Page 38 of On Ice

His stare is flat. Jaded. He thinks I’m going to abandon him. It’s written as clear as day on his face. But all he says is, “Sure. Go see if you can catch a signal.”

“I’m going to come back for you.” I frown.

A muscle jerks in his muddy cheek. “Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, kid.”

I narrow my eyes. “Would you abandon me?”

His expression isn’t reassuring. “I don’t know,” he admits.

“Jesus, you people are nuts,” I grumble, moving up the slope. “But of course, you’re mobsters so what do you care about human life? You’re fuckinganimals.”

He blows out a long weary breath, followed by a groan of pain.

Guilt nudges me, but I push it away. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He’s just lucky I’m not an animal or I would leave him here to die. The climb isn’t easy. I slide down more than I climb up. Thankfully, the rain slows a little at one point and I’m able get a little higher. I hold the phone up to the black sky every few minutes, praying I’ll get a signal. It feels like an hour passes before I finally see two bars.

My hands shake so much I can barely dial the phone. When I actually hear the 911 operators voice, I could cry. I stand perfectly still so I don’t drop the call. Since I have no idea where we are, she tells me they’ll have to triangulate with cell towers. That might slow things down.

She assures me help will be on the way as soon as possible, and because Marco’s phone battery is only half charged, she has me hang up. I’m not sure if I should go back down to where Marco is or not. If she tries to call me back, she won’t be able to reach me down there. Plus, I don’t really want to sit with him. Just because I helped him doesn’t mean I like the guy. I have no idea what is going to happen once we get back to civilization. For all I know, Luca will just send another goon to murder me.

I let out a tired breath. Maybe I should regret helping Marco, but I don’t. Even if Marco had died in that car crash, Iwouldn’t be safe from Luca. My fate isn’t tied to Marco. It’s tied to Luca.

The wait for help feels endless. Every rumble from the mountain makes me tense. The rain eventually eases to a steady drizzle, but the mud continues to shift and settle around me. The 911 operator calls me eventually and says the rescue team is only about ten minutes away.

When I hang up with her, I return to Marco. He’s dozing as I kneel beside him, but he jerks awake. He looks shocked to see me, and he even reaches out and pokes at my arm as if he worries I’m a figment of his imagination.

“Help is almost here,” I say.

He mumbles, “I can’t believe you didn’t leave me.”

“Me neither.”

The rescue team arrives, headlights cutting through the misty rain as their four-wheel-drive vehicle grinds to a halt on the road above. I can’t see them clearly, but a flashlight beam slices through the dark.

“I’ve got eyes on them,” a female voice calls out. “Halfway down the slope. Terrain looks unstable, lots of mud and loose rocks. 911 said one subject has a broken leg so we need the stretcher.” There are other voices too, but I can’t make out what they say.

In the movies, help always seems instant. When the rescuers arrive in the TV shows, they’re at the scene immediately, giving lifesaving help. In real life, it’s slow as fuck. The team takes an eternity anchoring ropes, but eventually they begins their careful andveryslow descent. The clink ofcarabiners and the scrape of boots on wet rock blend with the relentless rain.

One rescuer reaches me first, shining the light over me. “Are you injured?” she asks.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t think so. The car rolled a few times.” For all I know I have internal injuries, but I can’t tell.

“We’ll check you over.” She glances around. “Where’s the vehicle?”

I swallow hard. “Not sure.” I point down into the black abyss below us. “Down there somewhere.”

“You should help him first.” I gesture toward Marco because his injuries are obvious. “His leg is broken.”

She shines the light on Marco. He looks like a drowned rat, his dark hair plastered to his head. His face is white, and his clenched jaw betrays the pain he’s trying to hide. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

The second rescuer kneels beside Marco, carefully assessing his leg. “Looks like a fracture.” He smiles reassuringly at Marco. “We’re going to get you fixed up and out of here, but it’s going to hurt when we stabilize your leg. Sorry, I don’t want to lie to you.”

Marco grunts, the rain streaking down his face. “Do what you need to do. I just want out of this damn rain.”

The team works quickly, wrapping the broken leg in an inflatable splint to immobilize it. I hate Marco, but have to respect how quiet he is while they deal with his broken leg. I know moving it hurts like hell, but he just clamps his jaw shut and deals with the pain. After his leg is stabilized they put Marco on a stretcher and begin the ascent up the mountain.

Their movements are slow and careful because of the treacherous footing. I follow sluggishly as they begin the cautious ascent back to the road. At one point, the rain intensifies, making the climb even slower and more grueling. The rescuers hoist Marco’s stretcher between them, maneuvering over loose rocks and slick mud.

When we finally reach the top, the paramedics load Marco into the waiting ambulance. They check me for concussion and broken bones, then wrap me in a warm thermal blanket. I get in the same ambulance as Marco. Maybe it’s the pain, exhaustion, or simply knowing he’s safe, but Marco passes out almost the minute he’s in the ambulance. That works for me. It’s awkward riding together down the mountain. Let’s not forget, I’m only on the mountain because Marco brought me here to end my life.

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