Before she could thank him for the vote of confidence, he hung up, leaving her with dead air and the nightmarish vision of a woman fighting for her life.
~ Chapter Three ~
I’ve made a mistake.
The thought had first nibbled at the corners of Nat’s conviction that morning, when she’d met “her” Mansi, a slight man with short, wavy hair and a heavily lined face. Vasily spoke strongly accented English that required no translator.
“You’re certain you don’t have any problem taking us up there?” she’d asked once introduced, hoping for a pithy sound bite about the horrors of Kholat Syakhl, the infamous Dead Mountain.
The man regarded her with dark eyes that were surprisingly cold. “Prefer not to, but times, they are difficult. Many of my people are starving. Others are leaving the community. I will do what must be done.”
It sounded ominous but Nat soldiered on, determined not to let the Mansi discourage her. “When should we meet you tomorrow?”
Vasily looked at each member of her group before responding. Anubha, the startlingly beautiful Inuit tracker. Her husband Joe, who appeared to be more than a little rough around the edges. The appropriately named Igor, a blond Russian ski instructor who smiled and nodded so frequently Nat questioned how much he understood. Lana, a Canadian survival expert who’d once been an Olympic alpine skier. Steven, an amateur mountaineer from California. And finally, herself and Andrew.
Andrew, a California boy through and through, shivered in his brand new parka, stamping his feet to warm them. They’d been outside for less than ten minutes. For the hundredth time, Nat considered leaving him behind at their hotel in Vizhai, but her producer had always been a part of these adventures. It wouldn’t be the same without him, like undertaking a hike with a missing limb.
Originally, the plan had been to assemble a group of nine who would mirror the characteristics and demographics of Dyatlov’s friends, but that soon proved to be impossible, as well as dangerous. Choosing someone because they were young, blonde, and Russian rather than adept at hiking and surviving was pure madness, as much as it would have made for a great show.
“They are ready, your group? They have trained? The pass is Category III. It is difficult terrain. Only the very experienced should go.”
Nat met Andrew’s eyes, sympathizing with the panic she saw there. Out of their group of seven, the producer was the least prepared, closely followed by her. Unlike the others, they were not elite athletes or survival experts. They had trained until their muscles had ached and each new pain had become indistinguishable from the last, but still—climbing mountains in California was hardly in the same category as what they’d experience tomorrow. Nat’s naturally slim frame had turned wiry and nearly gaunt with all the unaccustomed exercise, which wouldn’t stand her well if she ended up stranded on the pass somewhere. She resolved to stick close to Anubha. Or perhaps Vasily was her better bet, since he was the one with the gun.
“Yes, we have.” She lifted her chin slightly at the expression of doubt that flitted across the Mansi’s face. What she didn’t have in athletic prowess, she more than made up for in stubbornness. She’d carry Andrew to the pass on her back if need be.
“Do your people really believe the mountain is cursed?” Lana asked.
Vasily’s response was a look so withering the Olympian visibly shrank inside her Canada Goose parka. “My ‘people’ live in the real world. We do not believe in fairy stories. Kholat Syakhl is a bad place, but not because of any curse.”
“What do you mean? What makes it bad?” Nat jumped in, feeling she should rescue her fellow Canadian, whose cheeks were flushed and not by the cold.
He shrugged. “The weather. The terrain. The wildlife. A lot of risk for little return.”
“Wildlife? I thought you called it Dead Mountain because there was no game up there?” Steven’s question had an edge to it, just enough of a challenge that Nat wondered if they were going to have a problem with the mountaineer. She wished they’d had more time to acclimate as a group and learn each other’s weaknesses and strengths before they braved the hike. But time, as they say, was money.
“Perhaps the bears and wolves did not get the memo,” Vasily replied. Anubha chuckled under her breath.
Bears and wolves. Some people speculated that a wild animal had caused Lyudmila’s facial trauma. But what animal removes its victim’s tongue and eyes, leaving the rest of the face intact? Nat shivered. The Mansi certainly hadn’t been hired for his winning personality.
Igor spoke to Vasily in Russian and both men laughed. Maybe she did need a translator after all. Were they laughing at her? It wasn’t a comforting thought.
“We should leave at dawn if we’re going to make the first camp before it gets dark,” Igor said, flashing his perfect teeth at her. “It will be a very long day. We need much rest.”
“That seems like a good idea. Seven, then?” Andrew asked, and Nat didn’t miss the amused look that passed between Igor and Vasily.
“Five,” Vasily said, staring down her producer as if daring him to argue. Andrew, who often called it a night at five in the morning, swallowed hard.
“I suggest we have dinner and then turn in. We’ve arranged for a feast in a traditional restaurant nearby.” Nat infused as much cheer into her words as she could, in spite of the feelings of trepidation that crept over her. Had they done the wrong thing, choosing the team based on skill rather than personality? Everyone was so different, their only common ground a love of the outdoors. Though perhaps love wasn’t the right word for it, especially in Vasily’s case.
As though he’d read her mind, Vasily slung his pack over his shoulder. “I prefer to have a simple meal in my room. I will see you here at five tomorrow.” He left without waiting for a reply.
“Anyone else?” Nat asked, mentally crossing her fingers. She was concerned Igor would follow suit, but the ski instructor stayed where he was. She was fairly certain it was the promise of an extravagant meal that kept him rooted to the spot rather than their company. “All right, let’s go. Five o’clock is going to come early.”
To their credit, no one groaned. As the group fell in line, Lana chatted with Anubha and her husband while Igor and Steven shared war stories of mountain life. Still, the Mansi’s attitude clung to Nat like a shroud, and the blast of frigid air that greeted them as they left the hotel certainly didn’t help. As much as she talked tough about how hardy Canadians were, that was all it was—talk. There was a reason she’d relocated to California.
“Vasily’s sure a charmer, isn’t he?” Andrew kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the rest of the group.
“Thankfully, we didn’t hire him for his charm. If he gets us to Dyatlov Pass and back in one piece, that’s good enough for me.”
“If?” Her producer had a gift for picking up on the slightest nuance. “Are you having doubts?”
Nat pulled her muffler higher on her cheeks, eyes tearing in the bitter wind. “We trained for six months, Andrew. Dyatlov’s group did this sort of thing for most of their lives and look what happened to them. Having doubts means I’m of sound mental health. It would be insane not to have doubts.”
“I guess so. Whatever happened to them—you don’t really think it’s still out there, do you?”
“I think our biggest challenges are going to be the weather, exertion, and our own paranoia. Whatever killed Igor and his friends, there’s no way it’s still out there sixty years later.”
She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. The truth was, she had no idea what had happened to the Dyatlov group. What had terrified nine experienced outdoorsmen so much they cut open their tent and ran into the cold in their underwear? Why had Lyudmila’s group survived so much longer and sustained such terrible and strange injuries? Where did the radiation on the bodies come from, and why were the tops of the trees near some of them burned? Something had terrified the skiers, and judging by what had befallen them, rightly so. But what? There were a million theories, all of them ultimately unsatisfying.