo said exasperatedly. "We can't afford to get buried under an avalanche, either." But he knew Stan was right and reached back for his duffel.
Stanley, indignant about being yelled at, but placated by Gonzo's actions, pulled on his gloves. "I'll start clearing off the hood." He clambered out and started. Most of the rocks were easy to move, but the biggest one was too heavy, and had to wait until Gonzo, booted, gloved, and ski mask hiding everything but his eyes, came to help. Between them, they got it off. The hood sprung into the air, a weird shape that would block the driver's vision, but they were more interested in the damage to the engine for the moment.
Stanley held the flashlight while Gonzo investigated. "I don't think it's too bad. There's a dent in the radiator and the air filter's shot, but everything else looks like it's pretty close to where it should be. With luck, the engine should run. Stan, why don't you start it up, and I'll see if I can figure out what made that noise."
"Right." Stan handed over the flashlight and went around to the driver's seat. He couldn't see anything through the windshield, so he rolled down the window. "Are you ready?"
"Ready!" came back the muffled reply.
Stan turned the key and the engine responded with a grinding noise that settled briefly into a happier growl before suddenly shrieking with mechanical death agonies and a noise that he would have called a clank if it hadn't been so very loud. The entire jeep jerked with the strength of it, and as the engine died, Stanley could hear the sloughing of snow and rocks on the slopes nearby over the fwoosh of steam escaping the broken radiator.
"Gates!" Even as Stanley was flinging open the car door he could hear Gates beginning to make the animal whimpering noises of a man in pain. The headlights were gone, but he saw the flashlight on the ground and picked it up. Every so often a small rock would clatter past from the mountain, and he tried not to think about what would happen if a larger one came down. He found Gonzo five feet back from the bumper, his clothes steaming, and his hands beginning to scrabble at his face. Stanley grabbed his arms and held them down. "Gates, hold still. Let me take a look at it." It was awkward, trying to use the flashlight and keep Gonzo from making things worse. He ended up half-sitting on the man, pinning his arms down. The ski mask, like the rest of Gonzo from the waist up on the front, was soaked with what seemed to be a mixture of radiator water, antifreeze, and oil, and, by the smell, windshield-washing fluid. Stanley carefully worked it off, tucking the flashlight under one armpit so that he would have both hands free. Under the mask, Gonzo's face looked like it had been sunburned, but the unprotected area around his eyes was already beginning to blister, and God only knew how many different chemicals had gotten under the lids.
"It hurts." Gonzo was beginning to be more coherent, and Stanley hoped that he would listen. "Gonzo -- I have to get something from the car. Can you stay here and not touch your face? Do you promise? Don't touch your face."
"It hurts. Stan, my eyes..." Gonzo was breathing like he'd been in a race, and his pulse rattled in his throat under Stanley's touch.
"Don't touch them, Here." He put Gonzo's hands into the pockets of the duffel coat. "Stay like that. I'll be right back. Don't touch your face."
"Don't touch." Gonzo managed, although he had screwed up his face against the pain. "Hurry."
Stan hurried back to the jeep. The can on the back held gasoline. No good. He plowed through the gear in the back and came up with a half-
bottle of spring water. Not enough. And snow would irritate the burns. Then he had an idea.
Gonzo held onto the cloth of his pockets with desperate strength, trying to keep himself from scraping off the pain of his eyes. He had a fragmentary memory of bending over the engine, but he wasn't really sure what had happened. He knew it hurt. And the doctor part of him knew that he shouldn't rub at his eyes, but if Stanley didn't come back soon...
"This is going to sting a bit," Stanley's voice was so close Gonzo jumped. He hadn't heard him come back. He heard the pop and hiss of a beer can, though, and almost opened his eyes to look.
"Beer?"
"There isn't enough water to flush out your eyes. I've got about half a liter to finish up with, but for the moment this will have to do." Stanley hadn't waited to explain, he had just seated himself next to Gonzo, with one leg across his torso to keep the injured man from moving, and started to pour out the can over the contaminated eyes. Sting it did, and Gonzo was surprised when Stanley's hand firmly covered the mouth he had opened to yell. It wasn't until Stanley had to use both hands to open up a second can that Gonzo could speak.
"That hurts, Stan!"
"I know. But every loud noise brings down more rocks."
"Give me something to bite on, then." Sting or not, the beer seemed to be helping the fire go out. Gonzo felt something woolen placed next to his lips and bit into it as Stanley began pouring out the next beer. Adrenaline was making him feel a little better -- more able to put up with the pain -- and he heard clearly when rocks came down. One slough of snow even pushed at his feet, and he pushed out the mitten with his tongue. "Stan, we're going to have to get out of here."
"I know. But this can't wait, Gates. Not if you want to be able to see anything for the rest of your life." Stan pried open one of the eyelids, poured more beer. "We're almost done."
They weren't of course. It took another ten minutes, and the rest of the beer before Stanley was satisfied that Gonzo's eyes were clear of the chemicals, and then he rinsed with the water and bandaged Gonzo's face with the bandages from his little pocket first aid kit. He helped Gonzo sit up then, and checked for any other damage. There was surprisingly little, other than a bruised feeling from falling. His mittens had saved his hands, and the ski mask had saved most of his face. Gonzo had a feeling he'd gotten off lucky.
Stan got Gonzo onto his feet and led him back to the jeep, seating him on the passenger side where the wheel didn't complicate things. Then Stan went around and sat on the driver's seat and tried not to panic. He had been okay while he was taking care of Gonzo. Emergency medicine was his specialty after all, and while he still wanted Gonzo to see an opthomalogist as soon as possible, he was pretty sure that he had been able to save his friend's vision. His good looks, too, no doubt. But when it came to avalanches, Stanley knew that he was in terra incognito. He just couldn't assess the risks of staying here or trying to walk out, and he was scared. He remembered how hard it had been, walking ahead of the jeep on the way up the road, and he didn't think it was going to be any easier for two of them. But he just didn't know. He hoped Gates had a clear head.
"How far are we from the cabin?"
"A little over seven miles." Gonzo answered. "Is it my imagination, or is the wind picking up?"
"It's picking up. The fog is getting thinner, too." Stanley realized that Gonzo's hair was dripping beer, and he dug around in the back for a towel. "Here, dry off a little."
"Thanks." Gonzo accepted the towel. "We've got problems, Stan." Gonzo probably thought that he was speaking normally, but Stanley could tell his voice was half an octave too high. "Usually, the best advice is to stay with the car, but I've got the feeling that we're right under the slide path, and if the wind picks up, sooner or later that's probably going to go. And I don't think there's any chance of the engine working."
"There's a metal thing hanging out of the fender on one side." Stanley said. "And all of the oil and stuff has leaked out."
"Gas too?"
"Gas too. Which means it probably wouldn't be safe to stay in here even if we weren't about to be buried under a million tons of snow and rocks."
"Not to mention that with broken windows, the jeep isn't a very good shelter. All of which means we'll have to walk out."
"Can you use the snowshoes?" Gonzo frowned. "I'm not sure. I've only seen them used, rather than actually used them. It's not the same thing. And we only have one pair."
"Yes, but I think they would still be less tiring than wading through the snow." Stanley said, beginning to stuff as many things as he could find that he thought might be useful into his bag and Gonzo's duffel. "Do you think you can carry a bag?"
"Sure. I'm a little shaky, but it's not bad."
"I can't tell what to take and what to leave. What about a piece of plastic?"
"How big?"
"About half the size of a blanket."
"Take it."
"The lug wrench?"
"Leave it."
"A soda bottle?"
"Does it have a screw-on top?"
"Yes."
"Take it. We can fill it with snow and then carry it under our coats to melt the snow into water." Gonzo resisted the urge to press against his bandaged eyes. "Do we have any aspirin with us?"
"No. Not unless there's some in the glove box." Stanley started to look, and then paused, listening. He reached across Gonzo and opened the door suddenly, stuffing a bag into Gonzo's arms. "We have to go."
Gonzo had to work desperately to keep on his feet as Stanley pulled the other bag from the Jeep and grabbed him by one arm. They were walking, then running, and then falling and scrabbling back onto their feet, and behind him he could hear the building thunder as half the mountainside shifted it's position. Stanley was behind him then, guiding him as rocks and snow twisted away from under his feet and banged into his legs. They were knocked down again, and Gonzo found himself in the lee of a big rock, where he curled tight around the bag in his arms and wished desperately that he could see. "Stanley!" he shouted over the roar. But there was no answer.
The wave of sound passed, and he could hear again. "Stan?" he called more softly this time, not wanting to precipitate another fall. "Stan, where are you?" He started to try to feel his way out of the little hollow that had formed in the lee of the rock. "Stan!" He was beginning to be frightened now. "Stanley!"
"I'm down here." Stanley didn't sound very happy, but Gonzo felt a wave of relief. "Are you all right, Gates?"
"A little more banged up. How about you?"
"I lost hold of the bag." Stanley's voice had an all-too-familiar note of self-reproach. "And the snowshoes."
Gonzo sighed, relief mixing with exasperation. Stanley fussing was better than Stanley hurt, although neither prospect was much fun to think about with his face throbbing the way it was. Gonzo needed Stanley, or he'd never get off this mountain, and the petulant voice wasn't very reassuring.
"...down my neck! I thought the whole idea of a parka was to not get snow down your neck! And I've got snow in my pants, right up both legs..."
Gonzo tried to make his voice both commanding and reassuring. "Pull up your socks, Stan."
"They've got snow in them, too."
"Stan!" Gonzo didn't have the patience. "I can't come down there and get you. I can't even tell where you are." There was an abrupt silence. Gonzo could almost see Stanley swallowing his panic at the reminder that Gonzo was injured and he resolved to take advantage of the situation at every opportunity. The silence went on though, and finally he said, "Stan?"
"I'm coming." It wasn't a happy statement, but at least it was followed by the sound of someone scrambling awkwardly along the snowy slope. "Just give me a minute. I want to see if I can't find the bag."
"We can look for it in the morning," Gonzo said. "Just get up here. I've got the bag I was carrying, and you should get into something dry."
"You mean we're going to have to spend the night here?"
"Maybe. I don't know. But if the slide has already gone down then there isn't anything above us to fall, so this should be as safe a place as any. And my face hurts, and I feel kind of shaky." Gonzo admitted, feeling around for the bag he had been carrying. "Besides, Trapper should be beginning to wonder what's keeping us by now."
