Wyatt gave her a thumbs-up and then began his climb, with Buddy on his heels. Once they’d moved away from Mari and Jim, Wyatt said, “Hope you don’t mind if I’m on the quiet side on the way up. I need to pay attention to the terrain and think about next steps.”
“No problem. I’m fine checking out the scenery and catching my breath!” Buddy replied.
Wyatt nodded before surveying craggy mountains, couloirs, and fir trees. Thick piles of heavy snow buffeted most sounds, making the rubbery squeak of boots against wet snow and the huffing of breaths the only things he really heard. Gorgeous country . . . if only he didn’t need to master it.
Within thirty minutes, sweat trickled down his back beneath the protection gear. Hiking with a pack and a board wasn’t for pussies. He glanced back to check on Buddy, who’d dropped about twenty yards behind. Wyatt gulped down some water, then waited for Buddy to catch his breath, too.
“I’m going to hike up to that ledge.” Wyatt pointed westward, suppressing the flip of his stomach. “You could set up a little lower, on that rocky outcropping to the side there. You can catch me dropping in, film me shredding through there, then pack up your gear and follow me down. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” Buddy nodded. “Let’s keep going, or Mari will be barking at us about the time.”
Another twenty or so minutes passed before Wyatt reached the ledge. He heard Buddy and Mari on the walkie-talkie, and knew that Jim had just sent the drone up the mountain. GPS made tracking a whole lot easier than it must’ve been for guys a decade ago, and sure enough, the drone appeared above Wyatt in short order.
If only Ryder had shared this with him. Wyatt would’ve preferred to have heard his brother’s voice pumping him up before he leapt off the cornice, like he always had. Get over it. He took a moment to take in the 360-degree views from the ledge. Miles of mountaintops that had been here long before him and would endure long after he’d gone. Right now, though, he needed to conquer this one. One run at a time, he reminded himself, hoping to calm the nerves dancing under his skin. He depressed the walkie-talkie transmitter. “You ready, Buddy? ’Cause I’m dropping in.”
“I’m set,” Buddy replied through static.
Wyatt stuffed the walkie-talkie in his pocket, adjusted his goggles, and drew a deep breath. He looked down the line he planned to follow: over the cornice, jab between the stands of trees, fly over a small cliff, and then shred down the lower bowl toward the van.
Showtime. Gathering his courage, he twisted his neck left and right and then hucked over the edge.
It’d been eons since Wyatt had landed in deep pow, which felt much different from the perfectly angled, manicured landing slopes of man-made jumps and courses. He carved a few turns and began to relax when a sort of groaning sound snagged his attention. Suddenly, the face of the mountain fractured, and the snow underfoot instantly shifted. He’d known that avalanches could move up to two hundred miles per hour, but speed became more terrifying when coupled with the sensation that the earth was crumbling.
Wyatt’s heart kicked against his ribs like a bronco while he attempted to board off to the left, out of the path of the avalanche, but it was too wide. When he lost control, the thundering river of snow whisked him away, pitching him in a series of bumpy cartwheels.
The rumble of tons of snow roared in his ears while shock numbed him to pain, despite being flung about like a rag doll.
Protect a breathing space. That thought broke through the panic that had seized his entire being. His tumbling then abruptly came to a halt. Somehow he landed—disoriented and curled in a ball with his board, spitting snow from his mouth—inside a muted cave of snow.
Enveloped in absolute darkness, cramped and claustrophobic, his breathing came shallow and fast in the silence. He fought the nausea caused by the echo of his breath in his ears and his relative blindness from being buried alive. At least he could wiggle his fingers and toes.
Snow cemented around his body, squeezing him with each intake of air, making it impossible to catch his breath and relax. He thought of how Ryder would react to news of his death. His mom’s face flashed before his eyes, and he wondered if she’d ever forgive him. His dead father’s face surfaced next, and Wyatt wondered if he’d be joining him soon and if the man’s temper had followed him beyond the grave. Wyatt had spent years blaming the man for his failings and for their family’s struggles. Now, however, he remembered the pride his father had shown when Wyatt had started winning local competitions.
Something broke open inside, making him wish he could see them all once more and say things he needed to say. Make apologies, tell them he loved them. Funny how the edge of death put petty angers in a different perspective. Dammit, he didn’t want to die. Not here, not now. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.