Snow Without a Way Back, The Ones I Couldn't Save

I heard the helicopter before I saw it. The sound came through the snow cave in blunt, uneven thumps. I lifted my head and the world tipped sideways. For three days, the storm had pressed against us with the steady weight of a hand trying to smother a flame. Now, somewhere beyond our shelter, a rotor beat the air. "Cal," I rasped. My fiancé leaned over me. A strip of dried blood ran from his hairline to his jaw, dark against the gray of his skin. He pressed two fingers to my neck, then looked toward the narrow entrance. "Stay down, Mara." I tried to sit anyway. Pain hooked under my ribs and dragged me back. My left boot was gone. My right leg lay stiff beneath a blanket and two torn pieces of insulation. Beside me, my brother Ben had his back against the wall of packed snow. His right knee was swollen so badly it no longer looked like part of him. The helicopter sound grew louder. Ben fumbled for his whistle. His hands shook too much to bring it to his mouth. I reached for it, but my arm refused to lift. Cal grabbed the whistle from Ben and crawled toward the entrance. "I've got it." "Don't leave," Ben said. "I'm not leaving you." Cal looked back at me. "I'm signaling." He climbed out through the opening we had spent half a day digging. Cold air spilled in after him. My body began to shiver so hard my teeth clicked. The helicopter circled once. Through the gap, I saw a red body against the white sky, low enough that its downdraft blew powder across the ridge. Cal fired a flare. It sputtered red, then caught. The helicopter dipped toward us, rose again, and hovered beyond the rock shoulder. The noise was enormous. I pressed my hands against my ears, though the movement made my ribs burn. A figure in a bright helmet appeared at the entrance. A rescue technician, carrying a pack and a coil of line. Cal ducked in behind him. "We have a two-person limit on this lift," the technician shouted. "The ceiling's dropping. We can take two now and try to come back." "Try?" Cal said. "The wind is changing. I'm not promising a second trip." I looked at Ben. His face had gone pale beneath the stubble. He was awake, but his eyes kept drifting shut. "Take him," I said. Cal crouched by me. "You need to go first." "I'm not the one with a shattered leg." "We don't know what's wrong with you." "I know what's wrong with me." I did not know. I knew my ribs hurt, my ankle was numb, and my thoughts were moving through mud. But Ben had been trapped under a shelf of snow long enough to lose color in his foot. He needed a hospital. Cal's jaw tightened. "Mara, you can't even sit up." "I can wait." "Not in this weather." "Then take Ben." The technician was already checking Ben's leg. "We need to move. We have one more passenger slot after the flight medic. Who's going?" Cal stared at him. "I am." The answer came so fast I thought I had misheard. "Cal," I said. He wouldn't look at me. "I can help Ben down. You said you can wait." "I said Ben should go." "I'm the only one who can get him onto the skid." The technician shook his head. "I can handle the transfer." "I know this ridge," Cal said. "I can guide you back for her." "Your local knowledge won't change the weather." Ben reached for my hand. His fingers were cold, but his grip was strong enough to hurt. "Mara. Go." "I'm not leaving you here." "You're not leaving me. They're taking me to the hospital." Cal took Ben's pack and began pulling away the blankets. The technician moved to stop him. "Keep him warm until we're ready." "I'm helping." "You're in my way." The words cut through the rotor noise with astonishing clarity. Cal looked at me then. For one second, I saw the man who had held my hair back after my first guide exam and waited outside the clinic when I broke my wrist. Then the rotor beat shifted, and all I saw was the stranger who had decided his place on the helicopter before mine. "Take Ben," I said. The technician nodded. "And the second person?" I looked at Cal. He had already started toward the entrance. I pulled the satellite radio from my chest pocket and held it out to the technician. "Take my brother. Take the radio. If you have room after that, take me." Cal stopped at the opening. The technician looked from my face to the radio. "You're the one carrying the beacon?" "I was." Cal's gaze dropped to the unit in my hand. The helicopter waited outside. The storm was turning again. And whatever Cal had planned to say, it no longer mattered as much as the choice in front of me.