The Mountain Man's Secret

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Belle

“You’re kidding me,” I stare at the white-out conditions whirling around my car. The aging beige subcompact that negotiates the streets of Poughkeepsie so well is no match for the Catskills in winter. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that way too late.

I started the day packing and handing off my apartment keys to my subleaser, bubbling over with excitement and impatient to get going. Ever since winning the state arts grant to produce my photo book on Catskill wildlife in winter, I’ve been over the moon. I’m thrilled to finally land a paid project where I can show off my talents as well as remind my fellow New Yorkers about the importance of conservation.

It means giving up Thanksgiving and Christmas to the project. But I was going to spend them alone anyway. The venture gives me a good reason to be alone, fills my time, and gives me something to look forward to this coming Christmas season despite my isolation.

Amazing that only half an hour ago, loneliness at Christmas was my biggest problem.

I had packed for fall, for a Poughkeepsie autumn, along with a good pair of hiking boots. Twenty minutes ago, it was Fall, the trees still full of gold and crimson and brown leaves. Twenty minutes ago, I was still thinking the same stupid things that brought me up here unprepared.

So what if I’ve never been to the Catskills in winter? It’s mid November—chances are there won’t even be snow on the ground until December. Besides, I’m an experienced hiker—how much tougher could it be to cross the same terrain with snow on the ground?

I look out the side window at the narrow valley that creeps between the toes of the mountain. The snow is turning everything alien, blurring the outlines of the rocky slope and covering the trees with clots of white. It’s not idyllic; it’s not pretty; I stare at it and feel dread tighten my guts.

“Yeah, you thought it all out, Belle. But now here you are: maybe an hour away from becoming a popsicle. Good job.” My voice shakes as the snow piles up on the windshield.

Apparently New York weather doesn’t give a damn about keeping to its proper season. I’ve been coming up here for years; I should have figured this out. Except I’m originally from Miami; winter is unfamiliar to me. During my first winter here, I barely left my apartment for three full months.

Excited at my big chance, I forgot my common sense. What is going on? How far has my holiday depression put me that I end up like this?

It was all right when the storm hit. I kept control of the car, even in the gusty swirling wind, and managed to stay on the road when visibility cut to almost nothing in less than a minute. I wasn’t okay out here, and I pulled over to shelter from the wind against the mountainside.

And then my engine died.

And didn’t want to start again.

I’m too pissed to be completely terrified yet. Belle Evans, aspiring photographer, found dead in her car on the side of Mount Tremper. According to the preliminary report from rescue workers, the cause of death was terminal stupidity.

“Stop that,” I mutter as the wind rocks my car again. “You’re not dead yet.”

I keep thinking I’ll get lucky. Someone will come along in a car, or better yet, a truck with a tow hook and a plow. This is a state highway, even if it’s in the middle of bumble-a*s nowhere.

What if I’m wrong? People really die here. Once the battery dies and the heater goes off… And the battery will die even faster in these cold temps.

And the horn is useless. Unlike most New Yorkers, I rarely use my car horn much, so when it broke, it never occurred to me to replace it. I regret that now; although, there’s no guarantee anyone could hear a car horn over the roaring wind.

I start to shiver, even though the heater’s still blasting. Is it worth the risk to get out of the car and look for help?

Probably not. The last sign said five miles to the nearest town. I can’t walk five miles in this; even if I don’t wander off the road in the white-out, I’ll likely end up with hypothermia.

I’m trapped. I really am going to die up here alone! Nobody will get to me in time!

I clench my fists, forcing them to still. Stop thinking like this! If I’m going to die, I should fight right up to when the lights go out. Scaring myself will just drain away the energy I need.

I pull out my phone and try calling for help. It won't connect; zero bars. Crap! Well, my garbage luck is holding.

Pain and frustration squeeze my heart. I can't even call my mom to get advice or comfort. Or to say goodbye, for that matter.

Mom. She's down in Miami, far from where she can help, and she may not know for over a week that her stupid daughter froze to death in a snow bank. She never wanted me to move north in the first place...

That's the fatal thought; I start crying, a deep grief filling me.

I sob so hard I feel like throwing up; my head pounds, my eyes sting, and for a few moments the wind is silenced. I try again to get the engine to turn over; it rattles and clunks and then dies with a shudder. I let out a scream and pound the steering wheel once with the side of my fist.

The pain of that impact shocks me partway back to myself. I wipe my cheeks and squeeze my eyes shut. "Stop it. Stop it now. You won't save yourself by sitting here crying."

What to do? Think! The wind shakes the car again, and I let out a cry of consternation, but then buckle down. No time to be scared.

Conserve energy. I turn off the dome light and the headlights, leaving only my emergency blinkers on and the heater running.

Bundle up. I turn and reach into the backseat of my car, grabbing and dragging my duffel bag up into the passenger seat. On go more sweaters, my coat, and a purple beanie, pulled down low over my ears.

More socks on my feet. Two pairs on my hands. The empty duffel bag blanketed over me. I feel like a laundry pile with a face but it’s so warm with the heater going that I start to sweat.

I turn it down. The idea is to protect me from hypothermia, not make me sweat through all my clothes. Besides, this way the battery will last longer.

I lay back in my seat, watching the hole in the piled-up snow slowly get smaller and smaller on the windshield until my view is blocked entirely. Still no sign of another car. I have to stop myself from getting worked up.

Calm. Stay calm. Someone will come.

The heater fan stutters; the dashboard lights flicker. The battery is dying. I yank off the socks and gloves on my hands and pull out my phone again to look at it once more. One single bar—I can call for help!

Nothing.

A moment later, the power shuts off entirely.

I let out a high, startled cry before clamping my hand over my mouth. That won’t help. I shudder, tears running down my cheeks, but my mind slowly clears.

I close my eyes, doing my best not to panic. Waiting is the only thing to do. I have no flares or emergency radio; I could get out and look for a better phone signal to call for help, but how fast will I freeze through if I try?

Besides, opening the door will let all the heat out. Better to wait until it’s completely cold in here. Maybe the snow will stop in the meantime.

So I wait. And the temperature drops. And the storm keeps raging.

Fighting my fear again, my shivering breath is visible. Tears streak down to sting my chilled cheeks. I grit my teeth and pull the collars of my sweaters and coat over my face until only my eyes peek out.

Be strong, Belle.

Except it just keeps getting colder!

Finally I shiver so hard that I’m convinced it must be just as cold outside. Even with the socks on them, my fingers are numb.

My dread mounts as the lack of sensation builds in my toes and creeps slowly up my fingers. I shake my hands out, slapping them against my thighs, and stomp my boots. Agonizing pins and needles begin spreading through my hands and feet; I stuff the sock-wrapped bundles of my hands under my arms and tuck my legs.

“I’m not giving up,” I rasp in a snuffled voice dripping with terror. As my fingers and toes burn with pain, the fear just keeps mounting.

Just at that moment, when I can’t bear any more, a sound pierces my awareness between the thundering gusts of wind. I hear a high growl of an engine like a dirt bike...or a snowmobile. It’s coming up the road!

“Oh, thank God.” As the engine noise grows louder and closer, I realize I’m thoroughly tangled up in all this cloth, and I struggle with it, swearing and flailing.

“Don’t pass by!” I shout, fumbling my arm free and reaching for the door.

Whoever is on the snowmobile slows down and pulls up alongside the car. A faint glare of a headlamp is distinguishable through the accumulated snow.

A moment later, a huge shadow falls across my side window and someone knocks on it.

Sobbing with relief, I shuffle the socks off my hands and reach for the latch.