Page 88 of One Last Chance

Moose lifted them off, and Axel glanced down to see Flynn bracing a hand over her eyes, watching them go.

He should have kissed her.Stop panicking. Everything was going to be fine.

The storm hit them twenty miles away from the mountain, catching the chopper in its flurries, but Moose kept it steady, and they landed neatly at KIA. Dodge’s DHC-3 Otter sat on the snowy tarmac, and he helped load the plane with packs and other gear.

He wore a parka and a wool hat and looked up as they landed. His aviator glasses reflected the activity at the base—orange tents flapping in the wind, climbers sitting on their expedition sleds, packs, and other gear, a few climbers digging tent platforms in the snow.

Axel counted maybe fifty climbers, all hanging out, waiting for the weather window to pass. Around them, the north face of Mount Hunter rose, a forbidding jut of sheer ice and granite. Fresh snow lay like a creamy layer on Mount Foraker to the southwest, the mountain only slightly dwarfed by Denali. The afternoon sun turned the eastern slopes to a deep blue-gray.

Dodge lifted a hand to the chopper and trudged over, wearing snowshoes. Moose opened the door.

“Hey. So, the update is that they’re on a serac outcropping on Peters Basin. They fell about two hundred feet and lost their packs, and the wind is gusting off Motorcycle Hill, so rescue teams can’t get down to them.”

“What’s the wind at up there?”

“About thirty knots. There’s been at least one avalanche sighted, and that serac could let loose at any time. Still need me on copilot? We’re still waiting on some climbers to finish packing up.”

Moose nodded and turned to London, who was already unbuckling.

She worked her way to the back, and Dodge climbed in at copilot, pulling on a thermal rescue jumpsuit and donning a helmet.

He and Moose huddled in the cockpit, working out how to reach the climbers, Moose with his tablet out, tracing a route down.

London wore a tight-lipped look.

“What?”

“I was on a rescue like this in the Alps. Nearly went down with the gusts.” She drew in a breath, forced a smile. “I’m not a fan of mountain rescues.”

Moose turned and held up the screen. “This sounds crazy, but with the angle of the mountain and the size of the serac, I think we can get a skid on it and, Axel, you can just climb out and haul them in. We’ll put you on a safety line, and London will lower down a double sling. I think we only have one shot at this, so work fast.”

Axel gave him a thumbs-up, and Moose lifted them off the snow and into the air. Axel had never had a desire to climb the Tall One, as it was called by the locals, and as they rose now, past the dark granite walls, deep glacial runnels, and thick snow-capped ridges, that resolve settled into his bones. He wasn’t fueled by adrenaline and risk—he just wasn’t afraid of it.

Although, as he spotted the two climbers clinging to the massive serac the size of an oil platform jutting out from the white face, a tremor strummed through him.

He’d be glad to get off this mountain.

Moose had judged correctly—they could set a skid down on the serac and load up the climbers in one fell swoop. But Axel would have to get out and assist them into the sling because the way they both clung to the ice, their axes dug in, they weren’t moving. Ice crusted their face masks, and one might be hurt, because his arm hung loosely, his grip unused.

London checked Axel’s secure line as Moose lowered them to the lip of the icy protrusion; then, when he’d settled the skid, she opened the door.

The frigid wind swept Axel’s breath away.

“Make it quick!” Moose yelled.

Absolutely. Axel ducked his head, glad for his helmet and visor, his thermal suit, and stepped out onto the skid, still attached to the safety line in the chopper. London had released the hoist with the two slings attached. He grabbed it, then stepped off into the snow.

He landed thigh deep in the fresh layer and fell, still holding the slings. He moved to lie on top of the snow and army-crawled over it, distributing his weight.

The guys were shouting at him, but he couldn’t make out their words over the rotor wash. He reached them, and they grabbed on to him, pulling him close.

“Get in!” He held out the hoist, and one of them pulled it over himself, under his arms, then let go of his ice axe and wrapped his arms around the sling.

The other shook his head.

“C’mon, man! It’s cold out here!”

He reached out for the sling, grabbed it?—

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