The Mountain Story by Lori Lansens

Author:Lori Lansens [Lansens, Lori]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-80904-9
Publisher: Knopf Canada
Published: 2015-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

The wind drove into the cave, lying to us about rescue choppers and waterfalls. The owl hooted overhead, not wise anymore, just irritating.

“Buttered noodles,” Bridget said idly.

Vonn laughed. “When you could imagine anything.”

“I know. Buttered noodles and that key lime pie that Mim does with the graham cracker crust. I haven’t had that in years.”

“She made it for you three days ago,” Vonn pointed out. “For when you got here.”

“I didn’t eat it. There’s some in the fridge right now.” She laughed somewhat maniacally. “Ow!” she cried. “I split my lip.”

“We should try to sleep a little,” I said.

“I’m afraid to sleep,” Bridget said. “I don’t want to dream. What if I have a future-dream where the helicopter doesn’t come? Where we don’t get rescued?”

“Seriously, Bridget,” Vonn said. “Don’t you think you would have had one dream or vision or whatever about getting lost up here in the first place if you were really clairvoyant?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“It doesn’t work at all.”

“You have no faith.”

“You have no track record.”

“Maybe I haven’t told you about every single dream that came true,” Bridget said. “Maybe I kept some of that private.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing.”

“Like what?”

“I dreamed your father called me a liar when we went to knock on his door. His kids were there.”

“But that didn’t happen,” she said.

“But it could have. It still might.”

“We live in completely different worlds, don’t we?” Vonn asked in earnest.

“We’re not spending another night here,” Bridget said confidently. “Mark my words.”

“The most important thing,” I said, “is that we’re going to keep at it. Right? We’re going to find that bag, and I am going to get up that wall.”

We spent most of the rest of that second night in silence, watching over Nola, ashamed by the relief her warm forehead brought our cold hands, startled by her spastic pain, envious of what appeared to be her periods of deep sleep.

Too cold for conversation, we considered the morphing clouds, and listened for helicopters and rescue calls. My hands were stiff, mercifully numb to the stinging scrapes on my palms. My fingers seemed not my own.

Sometime in the night, the cave was flooded by the distinctive sound of Bridget’s whistling flute snores. Vonn reached over and adjusted the position of her mother’s jaw to make it stop—just as she’d done before. It worked briefly.

When Bridget started to snore again, Vonn gently tilted her head once more. Then she happened to glance at her grandmother. Her face went slack. “I don’t think she’s breathing.”

We leaned in a little closer and were startled when Nola coughed. Then Nola opened her eyes to meet mine in the darkness. She was afraid. I could see it. But instead of being filled with dread I was flooded with determination. I would not let Nola Devine die. I was sure there had to be some way to safety. If there were metates, the Native Americans had to have found some way off this horrible rock-ship, so what the hell was I missing?

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