Shadow of the Mountain Read online

  The words ran ahead of the thought that followed. Stephen had always been the leader, doing something new, something more, something she might never do. She hadn’t minded lagging behind. Now she was the one in front, beating him at his own game. ‘I’ll be beating you all my life,’ she said aloud. It didn’t feel like a victory.

  Abruptly Geneva shoved her lunch back inside the pack and stood up. There was nothing for her here — probably Keith was right, and there never had been. Her decision to come back to the mountain felt suddenly foolish and naïve.

  Hunger began to nag at her as she retraced her steps. She’d stop at the cairn to eat, then she’d go home. She’d done what she’d set out to do: it hadn’t been pointless. She was glad she’d seen the cairn, and brought the stone. But that was enough.

  Adjusting the pack to a more balanced position, Geneva reversed her climb down the mountain’s hard-won faces. They were short and steep, as difficult down as up. By the time she reached the pitch directly above the plateau her arms were feeling the strain. Hunger, she decided. One more effort and she’d stop to eat. Unclipping her harness she turned to survey the next drop. A loose stone slid beneath her boot and she lurched sideways, stumbled, almost regained her balance. She had it, but too late. As her ankle turned beneath her she staggered, the pack’s awkward weight pulling her away from the ledge. With a startled cry, Geneva fell.

  When her eyes opened, all she was aware of was pain. She was lying awkwardly, twisted between the pack on her back and a large boulder. She had no idea how far she’d fallen. Taking a breath she tried to turn but the effort sent waves of agony racing like flames through her body. She lay still, the flames licking at her flesh, consuming her.

  After a while, the pain seemed to ease, enough for her to think, even if only about the pain itself. If she didn’t move it seemed to settle in certain places so that, if she concentrated on the intensity, she could find the foci. Her left leg, oddly askew. Her left side. Her head — thank God she was wearing a helmet. Her whole body ached but the leg was the worst. It must be broken. Her side was all right if she didn’t move or breathe too deeply. She filled her lungs, testing herself, and flinched at the result.

  No one knows where I am, she thought, and drifted into unconsciousness.

  Something cool hit her face. Drizzle. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. Geneva opened her eyes. The sky had changed. Where it had been bright and startling above her, it was now dull, with clouds scudding quickly, high up. The drizzle was light. Not enough to slow her down if she was climbing or on the bike. Enough to kill her, lying injured.

  Taking a breath, Geneva moved a finger. Two fingers. With an effort she tensed her right hand, lifted the arm. The pain wavered and jumped but she could manage it. Moving slowly, she unclipped the waist belt of her pack then, placing her hand against the nearest lump of rock, tried to lift herself slightly, angling the strap off her shoulder.

  Knives sliced through her side but she persevered, her breath coming in short gasps, sweat pouring from her. She had an arm free. All her hope was focussed on the pack: if she could only get to it — her weight shifted, moving her injured leg. Geneva cried out. Blackness swept in around her and she collapsed, falling sideways, away from the pain, away from the pack.

  The rock in front of her eyes was grey, with minute traces of lichen sketched in haphazard lines. They wouldn’t be haphazard, she knew. There would be a reason why they grew that way.

  ‘You’ve got to move,’ Stephen said.

  ‘Can’t,’ Geneva answered, watching the lichen.

  ‘You’ve got to, Gen. It’ll be dark soon. It’ll get cold. You’ve got to stay warm.’

  ‘Don’t feel cold,’ she said, realising as the words formed that they were true.

  ‘Come on,’ he answered. She felt him nudge her shoulder. ‘Get your pack open. You must have something warm in there?’

  She nodded. She had a jacket. And a survival blanket.

  ‘Do it now, Gen,’ Stephen said. She wanted to see him: it was ages since she’d seen him, she couldn’t remember why. She lifted herself a little. Her head throbbed but the pain seemed to be filtered through a heavy wadding, like sound under water. With an effort she half turned, wedging herself part upright against a boulder. Her leg lay at an odd angle — she looked away feeling sick. She took a deep breath to steady herself then cried aloud as waves of hot pain lanced through her side. Breathing in sharp, shallow gasps she concentrated on getting enough air into her lungs, on getting control of the pain, on the thud of blood in her veins. Finally she risked opening her eyes: the mountain was still there. She was still there. She looked around for Stephen.

  He was squatting against a rock near her shoulder. She had to twist her head to see him. ‘Get the pack open,’ he said. It was still hitched around her forearm. ‘Get something on. You have to stay warm.’

  She did as he told her, moving slowly, drawing back from the pain each time it threatened her. Her fingers located her jacket and a water bottle, still half full. There were sandwiches and a chocolate bar but she wasn’t hungry. She drank, and slowly pushed her arm through the sleeve of the jacket. Moving her left arm brought the pain back to her side so she draped the jacket across her shoulder.

  ‘And the blanket,’ Stephen said. ‘Get the blanket.’

  ‘Bossy as ever,’ Geneva muttered.

  ‘It’s for your own good.’ For the first time, Stephen smiled. She’d missed that smile. She hadn’t realised how much.

  ‘Stephen,’ she said, reaching towards him, but he’d gone somewhere, and the blackness was coming back. Geneva floated into it.

  27.

  ‘You’re such an idiot. I can’t believe you did this. Stubborn bloody idiot.’

  The voice was a long way off but if she concentrated on listening to it, it seemed to come closer.

  ‘Stubborn to the power of ten.’ There was a pause. She could feel something pushing at her, digging into the pain that seemed to radiate from her leg. ‘Try it now, Geneva. Try being stubborn now.’

  Her body moved. Pain like a vice shot up her side, squeezing her lungs so that she couldn’t breathe, crushing her brain. She groaned.

  ‘Geneva? Open your eyes! Wake up and talk to me. Come on, Geneva.’

  Something wasn’t right. Stephen wouldn’t call her that — he always called her Gen or Genna — plus, it didn’t sound like Stephen. She forced her eyes open and the light struck at them, making her wince and squint. He was there, bending over her. She tried to say something but her voice wouldn’t work. He moved and light caught the side of his face. It wasn’t Stephen. It was Angus.

  ‘Thank fuck,’ he said. ‘I thought … Look, I’m just going to move you a little bit, okay? I need to get a ground sheet under you. I’m sorry if it hurts.’

  It did, but not as much as before. She drifted again.

  ‘Jesus, Gen, you should have known better. You of all people.’

  At the sound of Stephen’s voice, Geneva opened her eyes. Angus was rummaging in his backpack. She frowned, trying to grasp the voice she’d heard so that she could decide whose it was. It was gone. Angus turned to her. ‘Here you go,’ he said, gently sliding something soft behind her head. ‘Comfortable?’

  There was something bothering her. No, there were a lot of things bothering her. She pushed her way past the dull pressured feeling in her left side. ‘How come you’re here?’ she asked, latching onto one of the easier questions, abandoning the others. Her voice sounded groggy, as if she was half asleep, or half plastered.

  Angus studied her. ‘Your dad phoned. He said you went out early and he thought maybe you’d come to see me.’ He paused. ‘Yeah, well. Anyway, when I said I didn’t know where you were, he seemed a bit worried. You’d been missing more than five hours then — he wasn’t sure what time you left but he was pretty sure it was before seven.’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Right.’ Angus compressed his lips. ‘Your dad said you wouldn’t normally go off without l
eaving a note. He was worried you might have crashed the bike or something.’

  ‘I did leave a note,’ she said, ‘on my desk.’ She hesitated. ‘I said I was going into town.’

  ‘Well, that was helpful,’ Angus answered.

  There was nothing to say to that. Geneva let herself drift for a while. When she opened her eyes it seemed darker than before. ‘Angus?’ There was no answer. Panic battered like a flock of trapped birds in her chest. She turned her head, her breath coming faster, pain building with it. ‘Angus!’

  There was a rattle of stones further along the ledge. ‘I’m here. It’s okay.’

  She swung her head towards the voice as he jogged back into sight. ‘I was just putting up a marker to help them find us.’

  Each tight breath stabbed at her ribs, stealing her air. Angus squatted before her with his hands on her shoulders. ‘Breathe,’ he instructed. ‘I’m not going to leave you, Geneva.’

  Geneva nodded, spreading her fingers wide and concentrating on her breathing. There was something wrong with her lungs: they didn’t feel big enough, or strong enough, to hold the air she sucked into them. Time had become irrelevant: she couldn’t tell how long it took before she could speak and think clearly again. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled at last. There was so much to be sorry for.

  ‘It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.’ Angus turned and sat beside her, his arm hitched around her shoulders. ‘It won’t be long now.’

  What wouldn’t? Her brain was getting sluggish. How long had she been here? Geneva struggled to force her thoughts into order. Five hours — Angus had said five hours; five hours counting from seven, so it must have been midday when her father phoned him.

  ‘I was at the cairn,’ she said aloud.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When Dad rang you. I was at Stephen’s cairn.’ An image of her father sprang into her mind. ‘You didn’t tell him, did you? He’d be …’ Her voice trailed away, the image of her father fading with it. There was something wrong with the order of her thoughts, she knew, but she couldn’t work it out. ‘Angus?’ She turned her head, not lifting it — it felt too heavy to lift — her cheek against his shirt. He was wearing a polyprop, purple and blue striped. Little black stripes too, beside the purple ones. It felt warm. His warmth … There’d been something she wanted to ask. She searched through her thoughts and found it. ‘Am I dying?’

  Angus moved roughly, bouncing her head so that waves of pain shot around her skull like ping-pong balls. She whimpered, resenting the pressure of his fingers on her jaw. ‘Geneva, look at me.’ She opened her eyes. ‘You’re not dying! Understand me?’ He looked cross and she closed her eyes against him. ‘You’ve broken your leg and hit your head,’ he said. ‘With luck it’ll knock sense into you rather than out of you.’ He shifted again, more gently this time. ‘Now drink this, and don’t be so stupid.’

  He put a water bottle into her hand. Geneva stared at it, unmoving. ‘My side hurts,’ she said. ‘Or,’ she thought about it, ‘not hurts so much now but it feels sort of heavy.’

  Angus frowned and took the water bottle. ‘Which side?’

  As he lifted her shirt, Geneva wanted to giggle. A tiny bubble of sound escaped. Angus paused to look at her, his face creased in concern. ‘Cold hands,’ she said.

  Angus scowled and ignored her. ‘Could be broken ribs,’ he said eventually. ‘You need to stay still. Does it hurt when you breathe?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Don’t take any big breaths.’

  ‘It must have happened when I fell,’ Geneva said.

  ‘No kidding.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘You’re not going away, are you?’ She was starting to drift again. ‘Stephen went away.’

  Angus didn’t answer. She opened her eyes to look for him. ‘He made me get the survival blanket first,’ she remembered, ‘and my jacket.’

  Angus had been staring away across the mountain, and his head swivelled towards her. ‘Stephen did?’ he asked.

  ‘He said I had to keep warm,’ she said.

  ‘He was right,’ Angus answered after a pause. ‘Actually, I was trying to work out how you got your pack off, with your leg the way it was.’

  ‘Stephen helped me,’ she repeated. ‘He was here when I woke up. Then you were.’ She frowned. ‘That was later.’ Her memory seemed to be misbehaving. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly six-thirty. There’s a rescue team coming, Geneva. They won’t be long now. It’ll be all right.’

  ‘That’s what Stephen said,’ she answered. Her thoughts coasted.

  ‘Angus?’ she said later.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘I’m sorry about what I said.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry too.’

  ‘You’d have liked Stephen,’ she said.

  Angus grunted.

  ‘He loved climbing. It was only because of him that I started. But there was lots more to him than that.’ Geneva hesitated, memories pouring like water through her mind. ‘He was the best brother ever,’ she said.

  She felt Angus stiffen. ‘Stephen was your brother?’

  She frowned. ‘I told you that.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think you did.’

  Geneva’s thoughts were already wandering along another track. ‘Angus?’ She paused. ‘Stephen wasn’t really here, was he?’

  She felt the arm around her shoulders tighten. ‘I don’t know Geneva. But you are. That’s what counts.’

  28.

  The figure at the end of the bed came into blurry focus. Geneva had vague memories of three or four faces, her father’s amongst them, as she’d slipped in and out of consciousness over the past days. This particular face was one she wasn’t ready to see, but it was too late to pretend she was still asleep.

  ‘I hope you’ve learnt a lesson,’ Keith said. ‘I’ve a good mind to ban you from RockZone.’

  ‘Okay,’ she croaked. There was a tube up her nose and her throat felt raw. ‘Thirsty,’ she added hopefully.

  Keith walked around to the side of the bed, raising the cup so that she could get the straw between her lips. The water tasted stale and full of chemicals. Town supply. She grimaced. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘I should bloody well think so. What the hell were you thinking?’

  Geneva frowned. It was too hard to answer. She hoped she looked remorseful.

  ‘You’re a bloody idiot.’

  ‘That’s what Angus said.’

  ‘He’s as big an idiot,’ Keith answered. ‘I should ban the pair of you.’ He scowled. ‘At least he had the sense to ring Tink and tell her where he was going. She told him to wait at the car park while she got hold of search and rescue. But did he? Did he hell! When we got there and found his mother’s car, we figured we’d be scraping him off the rock as well.’

  Keith paused in his tirade. ‘You’re both lucky to be alive,’ he added in a quieter tone. ‘It was dark by the time we found you. We wouldn’t have, without Angus, even if we’d known where to look.’

  Geneva felt oddly detached from Keith’s lecture. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said. She certainly didn’t remember Keith being on the mountain. It had been just her and Angus and … ‘And Stephen,’ she whispered.

  Keith let out a sigh and slumped heavily into the chair beside the bed. ‘Geneva, Stephen’s dead. You getting killed won’t bring him back. It won’t fix anything.’

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  Keith studied her a moment before nodding slowly. ‘I think you do.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Geneva thought she might have slept. When she opened her eyes it was dark and her father had replaced Keith in the chair. ‘Dad?’ she said.

  A thin smile stretched across his face but it did little to wipe away the sadness that rested there. ‘Hello again, love.’ His voice was flat and he ran a hand briskly across his face.

  Geneva felt her own eyes prickle.

  Her father shook his head. ‘How could you do that to us, Genna?’


  She swallowed. ‘I’m really sorry, Dad.’

  He sighed. ‘So am I. I promised myself I wouldn’t say that.’ Reaching for her hand where it lay on the coverlet, he squeezed it gently. ‘Never mind. It’s all right now. You just concentrate on getting better.’

  Geneva nodded.

  ‘Your mother sends her love. She’s …’ Her father stopped to clear his throat.

  Unable to bear the anguish on his face, Geneva let herself slide back into sleep.

  When Geneva woke the room was dark with just a nightlight glowing above the bed. A nurse stood nearby fiddling with a plastic bag of liquid. Geneva’s breathing felt easier. The tube was gone from her nose.

  ‘Dad?’ she whispered.

  The nurse shot her a professional smile. ‘Your father’s gone home to get some clean clothes and catch up on some sleep.’ Her cool fingers settled around Geneva’s wrist. ‘You talked to him earlier. Don’t you remember?’

  Geneva shook her head, frowning.

  ‘You were very groggy,’ she agreed. ‘You’ll find you’re like that for a while, and the best thing is to sleep when you need to. Don’t worry about anything else.’

  ‘How long since …?’

  ‘Three days. The doctor will be in to talk to you tomorrow morning — your father will be back by then. He’s been here most of the time, and not just him: you’re a popular girl!’ She smiled as she straightened the bed and adjusted Geneva’s pillows. ‘Don’t be surprised if you don’t remember; your body’s had other things to think about.’ The nurse refilled the water jug, wiped her face, gave her a drink.