Because her arms were around her head, there was a pocket of air in front of her face. Everything was dark and still under the snow but she could still breathe.
She tried to stay calm, knowing she must conserve what little oxygen she had. I’m buried, she thought, but I don’t know how deeply I’m buried. Maybe I’m only a few inches below the surface. Maybe I can dig myself out.
But which way should she try to dig? She wasn’t sure which direction was up. She had tumbled over and over so many times that she didn’t know whether she’d landed feet up or head up. She didn’t want to start digging in the wrong direction. A wrong guess would be a fatal mistake. She could die, today, buried alive in the snow.
For an instant, she panicked. Then she clenched her teeth and tried to remember what she knew about the law of gravity. What goes up, must come down. Water always runs down hill.
Water. That was it. Molly sucked some saliva to the inside of her lips and spit it out. It dribbled down her chin and froze into an icicle.
If she were trapped upside down, Molly knew the saliva would have run the other direction, toward her nose.
She needed to dig up, above her head. How far up?
Cautiously, she straightened her left arm and stuck it over her head. As it pushed through the snow, she lost some of her precious air pocket but when her arm was completely straight, she realized she could move her hand, bending her wrist in every direction.
She knew it wouldn’t move that way in snow. Her hand was sticking up into the air.
She shoved her other arm upward and rotated both arms as hard and fast as she could. Sharp pains went through her shoulder where the bale of hay had hit her but it didn’t matter; she was working the snow away from her head.
The hole above her got bigger and bigger until at last Molly’s head was free. She breathed the cold air gratefully and then began rocking back and forth, while she clawed at the snow in front of her.
“Glendon?” she called. Maybe he hadn’t been buried by the snow. Maybe he was looking for her and would hear her and come to help her.
He didn’t answer and she was afraid to shout. She didn’t want to start another avalanche. She didn’t know if the man’s gunshot was responsible for this avalanche or if it was just coincidence that the avalanche started when it did, but she wasn’t taking any chances with a loud noise.
Her hands stung from the cold and she could no longer bend her fingers. She’d give anything, she thought, for a pair of mittens.
She scooped frantically at the snow with her bare hands, using the same kind of motion she used in the swimming pool at home when she practiced her breast-stroke.
Home. Los Angeles and Mom and her school seemed like parts of another world. She remembered laughing at Mom once when Mom used her electric hair dryer to defrost the refrigerator. Molly wished Mom would appear right now and aim a nice hot hair dryer at Molly’s fingers.
With a frantic burst of effort, Molly broke free and lay on top of the snow. Blowing on her fingers to warm them, she sat up and looked around. Everything was white. And still. There was no sign of Glendon or of the two young llamas.
To her right, she saw an odd flat piece of rock. It seemed somehow familiar. She looked again and realized it was the top of Arrowhead Boulder. Instead of towering above her, it was now at her feet. She walked to the rock and stood on it.
She looked behind her, her eyes darting quickly across the surface of the snow. Where was Glendon?
Maybe one of his hands or his head was visible above the surface, if only she knew where to look.
She saw nothing. She looked down the hillside, wondering anxiously whether she should stay and search for Glendon or try to go for help.
Far below, she could see the ranch. Apparently, only the edge of the avalanche had hit them. It stopped short of the lower pasture. She could see the fence, the barn, the lane—everything just as it was before.
I must hurry, Molly thought. I have to find Glendon; I must get him out quickly. Even if he has a pocket of air, like I had, it won’t last forever.
The vast white expanse of snow stretched behind her as far as she could see. How could she hope to find him?
Quickly, she looked again in all directions. She saw the cables that were connected to the four corners of the lift. Its location, behind a giant boulder, had partially sheltered it from the brunt of the avalanche.
The lift. She could take the lift down to the ranch and call for help.
The last thing she wanted to do was ride that lift again, especially alone, but she knew she had to do it. It was the fastest, surest way to get down. She couldn’t find Glendon by herself and it would take much too long to hike back down off the mountain. She wasn’t sure she could make it, anyway. Her feet, she was sure, were frozen. They felt like solid clumps of cement attached to the ends of her legs.
She rushed to the cables and, using her arm as a broom, brushed the snow off the lift bed. Then she slid her hands down the cable until she felt the control box. She didn’t know if it would still work or not but she pushed the switch, the way the man had done, and the lift lurched upward out of the snow.
Molly teetered momentarily, unable to get her balance. For one dreadful second, she thought she was going to fall off the side of the lift, back into the snow. Instead, she sat down, hard, feeling the jolt all the way up her spine.
She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and waited tensely for the bump that meant they’d reached the bottom.
As she rode, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Maybe she should have stayed and searched for Glendon alone.
If Uncle Phil was home, it would be OK; he would know what to do. He would help her find Glendon. But if he wasn’t home yet, Molly would have to call into town for help and she knew how long it took to get out to the ranch from town. Too much time would go by, she thought. Help would come but it would be too late to save Glendon.
When the lift reached the bottom, Molly scrambled off and ran for the house. Twice she stumbled and fell, then got up again and continued. All she could think of was Glendon, still up there on the mountain, buried in a snowdrift.
He might not be her favorite person but she couldn’t let him die. Poor Uncle Phil! First Aunt Karen and now Glendon. She couldn’t let it happen. She just couldn’t!
Molly burst into the kitchen. “Uncle Phil!” she cried. “Uncle Phil, are you here?”
The only one there to greet her was Buckie, wagging his tail wildly and giving short, sharp barks of joy.
Molly didn’t even stop to pet him. She ran straight for the kitchen telephone and grabbed the card with the sheriff’s telephone number on it.
She dialed the number. The line was busy. Buckie came back to the kitchen, carrying Fifi in his mouth.
“Not now,” Molly said. She ran to the coat closet, and put on a down jacket and a pair of mittens. Neither fit, but she didn’t care. They were warm. She knew she couldn’t go back up the mountain again without warmer clothes. She found a knit cap, too, and jammed it on her head. She wrapped a plaid scarf around her neck. She grabbed Glendon’s jacket and tied the sleeves around her waist. She stuffed another knit cap in its pocket. If she found Glendon, he could wear them.
What else would she need? She tried to think but she’d had no training or experience in surviving an avalanche. There was no need for it in southern California.
A flashlight, she thought. It would be dark soon and she’d never find Glendon without some light. She found the flashlight she’d used the night before when she went down the lane to wait for the ambulance. Was it only last night? It seemed weeks ago. Months.
She returned to the kitchen and dialed again. Still busy. Buckie followed her and dropped Fifi at her feet. As Molly stepped over the doll, a tingle of excitement shot through her.
That’s it, she thought. That’s Glendon’s best chance. She couldn’t waste any more precious time trying to call. It would take the sheriff at least half an hour to get there, no m
atter how fast he drove, and by then Glendon could be dead.
She hung up the phone and bolted back out the door. On her way, she snatched the afghan that hung over the arm of Aunt Karen’s rocking chair.
“Come on, Buckie,” she yelled, and the dog ran past her, delighted to be going outside to play.
Buckie didn’t want to get on the lift but Molly took hold of his harness and coaxed him until he was beside her. Then she flipped the switch again and she and Buckie started upward, flying high over the mountainside.
If Mom could see me now, Molly thought, she’d never believe it. Despite the pain in her fingers and toes, she smiled.
She knelt on the floor of the lift, clutching the afghan in one arm. The other hand gripped Buckie to be sure he didn’t jump off. She didn’t close her eyes this time; instead she stared down at the receding ranch. Except for the light she’d left on in the kitchen, nothing was visible.
It’s getting dark too fast, Molly thought. How will I find Glendon in the dark? I couldn’t even see him in daylight.
The lift reached the top and Molly jumped off and hit the switch all in one motion. She looked again around the vast white landscape and the impossibility of her task brought her nearly to tears. How much time had gone by since the avalanche buried Glendon? Ten minutes? Twenty? Even if he could breathe, how long did it take a person to freeze to death?
She untied Glendon’s jacket and held it close to Buckie’s nose. Buckie sniffed.
“Find Glendon,” Molly said. She rubbed the jacket against Buckie’s muzzle. “Find Glendon.”
She let go of Buckie’s harness and he began to run through the snow, leaping like a kangaroo in order to make it through the drifts.
“Find Glendon!”
She watched him run. His nose skimmed the surface of the snow. He was sniffing as he ran. Did he understand? Would he be able to smell anything through the snow even if he happened to be in the right place?
His sense of smell seemed remarkable when they played the Fifi game but Fifi was only hidden behind the sofa and under the bed. Even when Molly climbed partway up the trail and buried Fifi in the snow, it was only a few inches of snow. Glendon might be several feet down.
Molly trudged back and forth, straining her eyes for a sign of Glendon, listening for any faint cry for help. Twice Buckie ran back to her and each time Molly repeated the command, “Find Glendon.”
She was beginning to think her idea had failed when she heard Buckie whine.
Shining the flashlight across the snow, she saw Buckie, about fifty feet away. He wasn’t running now; he walked slowly in a circle, his head down, sniffing the snow and whining.
Molly raced toward him. “Find Glendon,” she called as she ran. “Good Buckie! Find Glendon!”
The dog began to dig. He burrowed his nose into the drift and pawed the snow, making it fly out behind him.
When Molly got there, she began to dig, too. The mittens helped. She was able to work without the sharp pain in her fingers that she’d had when she was digging herself out earlier. She knelt in the snow, head to head with Buckie, and the two of them dug as fast as they could.
The snow was more solid here. Once the avalanche stopped, the snow seemed to harden, like cement. If the snow around her had been this hard, Molly would never have been able to free herself. She realized she was lucky to be alive.
Using the end of the flashlight, she chipped away at the crust. Except for her feet, she wasn’t cold anymore. She was working too hard to be cold. She could feel Buckie’s breath in her face and knew he was working as hard as he could, too. She wondered if he sensed the urgency of the situation or if he thought it was just another game.
The flashlight struck something that didn’t give way when she hit it. Molly stopped digging and felt through the snow with her hand. Was it a rock? Could it be Glendon’s head?
Buckie whined louder. Molly turned on the flashlight and aimed it at the spot that felt solid. With her other hand, she pushed the snow away from the hard object.
It was the sole of a shoe. Glendon was buried upside down.
“It’s him,” she cried. “You found him! Good Buckie! Good dog!”
She dug frantically for another five minutes. Buckie dug, too, but Glendon didn’t help. He didn’t move at all nor did he respond when she talked to him. Fear grew in Molly with every scoop of snow she removed. Was she saving Glendon’s life—or digging out his body?
Nine
His eyes were closed.
Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she finally managed to get him on top of the snow. She removed her right mitten and put her hand on his throat but her fingers were so numb she couldn’t tell if there was a pulse beat or not. She opened his jacket, stuck her hand inside his shirt, and let out a sigh of relief. His heart was beating; he was still alive. But how was she going to get him down to the ranch? He certainly couldn’t walk and he was much too heavy for her to carry.
I have to try, Molly thought. He’s unconscious; he needs a doctor.
He wasn’t bleeding, but she knew that it could be dangerous to move an injured person. What if he had broken bones or some kind of internal injury?
She blew on her hands and rubbed them together, warming them enough so that she had some feeling in her fingers. Then, slowly and carefully, she felt Glendon’s legs, first the right, then the left. There was no obvious problem. Next she felt his right arm. Everything there seemed OK, too. But when she put her fingers on his left arm, Glendon moaned, and Molly could tell that the lower part of the arm was at a strange angle. She was sure the arm was broken.
She knew she should put a splint on it, to keep the broken bone from moving and doing more damage. She tried to think what she could use for a splint. Earlier, she could have used a tree branch. Now the few trees on this part of the mountain had been buried by the avalanche.
She considered using the flashlight but the bulb end was so much wider than the handle that it wouldn’t work well. She decided the best thing to do was to bind his arm with her plaid scarf.
She unwound the scarf from her neck, hating to lose the warmth. She positioned Glendon’s arm as straight as she could and, holding it carefully in place, wound the scarf around and around it. She tucked the end of the scarf into Glendon’s coat sleeve to secure it. The splint wouldn’t get any awards from the Red Cross but it would help keep his arm straight. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to transport Glendon to the lift.
She decided to fashion a sled out of the afghan. She spread the afghan out on the snow next to Glendon and started to roll him on to it. He moaned softly when she moved him and Molly prayed she was doing the right thing. What if he had a broken back or some other horrible injury that she couldn’t detect? He might be paralyzed if she moved him incorrectly.
Molly hesitated. If I don’t move him, she thought, he’s going to be dead.
She had to take the chance. Taking a deep breath, she rolled him over until he was lying in the middle of the afghan. She took the hat out of the pocket of the extra jacket and put it on Glendon’s head, pulling the edges down over his ears as far as she could. She didn’t dare try to put his broken arm through the jacket sleeve, but she stuck his other arm through a sleeve and laid the jacket across his chest.
Then she wrapped the edges of the afghan around him, tucking them tightly underneath his back. She used to wrap her dolls that way, papoose-style.
She took hold of the corner of the afghan that stuck out beyond Glendon’s shoes and started to pull. Planting her feet firmly in the snow, she leaned forward, tugging at the afghan. Glendon didn’t move. Molly clenched her teeth and yanked as hard as she could. The afghan tore. Molly, who was straining forward with all her might, sprawled face down in the snow.
Fighting back tears, she got up and tried pulling Glendon by his feet. He moved slightly and groaned but the effort caused her shoulder to throb unbearably. Her feet sank through the crust of the snow with every step, making it even more diffic
ult to move.
Buckie whined and leaned against her. She wished there was a way to use some of Buckie’s strength but she couldn’t think how to do it. Too bad she didn’t have a rope or a leash. She could tie one end around Glendon’s ankles and the other around Buckie and let the dog help pull. But she had no rope and no leash—and not enough energy to drag Glendon by herself.
She tried again, bending over to grasp Glendon’s ankles and tugging while she stepped backwards. It went better that time; she moved him four or five feet before she had to stop and rest. After she caught her breath, she grasped Glendon’s ankles again and then hesitated. Was she going in the right direction? She had been so frantic to find Glendon that she hadn’t paid any attention to which way she was walking while she searched for him.
She looked around. It was completely dark now and Molly was no longer positive where the lift was.
She turned on her flashlight and moved it slowly across the surface of the snow. Ice crystals sparkled in the light, sending up flecks of pink and gold, but Molly was too scared to appreciate the beauty of the scene. The whole terrain was changed from the avalanche; nothing looked familiar.
She did not see the lift cables; she did not see the top of the big boulder. Those were the only two landmarks she was sure of and she couldn’t find either one of them.
She couldn’t even retrace her own tracks because she and Buckie had crisscrossed the surface of the snow too many times before Buckie caught Glendon’s scent. She knew she’d be lucky to have enough strength to drag Glendon to the lift if she went in a straight line. If she zigzagged all over the mountain, she’d never make it.
I’m lost, Molly thought. I’m half frozen and Glendon’s unconscious and nobody is looking for us because they don’t know we’re up here. Every inch of her body hurt.
She considered leaving him there, wrapped in the afghan, while she tried to find the lift alone. By herself, she could walk much faster. But she still wasn’t sure which direction to go. What if she didn’t find the lift? What if she only succeeded in wandering farther away? Then no rescuers would come and she and Glendon wouldn’t be able to help each other stay warm and they’d probably both die of the cold.