CHAPTER 5
Mom!” Arch’s voice had grown desperate. “Why are your skis crossed? Mom? Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. Unnerved by my silence and outstretched hands, Arch finally skidded his snowboard to a stop.
Around us, the snow fell. Where was the patrol? Another torrent of bills swirled up from the lower run. More jubilant skiers joined those already on the plateau. They stretched, bent, fell, and rolled out of their skis as they merrily dived for cash.
“Agh!” A woman’s shriek cut through the din. I could not make out who had screamed. “That’s disgusting!” shouted a tallish woman as she flung bills onto the snow. “That’s blood! There’s blood on it!” Her eyes searched the slope above. She saw me, my crossed skis, and my son, motionless on his snowboard. She took off down the hill.
The
