We might have to. It was the one thing she could never bring herself to say.
“Besides, the snowmen are nocturnal. All we’d have to do is make good headway during daylight hours. I could be out of their territory by the first day.”
“What makes you so certain? We don’t know where their territory is, where it begins and ends. We don’t even know for sure they’re nocturnal. Maybe some of them are out and about during the day, and what then? We don’t know anything about what they are.”
Whenever she’d read stories about yeti sightings, she’d pictured great furry creatures with masses of white hair, certainly not these repulsive things with their glowing yellow eyes and razor-like teeth. Were they a link on the evolutionary chain that Darwin had missed? A bizarre hybrid of some sort that had evolved to live in these mountains?
“The Cold War.”
Steven broke into her thoughts, making her jump.
“What?”
“The Cold War. Whatever those creatures are, I bet they have something to do with that. Maybe the Russians tried to make super soldiers, and instead they ended up with—”
“Monsters.”
“Yeah.”
Nat considered everything she’d seen. Assuming they didn’t have a personal shopper, the snowmen were intelligent enough to fashion their own clothes out of hide. They’d shown considerable smarts when it came to killing as well. Igor’s survival was nothing short of a miracle, while she and Steven had only dumb luck to thank. Well, dumb luck and the mountaineer’s foresight in finding the ravine.
“You really think those things were once human?” she asked.
“I think any humanity was bred out of them a long time ago.”
She trembled, remembering the coldness of those ugly, pupil-less eyes. There had been no compassion, no remorse, no hesitancy in them, only cold-blooded murder. Then again, she wondered what other creatures saw in the eyes of her own species. Man wasn’t exactly known for his merciful, live-and-let-live nature either. What if the snowmen had been created to embody the worst traits of humanity with none of the good?
“I always thought that yetis, if they existed, would have evolved from the common ancestor we share with apes,” she said.
“I’m not sure if they’re yetis or not, but there’s no way those things are related to apes.”
Nat wondered how he could be so sure. They walked upright like humans and had opposable thumbs and fingers like both species. They were obviously capable of using tools, of planning, and of conscious thought. Aside from a few examples found in politics, people looked nothing like their hairy cousins, despite the similarities in DNA. So who was to say the snowmen hadn’t simply evolved in a different direction? The eyes and fangs could be modifications selected over time in order to survive such a harsh climate.
“Do you think—” She hesitated, uncertain how to phrase her question. In spite of the forty years that had passed, she could tell it was a sensitive subject. “Do you think this is what happened to your aunt?”
“Yes, I do. What else could it be? Our people have the exact same injuries as her friends.”
It was true, but there was so much that couldn’t be explained. The radiation on some of the Dyatlov group, the crushing internal injuries, the mysterious burns. Nat’s brain spun in circles until she felt dizzy.
“We’re not going to solve anything tonight, and the quieter we are, the better, so let’s try to get some sleep. Maybe things will be clearer in the morning,” Steven said.
In spite of her exhaustion, she couldn’t imagine being able to rest. The closeness of the snow around her gave her the feeling of being buried alive. Her chest was so tight it was difficult to breathe. Still, she shuffle-crawled over to Igor. They’d agreed to spend the night in a huddle to conserve body heat, keeping the unconscious Russian warm, though whenever she touched his skin that was less of a concern. The man was burning up.
Refusing to let her mind wander into darkness as she worried about the infection Igor must be fighting, she buried herself in the blankets and cuddled close to the unconscious man, praying he’d be alive in the morning.
The snow crunched underneath Steven as the mountaineer moved to Igor’s other side. “Christ,” he whispered. “He feels like he’s on fire. That’s not go—”
The roof caved in, smothering her in cold and darkness. Choking, frantic to free herself, she pawed at the snow that covered her face, hands hooked into claws. Over the pounding of her pulse, she could hear Steven screaming.
Shut up. You’ll call them. You’ll lead them right to us.
Then she could hear something else, a familiar snarling that made goose bumps spread along her spine. Her bladder clenched in terror. It wasn’t a cave-in.
The snowmen had found them.
“Steven!”
He was still screaming, which was awful, but at least it meant he was alive. Her fingers dug through the snow, searching for the knife she’d last seen lying on Steven’s sleeping bag. But all too soon the screaming stopped, replaced by a sound a million times more dreadful.
Chewing.
Her hand closed around the hilt of Joe’s knife. Digging through the snow, she gouged great chunks of it away from her face, moving blindly toward the appalling sounds. Touching something, she flinched before recognizing the feel of slick fabric—ski pants. Steven’s leg, dangling in midair. Reaching upward, she followed the form of his body until she could estimate where the creature was, its guttural growls chilling her blood.
She swung the knife in a wide arc, connecting with something yielding and malleable. Rewarded with an ear-splitting shriek, she thrust the blade forward again and again, hitting her target each time with all her strength. Nat closed her eyes as steaming gore gushed over her face. Her sight was useless anyway. After another anguished, inhuman cry, she heard a soft thump and Steven’s body fell against her, knocking her off her feet. She tumbled to the ground, snow cushioning her fall, and dragged the mountaineer away from the cave-in by his jacket.
Gasping, she fumbled for the lantern. Steven would have berated her, told her it wasn’t safe, yelled about the glow of the light revealing their location through the snow. She didn’t care. The worst had already happened; their location was already compromised. She had to see what she was dealing with.
Steven’s lovely blue eyes—the eyes a multitude of women had no doubt swooned over—were fixed on the roof. His mouth was twisted in a grimace. She wept to see the atrocious wound on his neck. Most of the protective flesh was gone, leaving a bloody mess behind. Tying her scarf around the gaping cut, she watched the fabric immediately become saturated with his blood. Laying her head on his chest, her body shaking with sobs, she listened frantically for a heartbeat, though she already knew the truth.
He was gone.
She’d been too late.
“I’ll fucking kill you! I will fucking kill you, all of you.”
“Nat?” A cautious voice spoke in the shadows of the snow cave, making her flinch. It was like hearing a ghost speak. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
She raised the lantern. It might as well have been a ghost. Wincing in the glare, Igor lifted a hand to block his good eye. He held his other arm across his abdomen. Incredibly, he’d managed to extricate himself from both his sleeping bag and the cave-in. For a moment, she gaped at him, unable to speak. He should have been dead. The Russian had so many critical injuries it would have been easier to list the parts of him that weren’t wounded. And yet he was still alive, still drawing breath, while Steven was…
Nat pointed at the mountaineer’s body, crying.
“Oh no! No.” Igor shuffled closer, never taking his eyes from Steven’s face.