Mayhem on the mountainside

“Cheer up, the worst is yet to come.”
Philander Chase Johnson, in ‘Everybody's Magazine’, May 1920

“Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm.”
Democritus

At the sound of the gunshot, Diana scrambled through the trapdoor, the thought of her throbbing ankle the furthest thing from her mind.  She sensed Mart right behind her, and felt comforted by the gentle pressure of his hand on her back.  Halting near the entrance to the hallway, while still concealed within the shadows of the kitchen, Diana took one calming breath before peering around the corner. 

She saw Natasha, tears streaming down her face, hovering over Boris’ body with a gun in her hand. 

“You deserve this, you big stupid moron,” she screamed.  “This is all your fault! Now I will never get off this damn mountain!”

Diana crept around the corner and into the long hallway.  She put up her hand, indicating for Mart to stay put.  She took a familiar stance; her legs slightly apart, her weapon secure in her hands and trained on Natasha.  “Drop the gun!” Diana commanded. 

In the blink of an eye, Natasha spun around, raised the gun and fired.  Diana made a swan dive into the adjacent dining room, returning fire simultaneously.  She hit the ground with a thud and rolled, feeling her ankle protest.  A quick mental check reassured her that she hadn’t been hit.   Staying low to the ground and inching toward the entrance, Diana dealt with her second priority.  “Mart, are you okay?”

From the other end of the hall, she heard his shocked reply. “You have a gun?”  With a roll of her eyes, she decided it was safe to assume that he was all right.

“Why couldn’t you have stayed in the cellar?” Natasha screeched, “You were supposed to die down there!”

Without a clear shot, Diana was in no hurry to show herself.  Natasha was undoubtedly unstable and provoking her would only get herself, or worse, Mart, killed.  Diana knew she needed to tip the scales since Natasha now had the advantage.   

“Natasha, I am sure we can work something out,” Diana called.  “You don’t want this end badly.” 

“It already has,” Natasha retorted.  “I shot Boris, and I will shoot you, too.”

What she needed was a diversion.  Diana eyed a vase on an end table near the dining room entrance.  It would be a shame to do what she was about to do to the priceless antique, but it needed to be done.  Picking up the vase, she hurled it across the hall and into the sitting room.  Gunshots followed its flight, adding staccato accompaniment to the sound of shattering porcelain. 

Natasha lunged for the door, flung it open, and disappeared. 

At the sound of the door opening, Diana rushed into the hallway, pausing to kneel over Boris.  She laid fingers on his carotid artery, desperately feeling for a pulse.  “Do you see Max?” she hollered over her shoulder to Mart.  Moving to the door, she shut and locked it, putting a barrier between them and Natasha.  “Max!” she yelled. “Max, where are you?”

Mart darted in and out of the rooms on the first floor.  “Di, I don’t see him,” he reported, stopping short in front of Boris’s body.  “Is he d-dead?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Di confirmed.  Seeing Mart’s eyes widen in shock at the sight of the dead body, she regrouped.  “Mart, can you look upstairs for Max while I call for help?”

“Uh, yeah … sure,” Mart replied, not taking his eyes off Boris.

“Can you do that now?” Diana stood, blocking Mart’s view.  Blinking to return his focus to her, he nodded and turned to head up the stairs.

Diana grabbed her phone from her pocket, dialing a number.  When the other line picked up, she relayed her message, “Envoyez l'hélicoptère.”

Mart rushed down the stairs, panting.  “Di, he’s not in the house.”

“What do you mean he isn’t in the house?” she demanded. “How can he not be in the house?”

Mart looked toward the secured door, “Should we go after her?”

“No need, she won’t get far without the distributor cap,” Diana grinned.  “When I went to get the flashlight, I disabled the car.  Miss Trask taught us girls more than which sensible shoes to wear.”

“But – what if she comes back to the house?” Mart worried.

“By my calculations, she only has about three more bullets left.”

“It only takes one to kill one of us!” Mart exclaimed. 

“Don’t get in the way of the bullet, then,” Di retorted.  “Anyway, reinforcements are on the way.  They’re only about ten minutes out.”

She was interrupted by the rev of an engine.

“Shit, the snowmobiles!”  Diana reached the front window in time to catch a glimpse of Natasha fleeing across the drive.  

 She was at the door in a flash.  “Come on, Mart, let’s go!”

By the time Mart had caught up, Diana was already at the shed, shuffling through the scattering of keys.  Finding the right one, she tossed it at Mart and pointed to the snowmobile Natasha had left behind.  “Mart, you drive.” Mart climbed on board, turning the key in the ignition as Diana jumped on behind him, grasping him around the waist.  Her gun was out and ready.  “We can’t let her get to the road,” she whispered in his ear.

Mart pulled out into the crisscross of tracks and gunned the engine.  The snowmobile shot off in the direction of Natasha’s fading form.  Mart trained his eye on the target and wove around the fence line.  The snow spun behind them like a geyser spout as Mart shifted into higher gear.  Diana tightened her grip around him as he pushed the machine to its limit. 

Natasha cleared the tree line and was headed across the open space that would lead her directly to the road.  Weaving in and out, she stole glances behind her, tracking the progress of her pursuers.  When Natasha raised her gun to fire, Diana saw the overhanging snow teetering on the mountain cliffs above, shadowing Natasha’s receding form.  Realizing the impending disaster, she yelled into Mar’s ear.  “Stop!  Stop!”

Just then, Natasha took aim and fired at them.  The earth-shattering roar drowned out Mart’s scream as he slammed on the breaks and jerked the wheel into a u-turn. 

A snow cloud bellowed as the avalanche made its way down the mountain.  Mart maneuvered the snowmobile back toward the tree line and away from the avalanche’s course.  Diana kept her eye on Natasha, willing her to make it through in time.  Just as she thought Natasha had cleared the danger zone, the avalanche swallowed her would-be nemesis, snowmobile and all, in one enormous gulp.

Diana held on for dear life, feeling Mart’s heart beating in his chest.  Mart drove the snowmobile farther and farther away, and Diana listened to the snow thundering past behind them.  The snowmobile began to slow gradually, and Diana felt her own pulse mimicking the same gradual slow down.  Coming to a stop, just on the border of the tree line, Mart paused turning to Diana, “Did she make it?”

“No,” Diana replied her voice echoing in the sudden silence.  Mart hung his head in disbelief. 

“We have to try and save her,” Diana stated simply, dismounting from the snowmobile and slowly making her way out into the open.  She hadn’t blinked, hadn’t faltered.  She had a pretty good idea of where Natasha had been carried by the avalanche. 

“Diana, wait!” Mart insisted.  “Are you sure it is safe to go out there?”

“No, I don’t know,” Diana confessed, keeping her eyes trained to the spot.  “But I can’t just leave her.”

She sensed Mart racing to meet her.  “I’m coming with you,” he said, taking her hand as they moved forward.  

She unclenched her other fist and strengthened, knowing that, despite his fear, he was beside her.  “I don’t want to lose the spot,” Diana explained, “Can you keep an eye on the cliffs for me?”

“I’ve got your back.” Mart gave her hand a squeeze.  With him on the lookout, she picked up her pace and stumbled toward what she thought was the spot.  Traversing an obstacle course of sorts, they wove in and around fallen trees, dislodged boulders and loose snow.  While Diana guided them toward the deposition zone, Mart kept diligent watch on the cliffs. 

Reaching what she hoped was Natasha’s location, Diana started to look for any indication of where to start digging.  Seeing the back end of the other snowmobile, she raced to it and commanded, “Start moving up the slope.”  Knowing that the snowmobile would be carried farther than Natasha due to weight, they positioned themselves about five feet apart and slowly began progressing up the terrain.

A glint of red caught Diana’s eye.  It was the end of Natasha’s scarf.  “Mart,” Diana summoned him with a wave.  At the end of the scarf, they could make out Natasha, partially buried in the snow face down, her winter coat dusted with snow. Barehanded, they started to dig, moving the snow away from Natasha’s body.  Diana checked her watch – ten minutes had passed since the avalanche had hit them.  Time was running out; they had to get Natasha out.  Mart dug frantically on her left, Diana focusing on the right side.  After displacing a significant amount of snow, they rolled the limp Natasha over toward the right, positioning her flat on her back.  The snow around her right leg was stained red, the result of a compound fracture.  Mart grabbed Natasha’s scarf and applied pressure just above the break to curb the amount of blood loss. 

“Is she breathing?”

Diana leaned over Natasha’s pale face and listened for breath sounds.  She whipped off her gloves and placed a hand above Natasha’s lips in an effort to detect air flow.  Nothing.  She checked the radial artery, at least she had a pulse, albeit thready and faint.  Diana tilted her head back and gave her two quick breaths.  Natasha immediately gasped for air and struggled to get up, wincing in pain as the realization of the fracture hit her.  She opened her mouth, but Diana quickly blocked the scream by shoving her hand over Natasha’s mouth. 

“Don’t scream, we are still in the avalanche track.  If you scream and start another avalanche, you will bury us all.”  Diana slowly raised her hand from Natasha’s mouth. “Do you understand?”  

Natasha nodded and let out a small whimper, tears welling in her green eyes.  “I tried to kill you.  Why did you stop to save me?” she wondered out loud. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Diana answered.    

Diana’s phone beeped and she took it out of her pocket.  “Good to hear your voice,” she exclaimed softly into the receiver.  “Yes, we are going to need medics.”  Natasha’s fracture was the top priority, but Diana also thought of her ankle.  The rush of adrenaline that had propelled her was wearing off, replaced by a dull, aching pain.  She listened intently for a few more moments.  “Thanks and see you soon,” she finished. 

“A rescue team is tracking us via the GPS in my phone,” Di explained.  “The medics should be here in just a few moments.  They found Max.  Natasha and Boris had left him unconscious in the car, along with the painting.”

“Oh, thank God,” Mart proclaimed, still keeping pressure on the open wound to minimize Natasha’s blood loss.  “I’ve been so afraid that …”  He stopped, unable to continue.

Diana let out a sigh. “Me too, me too.”

The sounds of approaching snowmobiles broke the silence, and Diana rose to give the team a visual reference.  Understanding the danger, the rescuers dismounted the snowmobiles and came forward with a rescue basket.  Efficiently, they moved in next to Mart and.  In one fluid motion, they had Natasha in the basket and were already moving toward the tree line and the waiting snowmobiles.

“Agent Laroche is waiting for you back at the chalet,” the leader informed Diana.  “Can you and the gentleman follow us back on your snowmobile?”

“Of course,” Diana replied for them both.  She took a tentative step forward, stumbling on her injured ankle.  Mart reached out to steady her.  “Let me help you,” he whispered, gently drawing her arm around his shoulder and supporting her weight on his body.   Together, they hobbled toward their ride.  He helped her onto the back of the snowmobile before taking his place in the driver’s seat.  This time she was able to wrap both arms around his body, and his solid form felt safe and comfortable.  Mart turned the engine and gently accelerated, following the team back to the chalet.

Mart was amazed to see the helicopter in the drive of the chalet.  The front yard was filled with officials in black jackets, swarming out of the house like ants.  A tall man spotted them and hurried over, embracing Diana in a hug. “Are you all right, Diana? You were cutting it kind of close this time,” he commented, helping her off.  “Mon Dieu, your leg!” he added as she limped away from the snowmobile. 

“Paul-Henri, stop fretting,” Di implored, before he could say more.  “I had it all under control.” She cringed as Mart raised his eyebrows in interest. 

Paul-Henri seemed to suddenly become aware of Mart.  “Bonjour, je suis Agent Laroche.”

Diana coughed loudly, interrupting. “Uh, this is my friend from the States, Mart Belden.”

“Ah, I see.”  Agent Laroche paused.  “Yes, very good.  Let me see if I can find a medic for you.”

As the other man turned to leave, Mart sidestepped closer to Diana.  “Di, what are you not telling me?”

“It’s complicated. I promise I will tell you, just not right now, please.”

Before he could respond, a black jacket rushed over to them, “Mademoiselle Lynch, the medic is ready to leave for the hospital.  Can you get on board?”

“We’re coming!” she cried irritably.  Taking Mart’s arm, she hobbled toward the waiting helicopter.  She saw that Max was secured in the back looking dazed and confused, a compress on his forehead.  Probably a concussion, she thought.  Natasha was yelling her bloody head off, her arms in restraints, although the chance of her getting away on that fracture was nil.  She was also being loaded into the helicopter.  Di was happy to see that one of the medics was approaching Natasha with a syringe.  A sedative, she presumed, for ALL their sakes. 

Together, she and Mart ducked under the rotors and approached the open door.  “Sorry, can only take one more,” the flight medic yelled over the rhythmic din. 

“Get on, Diana,” Mart insisted, “You need to get that ankle looked at.  I’ll go down in a car.”

“But – ” Diana turned back, suddenly unsure of everything.  “It can’t end like this,” she countered. 

“Don’t worry, Mademoiselle,” the medic reassured her, “you will be debriefed at the hospital.  Your friend can give his statement to one of the other agents.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Diana almost wailed. “Mart!” she screamed, waving her hands toward his retreating figure.  An agent stopped him and pointed back toward the chopper.  She saw him break into a smile as he raced back.  “Promise me,” Diana asked.   

“Anything,” he answered clutching her hand.

“Promise me that you will meet me at the Pont du Alexandre III in one week. Say five o’clock?”

“As you wish.”  An agent grasped Mart’s arm.  “Monsieur, they have to take off.  Please step away.”  Reluctantly, he stepped back out of range and watched as the helicopter rose toward the sky, taking Diana away from him.

“Monsieur Belden.”  Agent Laroche had appeared at his side.  “I apologize, but we must get a statement and we find that it is easier to do when the details are still fresh.”  Nodding, Mart followed the agent into the chalet not sure that that he knew all the details or what any of it really meant.