Page 13 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
Knox examines the broken pole. He doesn’t look fazed at all. It’s clear he deals with equipment failures on a regular basis, even when it’s pouring rain. “We can work with this. Christine, do you have any duct tape in your pack?”
“Of course,” she says, already digging through her gear.
While Knox and Christine perform emergency surgery on Brandon’s pole, I see Alex and Alexandra disappear around the bend ahead of us.
“You two! Get back here,” Knox calls out before I can alert him.
Wow. Does he have eyes on his back or something? I swear the man catches everything. Which is a good thing, of course, considering he’s here to keep us safe.
Alex and Alexandra hurry back toward us through the rain. I’m relieved they didn’t wander off, but my relief soon makes room for worry when Alexandra’s foot catches on a slick root.
“Watch out,” I shout, but it’s too late.
Alexandra’s on the ground before my words are even cold, her ankle awkwardly twisted beneath her.
Yikes. I write about people getting murdered in my thrillers, but seeing a twisted ankle makes me queasy.
Alex kneels beside his girlfriend in the mud as Knox rushes over.
“Let me take a look.”
“I’m fine,” Alexandra insists, wincing when Knox examines her foot.
“Doesn’t seem to be broken, but it’s definitely sprained,” Knox says. “Can you put weight on it?”
Alexandra tries to stand with Alex’s help, but immediately favors her uninjured foot. “It’s not too bad. I can walk.”
“Okay. We’ll take it slow, and once we get to the shelter, you can rest and ice it.”
Our pace slows to a crawl as Alex practically carries Alexandra up the muddy trail. When the shelter finally comes into view through the trees, I’ve never been so happy to see a roof in my life. But as we get closer, I spot smoke rising from the chimney and six backpacks lined up under the covered porch area. Oh, no. The shelter that was supposed to house our group of six is already occupied.
“Great,” Knox mutters under his breath.
A man in expensive-looking outdoor gear emerges from the shelter as we approach and crosses his arms over his chest.
“You folks looking to use the shelter?” His tone suggests he’s already decided we can’t.
“That was the plan,” Knox says. “Public shelter, last I checked.”
“Right, well, we got here first. My group’s been training for a summit attempt on Denali, and we need the space to properly organize our gear and review our route plans while we waitout the rain.” He looks at our bedraggled group with barely concealed disdain. “Guided beginner’s tour, I’m guessing?”
Knox’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice professional. “Wilderness retreat. And we’re not asking you to leave. Just to share the space.”
“And we’ve got an injured person with us,” I tell him.
The man gives me a condescending smile. “Right. Well, I’m sure other shelters along the trail would be more appropriate for your group’s needs.”
“In this weather?” Christine speaks up. “That’s not safe, and you know it.”
“The nearest alternative shelter is four miles from here,” Knox says, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You want us to walk that far when we’re wet, cold, and injured?”
Another man emerges from the shelter, this one wearing what appears to be enough technical gear to climb Everest. “Marcus? What’s going on?”
“Hey, Todd. These people want to use our shelter because they claim someone’s injured.”
“What kind of injured?”
“Sprained ankle,” Knox answers before Marcus can. “Nothing serious, but she needs to rest.”
