“What’s wrong? Can’t you find the bags?”
Bright bursts of color flared on Igor’s cheeks, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were glassy.
“What is it, Igor?”
“I found them. But I also found this.” He pulled out a knife, its blade winking cruelly in the gray light. Nat was no expert on knives, but she was pretty sure it had belonged to Joe, the same blade the trapper had threatened Steven with.
Its edge was darkened with dried blood.
~ Chapter Thirteen ~
Nat clutched her head with both hands, attempting to distract herself from the pounding in her brain. It felt like they’d been fighting, hollering at each other for hours, though it had probably only been about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of hell.
“Sue me because I thought it was smart to have some kind of weapon.” Steven’s voice cut through the campsite, creating an echo. It was eerie to hear his words float back to them. “Call me crazy, but as two of us were dead at that point, I thought it might be a good fucking idea to be able to defend myself.”
“What is wrong with you people? Steven is not a murderer. He was right to take the knife.” Vasily positioned himself between Igor and the mountaineer, as though he thought Steven were in danger of attack. Since when had he developed such a loyalty to that wretched man? Nat guessed it must have been when they were skiing so far ahead of the others.
“You have to admit it looks bad. Whose blood is on it, Steven? You still haven’t answered that question,” Igor said, his voice dangerously calm.
Steven threw his hands in the air. “I don’t fucking know, okay? It’s not like I was thinking straight. I saw it in Joe’s hand and I took it. It could be yeti blood, for all I know.”
“Would you stop it with the fucking yetis?” It was the third time Igor had made the same request, but the first time he’d added an f-bomb. “There’s no such thing.”
“Yes, there is!” Vasily’s voice bordered on an indignant shriek. “I have seen them. I told you. I told you what happened to my village.”
“You saw some big men in snowsuits. You don’t know what they were. They could have been a rival tribe.”
Yes. Go, Igor. At least Steven hadn’t blamed the presence of the knife in his pack on a snowman. And where was Anubha’s crossbow? Did he have that as well? It wasn’t a comforting thought.
“They were not men,” Vasily said, all but stomping in the snow; he was so infuriated, and Nat wondered how she ever could have thought he was a cold fish. “They are too strong! Too big.”
“I do not like him having a knife. Too much death has happened when you two were here. We will not feel safe if Steven has the weapon.” Igor held out his hand while Nat held her breath. What if the mountaineer snapped and stabbed him with it?
“His name is Cliff,” she said, trying not to moan at the pain in her head.
“Actually, it’s Steven. Cliff was a name I used for the show. Obviously, I couldn’t use my real one.”
“Obviously.”
“What are you two talking about? I thought we were talking about the knife.” Igor scowled. Since no one was currently questioning the existence of yetis, Vasily had fallen silent again. It appeared to be the only dog he had in this fight.
“I’m not sure if Steven is a murderer, but he’s the reason we’re in this mess.” Nat sighed. “About a year ago, someone named Cliff started trolling my show.”
“Trolling?” the Russian asked.
“Sorry. It’s a Western expression. Basically, making our lives miserable. Calling me out for being a coward, saying I hadn’t done anything noteworthy in far too long. He wanted me to investigate the Dyatlov Pass incident, and he wouldn’t let up. Somehow, the bastard got under my skin. He hit me where it hurt—my overdeveloped ego. And so here we are.” She stared Steven down, daring him to argue with her, but the man kept his mouth shut for a change. Hallelujah.
“That was you?” Igor gawked at the mountaineer. “But why?”
Steven sighed. “Because my great-aunt was Lyudmila Dubinina.”
“Am I supposed to know who this is?” The Russian glanced at Nat, but it was Steven who answered.
“She was a member of the Dyatlov group. One of the youngest, and arguably the most injured. She might have also been the last to die. I learned about her death as a child, and it’s haunted me ever since. I was trying to get Nat’s help investigating what happened to her. Admittedly, I didn’t go about it the right way.”
“Didn’t go about it the right way? You terrorized us.” Talk about turning understatement into an art form.
“I’m sorry. That was never my intention. Riling you up seemed like it would be more effective than asking nicely, and you have to admit it was.”
She would have loved to wipe that smug expression off his face. “Difficult to say, since you never asked nicely. You were a douche from day one.”
“Granted. I’ll accept that. But I’m not a murderer. And I never tried to sabotage this trip. When you were at your angriest with me, I was actually trying to help.”
“I still think it’s a good idea to give the knife to Igor. Or to me. If something else happens, you’ll be in the clear,” Nat said.
The Russian lowered his voice to a growl. “Nothing else better happen. No more. Everyone leave, we get off this Dead Mountain alive, yah.”
Everyone leave. Shit, how long had it been since she’d checked on Andrew? “I should see how Andy’s doing. I’ll be right back.” She paused for a moment, long enough to size up the man who had made her life a living hell for a year. Steven’s shoulders were slumped, and he stared at his boots, moving a small hill of snow back and forth with his feet. At least the fight seemed to have gone out of him. “Steven? Please do the right thing. Give the knife to Igor. And the crossbow as well, if you have it.”
Trepidation weighed on her as she rushed to the tent she shared with Andrew. Fuck. What if something had happened to him? How could she have stayed away so long?
It was a relief to find everything as she’d left it, with the flaps securely zippered and fastened. There’d been a small, evil part of her mind that had been scared she’d find a huge rip in the side, like the one the Dyatlov group had cut in their tent.
Andrew was on his back, fast asleep. Thank God, thank God. If anything had happened to him, she’d never have forgiven herself. A tiny cry escaped her and Andrew shifted in his sleeping bag, his eyes flickering open. “Nat?”
“Yeah.” She pressed her hand to his forehead like a mother searching for signs of fever. His skin was warm and damp, but she didn’t see any reason for alarm. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Cold.”
“You should come and sit by the fire. That’ll warm you up in a hurry.” Assuming everyone stopped arguing long enough to tend it. Worse came to worst, she’d do it herself. She wasn’t as good at it as Igor, but there was only one way to learn.
Andrew yawned. “What time is it? It seemed like you were gone for a really long time.”
“I probably was. I’m so sorry. I never should have left you alone for that long.” Nat’s hand went for her phone until she remembered she’d purchased a cheap watch for the trip to keep from draining her battery. She was shocked to see it was a few minutes shy of three p.m. The sun would set in a couple of hours, making it too dangerous to leave. Assuming they could leave. “How are your lungs feeling? Are you out of breath?”
He took a few exaggerated breaths. The faint whistling she’d heard over the last forty-eight hours was gone. “See? I’m fine; let’s go.”