The Mountain Story by Lori Lansens Read Free Book Online Page B

having been delivered the farthest afield, coughed, and shouted, “Everyone okay?”
    I called back in the affirmative and so did Bridget. The girl said nothing, but I could see that she’d landed on the far side of a snowberry bush and didn’t appear to be seriously injured.
    Bridget cried, from some place unseen, “Oh my God. Oh my God,” but she didn’t scream, which I took to be a good sign.
    “What about you, Nola? You all right?” I shouted.
    “Fine!” she called out. “I just hurt my wrist!”
    I stared up into the gloaming at the height from whichwe’d tumbled. It was a miracle that one of us hadn’t been killed. A miracle.
    I turned to find the girl shuffling toward me around a large boulder and was shocked to see that she hadn’t lost her green flip-flops. She had a small cut on her cheek and a new tear in her old peacoat but seemed otherwise fine. “Okay?”
    She nodded, as Bridget emerged from between two large rocks. Her Lycra was torn on her knees and she had some scrapes on her hands, and her cheek. “I lost my sports bag,” she said. “It had the granola bars, and water.”
    “We’ll find it in the morning,” I promised. I raised my hand to adjust my ball cap and discovered it was gone. My Detroit Tigers cap. I hoped I could find that too.
    “I have my knapsack!” Nola said triumphantly when she appeared, finally, through some thick brush. “I lost my binoculars. They were around my neck.”
    “We’ll find everything in the morning,” I said.
    Then Nola raised her hand, stunned as any of us to see a shard of white bone protruding from her right wrist.
    “Nola,” I said cautiously, afraid she might faint.
    “Oh for heaven’s sake!” She rolled her eyes like she’d spilled coffee on her blouse and was annoyed with herself for being clumsy. When she moved, blood made a fountain of the sharp bone.
    Bridget screamed and turned away.
    The girl in the green flip-flops leapt into action. “We need to wrap it up. Does anyone have a scarf?”
    So, not mute. I felt the inside of my pockets and found a crumpled black bandana. I gave it to the girl, watching her adjust the bones in Nola’s fractured wrist before tying thebandana over the wound. Nola bit her lip to stop from crying out. Must have hurt like hell.
    The girl kept pressure on the wound but Nola was bleeding badly and the bandana soon was soaked through. My heart was racing because I knew how quickly a life could end.
    “This is not ideal,” Nola said.
    “We need more bandages,” the girl said. “And a splint.”
    “What’s in your knapsack?” Bridget asked without turning around.
    “My Christmas sweater but I don’t think it would work,” she said. “Should I try to take off my turtleneck?”
    “No,” we all said.
    Quickly I began to undress, feeling the women’s eyes boring holes into me as I removed my coat, hoodie, long-sleeved shirt, and stripped down to the old Bob Seger T-shirt of Frankie’s that I’d reached for that morning when preparing my corpse for burial. I realized that I was about to reveal my tattoo to three strangers and turned my back on them before I pulled off the T-shirt. I dressed again then took some pleasure in ripping Frankie’s shirt to shreds, handing the strips to the girl.
    Bridget looked around at the darkening wilderness, then she opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs, “ HELP! ”
    The sound bounced and echoed against the rock and was swept up again and carried off by the wind.
    “Save your breath,” I told her. “No one can hear us over that wind. We have to wait till it dies down.”
    While the girl wound the fabric strips around Nola’s wrist, I made a brief search of the rocky vicinity and found asquare-shaped, shallow recess where we’d have some protection from the wind. “Here!” I called. “A cave!”
    After we’d settled inside the cave, which was more like a cove , the girl continued to wrap the makeshift bandages around Nola’s injury,