The mountain air was sheer cold, freezing their windpipes as it flowed into their lungs, hitting their insides like bullets against impenetrable sheet metal. They traveled up the winding path with their climbing boots and picks. One Sherpa led the group up the twisting face of the mountain, his AK slung over his shoulder. His face was uncovered, enduring the strong blistering winds. Martin followed next, covered in a thick black jacket, wearing his aviators tightly strung to his head with a head band. He wore a bandana over his chiseled jaw, trying to stop the freezing temperatures from crinkling his fair skin. He was only partly successful, as he could only feel part of his face. His teeth chattered like jack hammers and his ears felt like they were falling off. He could feel his blood slowly freeze, although he was sure he was just being hyperbolic.
Teddy was behind him, having no such troubles even though he had a gnarled walking stick to aid his adventure up the mountain side. He braved the storm with no complaints. Martin said nothing verbally, but it was clear through his body language that the cold was taking a toll on him. Teddy on the other hand stood and walked strong, plowing through the storm so much that he often closed the gap between him and Martin when they were supposed to remain spaced out to reduce the danger of everyone being swept off the edge of the cliff.
The other Sherpa took point behind the rest, cautiously looking over his shoulder as if though he was expecting an ambush by the very prey they were hunting on the mountaintop. Somehow, the snow got worse, falling harder and colder as if dark forces were calling themselves to shroud the mystical creature the group was after.
The four continued their trek for hours. As time went by, Martin had more difficulty breathing. He wheezed as much as Teddy did when they first met in the mountain village. He could hear the muffle of the Sherpa ahead. The path was much wider than before now, Martin noticed, looking side to side with frosted eyes behind his sunglasses’ tint. His backpack suddenly became heavy and his thoughts turned towards his wife back home for a split second. He remembered wavering in the waning wind briefly before collapsing on the icy path. He could hear the muffled cries of Teddy, remembering a hard iron grip on his shoulder and his legs dangling thousands of miles above the world.
Then he woke up, in a blaring sweat, still dressed warmly in his winter clothes and climbing gear. It was dark, except for a faint light outside, and he could smell some sort of burning meat. He was in a tent, covered in thick blankets, and his head was bandaged. He was out cold for hours, he could only assume, fainting because he no longer felt his mind working. What a fool, Martin thought. He needed to be stronger out here. He looked around for his sunglasses. They were in his coat pocket. He didn’t put them on, seeing as though it was dark. He got up, crouching because of the tent’s low ceiling, and un-zippered the door, which whined through the darkness, causing Martin to wince.
He stumbled out, fresh snow crunching under his boots. He could see the faint light of dawn approaching from the east. It must be the early morn, Martin thought, and he wondered how long he was out for. He looked towards the light, which had transformed into a fire, surrounded by the Sherpas and Teddy sitting on rocks, huddling over it for warmth, cooking breakfast in a small frying pan. Canned sausages and baked beans never smelled so good, but never posed a more dangerous threat. Martin walked over to the fire in a hastened pace, growling. He grabbed the pan, not paying attention to the gasps of the Sherpas, and threw it over the mountain side, dropping down in the deadly crevices below.
“What are you?” Martin whispered to the Sherpas. “Stupid? We’re not feeding him dinner, we’re trying to catch the thing. He can smell this miles a way, put it out!” He started shuffling snow onto the fire.
Teddy got up and laughed softly. “You’re pretty wise, Marty, always have been. But I wouldn’t worry about it.” He grabbed Martin by the shoulder and lightly pushed him away from the fireplace. The fire survived Martin’s attack, but only barely. “We’ve got him Marty. He’s wounded, wandering around this area somewhere. We’re just trying to lure him here now. It’s only a matter of time before we catch the creature that the world has been always dreaming of seeing.”
Martin smirked a bit and pointed at Teddy. “Are you sure. Because if you’re sure, I’m sure. You can never be too careful. How was he wounded?”
Teddy nodded to one of the Sherpas, with the other putting another dry log from his backpack onto the dying flames. “Buddy here shot it in the arm. That monster wailed like a baby. It was a lucky thing that—“
And before Teddy could finish, Martin walked over to the Sherpa and punched him square in the jaw. The other Sherpa immediately took his rifle and aimed it at Martin as he took the other to the ground and tussled in the snow with him. Teddy put a finger to his mouth, shushing the Sherpa’s aim, and pulling the AK’s muzzle down towards the ground with his other hand.
Martin got in a few more punches before Teddy pulled him off of the Sherpa. “Now would you listen for a sec!” Teddy whispered hoarsely. “He didn’t mean to the shoot it! We were spooked. He was carrying you when you fainted on the path. He was defending you!”
Marty shook off Teddy’s grip, falling to the ground and sitting, breathing heavily and staring at the Sherpa he had just assaulted. The guide got up, wiped a bit of blood hanging from his grisly, unshaven chin, and stared back at Martin with a face wearing contempt. Martin got up, breathing a sigh of relief, and offered a hand to the Sherpa. He declined, turning away to retrieve his gun from the snow, slinging it over his back.
Teddy smiled. “He’ll get over it. Come on now. It’s almost time to get moving. I guess we’ll have to skip breakfast now.”
Martin looked at his feet, disappointed in himself. He silently asked for forgiveness from his friend and from God. “Sorry about that, by the way.”
Teddy looked at Martin with a spry countenance, one that seemed to suggest everything was going to be alright. “Don’t worry about it. Some grub down there is going to enjoy it more than we would have. Besides, we’ll eat well tonight! Roasted ram and frosted greens! Ale and vodka by the barrel! You like ram, don’t you? Tough little bas—sorry.” He caught himself again, not wanting to offend Martin. Martin appreciated this gesture greatly.
Martin walked to the edge of the cliff side encampment as Teddy and the Sherpas retreated to their tents for a moment to pack up. The sun was blooming, cresting over the mountain range and bleeding into the sky. Martin sat down and became contemplative for a moment. It was beautiful. A creation of God was before him, and he took it all in, enjoying every second… living every second. It was worth it to be alive. It was worth it to have chosen to follow the Father. He never intended for this life. At least, he never wanted it to go this far. He rolled a snowball in his fist and threw it at the rising sun. He watched it drop down the mountain until he could no longer see it. As the sun grew taller, he took out his sunglasses and strapped them around his head securely so that the wind may not take them. He admired the world with a black tinge, a darkness that could only be described as deeply comfortable with him. The only darkness. It allowed him sanctity that even the power of God would not be able to give him. It calmed his nerves. How can they be so stupid, he thought, how could Teddy be that stupid, especially? He didn’t want to wound the creature; it wasn’t part of his contract. It was to be brought back to America live and well. But now that Teddy was the contractor, Martin wasn’t sure what to think of the mission, some botched attempt to catch a monster that may not even be a monster. It could be a loving mother. It could be a lost soul damned to wander the mountains for an eternity. Martin didn’t know. But he felt as if though the creature could lose something here in the attempt of lesser beings to try and capture it, and take it away from such a beautiful home.
Martin sighed and drew a cross in the snow and prayed for his safe return home. And then he prayed for the safe return of the other three. And then he prayed for Teddy’s life to be as fulfilling as it once had, when they adventured through the tombs of vampires and the lairs of hobgoblins. He prayed for Teddy’s apparent sins of lust and greed.
And then he heard the angry roar echo behind him.
The mountain grumbled, its relative serenity disturbed by the massive war cry. Martin looked behind him, startled, and saw the giant snowman, standing at an impressive nine feet tall, with a wide girth big enough to give five men a death hug. And it was angry. Very angry. It picked up a Sherpa with its mighty grip. The little man tried desperately to escape, biting and scratching the giant’s thick, gnarled fingers, but it was no use. The other Sherpa, the one Martin had punched earlier, ran out of his tent with his AK at the ready, aiming it at the beast’s face, but Teddy emerged from his tent in the knick of time to tackle the guide to the snow as the snowman crushed his buddy to death. Eyeballs popped out of his sockets, and his mouth bled, literally having the life squeezed right out of him as he squirmed and squealed. There was nothing they could do as he died.
Once the snowman realized his plaything was dead, he threw the body over the mountainside, over Martin’s head, and into the depths below. He fell without a scream, dying as nothing. The other Sherpa ran to confront the monster, but it swiped him away, cutting a large gash across the guide’s face. He fell meters away from the creature, ending up on his back, shrieking in pain: his face was cut open, skull showing and exposed to the extreme cold, his left eye slashed into oblivion. Teddy rushed over to help him. Martin then looked straight at the creature, its red eyes glowing at him, reflecting the rising sun’s light. It roared, shaking its ragged and dirtied white coat of long hair, and began charging.
Time slowed, and Martin’s life flashed before his eyes once more. He thought of his wife as he reached for his Child. Martin saw Teddy scream. “No, Marty! No, don’t do it!” He knew Martin was reaching for his Child, and didn’t want his prize possession dead and gone. It was then Martin realized he still had his backpack on, which contained his guarantee to life. He grabbed his weapon with a different intent in his head now. He cocked the gun and aimed, seemingly for the charging beast, with the mountain rumbling underneath his feet, uneasy and nervous.
Time returned. Teddy screamed again. “Martin, what in God’s fucking name do you think you’re doing!?”
Martin pulled the trigger, and a loud bang echoed throughout the mountain range. The creature stopped a few feet short from tackling Martin over the cliff, clasping its hands around its shrunken ears, growling. It fell backwards, seemingly in pain. But Martin didn’t shoot it.
The mountain rumbled underneath everyone’s feet. Teddy looked at the ground despairingly, slowly raising his eyes towards Martin. Those cold, old, frightful eyes. “Martin. What did you just do?”
Martin gulped and gave a big smile, holstering his gun and making sure his sunglasses were secure around his face. The sun was in full force now, and the mountain grumbled louder. The ground under their feet cracked and splintered. Ice separated from rock. And Martin simply said to Teddy: “You better get ready for a bumpy ride.”
The ground fell underneath them, and the cliff broke away from the mountain side, crumbling into pieces. Martin fell to one knee and gripped his piece of rock with a gloved hand, directing it down the steep slope in a flurry of time that was almost indescribable. He didn’t see Teddy, or the Sherpa, or the snowman. Martin raced down the mountainside on his rock, gliding through the air until he hit a low incline and started racing down that. He saw the dead Sherpa from moments earlier sprawled across sharp rocks, his intestines everywhere across the ice and snow. Martin made a small prayer in his name, and looked back. The snowman was chasing after him on foot, somehow miraculously surviving the fall without landing on some sort of rock or ice slab.
The beast was demonically fast, but it was obvious that Martin’s ride was slowing down. He was wondering what had happened to Teddy. And then, suddenly, he saw his old friend racing along the slope on his own makeshift ice sled. But then Martin saw another threat: a plethora of snowballs, gaining mass and speed, bearing down on them, followed by a giant wall of snow. Martin threw his leg over the slab and kicked off the slope, gaining some speed. He ended up not needing to, since the incline grew a bit steeper, and the snowman was still gaining on him. He could hear its snarls. Martin looked ahead: the slope disappeared ahead in a few hundred meters. He wasn’t too worried about it; after all, he knew the mission was a failure at this point. He made sure his backpack was buckled around his waist, and that was when he felt a sharp tug. He looked behind him and noticed the snowman was mere inches away from him, pulling at his backpack in an attempt to pull him off the rock sled and tear Martin to pieces. They started a tug of war with one another, and Martin was beginning to lose.
“Let go! Let it go!” Martin hopelessly screamed. He didn’t notice Teddy gaining speed and pulling up beside the creature. When he saw his friend reaching out to grab the creature, Martin looked ahead at the incoming cliff, and back again, and realized what Teddy was doing. “Teddy! No! Don’t you dare!”
Teddy didn’t yell back. His sled pulled away for a moment, but came back towards the rushing snowman, who looked towards Teddy at the last possible second, and a look of surprise overtook the creature’s countenance as Teddy rammed his slab of ice and rock into it, pushing it aside. The creature rolled away, almost broken, and Teddy’s sled, as well as Teddy, ran over the side of the mountain, disappearing over the icy edge.
“No!” Marty remembered screaming at Teddy. He saw the gathering snowballs being overcome by the rushing white wall, and saw the snowman’s body consumed by the white as well. Marty looked ahead. As his sled slowed down, he got off and ran for the cliff’s edge, and jumped. He remembered falling, and looking over his shoulder, and as soon as he saw the avalanche leaking over, he pulled a cord from his backpack, activating a parachute, as red as the blood dawn. He safely floated down the slope, as the rush of snow poured from the face of the mountain, and the echoes of snowmen roaring rung through his ears, taunting him as he escaped from certain death.
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