Together: A Novel Of Shared Vision Part 14

Here they were at 9,600 feet, overlooking a deep mountain lake as clear as could be found anywhere in the world. The water was pure enough to drink, and it reminded Brenden of how fresh water really could taste as he took in large gulps. Nelson joined him in the refres.h.i.+ng drink, lapping until he was satisfied.

After absorbing the water, a s.h.i.+ver ran down Brenden's spine.

"Hey, Charlie," he asked, "do you think the temperature is still dropping? I mean, where's the sun?"

"I know, Brenden," Charlie said. "I've been watching the sky, and frankly, I don't like what I'm seeing."

"What do you mean?"

"Some pretty heavy clouds are beginning to drop over the Divide. We could get some big-time snow, pal. Did you listen to the weather last night before we came up here?"

"I didn't. I probably should have, but I was so excited I just didn't think of it."

"Well," Charlie said, taking a deep breath, "let's get going. a.s.suming we've got another two hours to climb, we should be able to summit before it gets too bad."

"Okay, Nelson," Brenden said, picking up the dog's harness, "let's boogie on up, boy."

The three of them began to work their way up the steep Minnehaha Trail, and here Brenden was able to outclimb Charlie because the big dog on four feet could actually almost pull him along. Brenden laughed to himself as Charlie struggled to keep up.

Reaching the last of the campgrounds at Buckskin Pa.s.s, Brenden felt the first snowflake on his nose as he pulled his stocking cap down over his ears. Now the wind had come up.

"Sirocco," Charlie said, above the howl. "The Canadian Express. We're in for it now."

Brenden considered but didn't ask the question. Should we turn around and go down? He was surprised at his own reaction, as a fierce need to accomplish the mission burst out from inside him.

Patting Nelson, he said, "One more push, Charlie. One more big effort and we'll be there-you and me and the four-legged guy."

Charlie registered the pa.s.sion in his friend's voice and nodded, forgetting for a minute that the climber standing with him against the wind couldn't see.

After fording a creek, they began working their way up the face of the ancient glacier, trying to hurry but also being very aware of loose rock. Here Nelson shone, faultless in his step and constantly in balance as he danced his master toward the summit.

Now they were on the last couloir, a nearly vertical face that forced them to wedge themselves against the smooth wall, looking for hand and foot holds as they spidered their way to the top. Here the dog really struggled, so Charlie and Brenden took turns supporting the animal with climbing ropes, having him follow them to the top rather than lead. The dog is so adaptable, Brenden thought. He just gets it; he's a real member of the team.

They were just feet from the summit, with the snow falling at a rate of at least two inches an hour and the wind whipping it in sheets that stung any open area of the body it could reach.

Charlie's yell, "Summit!" was barely audible over the howl of the wind, but right on cue Nelson barked as if he, too, sensed the achievement.

Though it was a special morning for Brenden, they only stopped long enough to sign the mountain ledger, eat another power bar, and take in some water.

"It's bad," Charlie said, cupping his hands against the wind, next to his friend's ear. "It's really bad, Brenden. Honestly, I'm having trouble seeing."

For the second time in Brenden's recent history, a person he loved was blinded by snow, only now he wasn't sure how he could help.

"Listen, Charlie," he said, "do you think we should hunker down in a couloir and just stay here?"

"I don't think so," Charlie replied. "Looking at the sky, I'd say this could be a two-day deal. The clouds are as low as I've ever seen them and getting worse. We have to get down."

With four or five inches of snow on the ground already, it was not only slippery, but it also became very difficult for Brenden to feel where to place his feet. Now he was really dependent on Nelson, even sitting down occasionally to slide down rocks.

Bad had been an understatement. This storm was worse than bad, and both young men, along with a focused black Lab, knew it. There were moments when Brenden could feel the animal turn his head, looking up at his master as if he were trying to will the man to place his feet just right on the snow-covered rocky surface.

For the first time in his climbing life, Charlie Evans was afraid, and not just for Brenden and Nelson. Charlie was afraid for himself. As his field of vision grew less and less, he struggled to decide whether or not they should keep going. He knew from his experience on the rescue team that calling the emergency 911 signal on his cell phone would send out a beep that could be tracked. But in this storm it would be many hours before even a fast team could reach them, and that was only if the tracking system was truly accurate. So he determined that they had to push on.

The wind gusted well over sixty miles an hour, and it was becoming almost impossible to stand upright. Charlie wondered how Nelson followed him so closely. It had to be by smell. He couldn't possibly see much in this storm, and yet the dog seemed to be performing far better than the men.

Charlie worked hard to remember the route they had climbed. Though he had been on this mountain many times before, he had never faced it in conditions that not only blurred his sight but played tricks on his brain. The raging storm made it seem that up wasn't necessarily up, and down wasn't necessarily down. The driving snow confused all angles. Where was he exactly? Looking over his shoulder, he saw the silhouette of Brenden and Nelson just above him. Waving to the dog and clapping his hands, he moved forward.

Brenden felt the dog come to a stop and encouraged him above the storm. "It's all right, Nelson. It's all right, boy. Let's go, boy, come on."

The animal didn't move, and Brenden didn't question him. "It's all right, Nelson. Which way should we go, boy? You tell me."

The big dog still stayed where he was, and in seconds Brenden understood why. The scream pierced above the wind as Charlie fell.

"Charlie!" Brenden cried. "Charlie! Oh no. No, no ..." Brenden said to the dog, "Where's Charlie, Nelson?"

Pain seared through Charlie Evans, but the reality that he was alive gave him hope. He came to rest deep in a creva.s.se, with his legs pinned under something. He tried to move and nearly pa.s.sed out from the pain. Looking up he could just barely see the outline of Brenden's jacket and gauged the distance at about fifty or sixty feet.

"Brenden!" he screamed. "Stay where you are! Stay where you are!"

"Charlie! Charlie! Are you all right?"

"I don't know. I'm wedged under some rocks, and I'm finding it hard to breathe. I think some ribs are broken."

"Can I throw you a rope, drag you out?"

"I don't think so, man."

"What about coming down? Can Nelson and I get to you?"

Charlie studied the face of the rock above him.

"Maybe, but if you did, I don't think you could climb out. It's a sheer face, and I don't see any hand or foot holds." Charlie was wrenched by coughing. "Oh no," he said. "Something's really busted up inside, Brenden. I'm coughing up blood and stuff."

"Do you have your cell phone, Charlie?" Brenden yelled. "Can you dial in emergency?"

"I already checked, man. It's on, but I lost it in the fall. They'd have to dial us to get a signal."

Now the cough came again, and Brenden could hear the sound of gagging as blood clogged his friend's throat, choking him.

"It's got to be internal bleeding," Charlie said, his voice weakening. "I don't know, Brenden. I don't know if I can make it."

Brenden struggled to maintain emotional control. All the feelings relating to his own accident flooded his mind, as if he were watching it on a big screen, only this time in slow motion. He was instantly ravaged by guilt.

His friend Charlie was in danger, maybe dying, and it was his fault. It was his idea to come up here. His vanity. His need- to what? To overcome his blindness? To deny its power over him? He knew that it was up to him to save his friend. But how? How could he convince the dog to keep working his way down the mountain to find help? And how would he-a blind man-be able to return and find Charlie? Could he make the animal understand? Would G.o.d hear his prayer and give him the ability to communicate with the magnificent dog?

"Charlie," Brenden called through the storm. "Charlie, we'll get help. Just hang on, Charlie. Hang on."

Brenden knelt on the ground next to the animal, cradling the dog's head in his hands, trying to look into his friend's eyes, working to communicate.

"Listen, Nelson, we have to do this alone, boy. We have to get down. We have to go home."

The dog tilted his head up toward his master as if he were listening, trying to understand.

"We have to get help for Charlie, Nelson. You're going to have to do this, boy. You can do it, pal. I know you can."

Brenden wondered if the dog was reading his fear.

"Okay, Nelson, are you ready? Let's try it, boy. Let's go."

The dog took his position facing down the mountain. "Let's go, Nelson. Forward. I'll be back, Charlie!" Brenden called over his shoulder. "I'll be back!"

He heard his friend cough again and prayed he wouldn't be too late.

chapter twenty-three.

Mora and Kat sat in the living room of Mora's house sharing a gla.s.s of wine, but not sharing much conversation. Both of them looked at the storm outside, and each tried to keep the other from seeing the worry in her eyes. Though wind and sleet were pounding the windowpanes in Denver, they both understood that up there, up on the Bells, Brenden and Charlie would be experiencing whiteout blizzard conditions.

Mora had tried Charlie's cell phone five or six times over the last half hour and got no answer.

"He said he'd always have it on," Mora finally told Kat. "He said he'd call us when they summited and then again when they got down, and I haven't heard anything."

"Do you think it might be time to alert the rescue team?" Kat asked, her voice quavering.

"I don't know," Mora said. "They're both incredibly competent mountain men, and I don't want to be an alarmist, but I think we'd better have a conversation with Aspen Rescue."

"I'll call," Kathleen said. "I've met some of those guys through Charlie, and I can probably talk to someone I know. I'm not sure what they do in these conditions. I mean, climbing at night is dangerous enough, but climbing at night in a storm like this? I just don't know."

When the Aspen Rescue team leader learned that Charlie Evans was on the mountain and that he was up there with Brenden McCarthy, it didn't take long for him to pull members together. Most of them had been up there a year ago as part of the group who found Brenden. Now the blind man and his friend Charlie, someone they all respected, were out there somewhere in the storm.

The team a.s.sembled, and by nine o'clock, with Zeon lights and night gla.s.ses, climbers began to move up the slope.

Brenden was not only blind, but as the storm worsened, he was completely sensory deprived. Touch was no longer relevant. With snow covering the ground, footing was impossible to feel. He was surprised that the storm absorbed all sound. It reminded him of what it had been like when he was a boy, fis.h.i.+ng with his father off the California coast when the fog rolled in. Now he was not only blind, the absorption of every audio cue made him deaf.

With taste and smell meaning nothing, he was-what was he? He was dependent on the black dog who moved through the darkness and the snow-covered ground with instincts cultivated long before recorded time, and love crafted in the day-to-day work of a man and his animal.

Brenden found that he was getting hoa.r.s.e trying to scream encouragement to the dog above the wind.

"It's okay, Nelson," he said. "Good dog. I get it, pal. Forward. Good dog. Wait. Wait. Let me get my feet set, boy." Somehow Brenden was sure that the animal understood.

There were perilous moments when he slipped and fell, but the big dog dropped to the ground in front of him, breaking his master's slide. Sometimes Nelson would whine and come to a stop because the angles or step-downs were too high. Brenden would drop down and crawl to the edge, searching for a hand-or foothold under the snow.

In every effort, in every slip, in every movement, Brenden knew that the clock ticked on Charlie's life, and the guilt he felt about his friend's predicament became almost overwhelming.

Charlie Evans hovered between light and dark, consciousness and unconsciousness. The thin thread of his knowledge of the mountains became a mantra. Stay awake. Don't sleep. Stay awake. Don't lose it. Stay awake: live. Sleep: die. Charlie understood it completely, and with every ragged breath he focused his entire being on just trying to hang on to life. Sometimes his mantra turned into a prayer. G.o.d, help me to stay awake. Jesus, give me the strength to survive.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believed he needed a miracle, and he hoped against hope that Brenden and Nelson would be that miracle. From his position at the bottom of the creva.s.se, Charlie was somewhat protected from the gusting wind, and yet he registered that there seemed to be a slackening in its violence. Shading his eyes against the snow and looking up, he saw what appeared to him to be-yes-a sliver of light. The moon began to break through the clouds. Did that mean the storm was lessening?

"Please G.o.d," he prayed out loud, "let that be part of my miracle."

There were other people on the mountain just then feeling the same thing. The haste team noted the same sliver of moon that Charlie saw, and Brenden felt the snow slackening and the wind beginning to die. But where was he on the slope? He still could not feel up or down. He tried to count the cairn steps, but they were not clear in the snow. He forgot to check his watch, so time became irrelevant, except as it related to Charlie. The dog kept him safe and kept him moving. He wondered if rescue teams were also moving. He knew Charlie's cell phone could be tracked if it hadn't been destroyed in the fall, so maybe they were up here, and maybe he and Nelson could find them.

The big dog came to a stop. Brenden felt his body tense as if he were on point hunting a bird somewhere in a sunny meadow.

"What is it, Nelson?"

The dog was perfectly still, every fiber taut, alert, focused. And then Brenden heard it too-the sound of voices somewhere out there in the snow.

"Over here," he croaked, the sound little more than a whisper. "Over here," he tried again.

Thank G.o.d the dog had a voice, and his bark reverberated through the storm.

"Good boy, Nelson. Good boy," Brenden said to the animal. "Keep it up."

The dog did. In less than three minutes, Brenden was surrounded by the rescue party, and in the next few minutes, he described both what happened and approximately where Charlie was up on the glacier.

The team leader radioed Brenden's information about the glacier to support teams back in the valley. He wondered if a helicopter could get in there. He believed it was flat enough, and maybe they could pull it off.

"Listen, Brenden, can you be more specific?" he asked. "Do you know any more about where Charlie is?"

"I'm sorry," Brenden said. "I can't help you with any other information because ..." He spat the words into the air. "Because I'm blind."

Hearing the anger in his master's voice, Nelson leaned against the man's leg and looked up as if to say, What's the matter, Master? And Brenden got it.

"Listen," he said, suddenly excited by the thought, "I may not know exactly where Charlie is, but Nelson does. Take us up there in the helicopter. We'll find Charlie."

Thirty minutes later four men, along with the pilot, were crowded into the narrow s.p.a.ce of the aircraft with a guide dog lying across their feet. With the combination of moon and Zeon light reflecting off the snow below, the helicopter descended slowly, hovered, and then skidded onto the snowy surface of the flat meadow just below the glacier.

"Okay," the pilot called, "everybody out. Good luck."

"All right," the team leader said to Brenden, "you indicated that Charlie was somewhere on the far right of the glacier. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Brenden said. "Have you been able to triangulate from his cell phone?"

"No. I'm sorry," the man told him. "It must have been broken in the fall, so it's up to you and your courageous friend here."

"Okay," Brenden said. "Okay." His voice didn't hide the tension he felt.

Dropping down to the snowy surface next to the big animal's ear, he began speaking softly, taking off his gloves and stroking the beautiful head at the same time. He remembered that every time Charlie pulled up to his house in his truck he told Nelson, "Charlie's here. Charlie's here." The big dog had learned what that meant. Charlie was the guy who always played ball with him. Charlie was someone Nelson had come to love, and Brenden used that memory to channel the animal's attention.

"Charlie's here, boy. Charlie's up here somewhere. Where's Charlie?"

The animal looked around.