*************** CHAPTER 2
The snow was falling harder now. The once beautiful snow laced evergreen trees were now heavy laden with snow. Their branches almost breaking under the snow's weight. The blue sky with puffy white clouds now was dark and forbidding. The slight breeze was now becoming a blizzard. Steve knew that he had to find Amanda fast, his skis slowed him down. He called out her name. "Amanda, Amanda. Where are you? It's Steve. Can you hear me?"
The woods were full of silence. Steve could hear his voice echoing through the timbers.
Steve called out again.
"Amanda, Amanda. Where are you?"
Suddenly Steve heard a shot. It was a rifle. It seemed to come from not too far away.
He ran towards the sound. As he did he slipped on a sheet of ice and slammed his left arm against a tree. The pain seared from his shoulder to his fingers. It hurt to move his arm.
As Steve glanced to the right he saw Amanda lying on a snow bank. She was unconscious, but she had a pulse. Then Steve saw crimson red snow. He knew that Amanda was bleeding somewhere, but where? Steve knew that he couldn't help his friend where they were. He had to get her to the cabin where he hoped his father and Jesse would be by this time.
Steve carried Amanda back to the cabin.
******************
Steve was never so happy to see an old, dilapidated cabin. It must have been a miner's cabin in its' heyday. It was a small cabin with a large living area with a fire place and a small kitchen and bedroom area. Furniture was sparse, a battered couch, a small armchair, a small wooden kitchen table and an old cook stove.
The cabin door blew open and a blast of snow and icy air swirled through the room. A bulky, snow-covered
figure strode through the door with an equally snow-covered and unidentifiable burden slung over his right shoulder. He kicked the door closed as Dr. Mark Sloan exclaimed, "Steve! Thank God. You found her."
Steve headed toward the bedroom, shedding clumps of snow as he went. Jesse Travis was already in the room when he entered, and Mark wasn't far behind his son.
"Jess, you're going to have to help me lower her," Steve said. "My left arm isn't working." He placed his right hand firmly on the back of the inert figure draped over his shoulder and leaned forward. Jesse moved smoothly to support her head and shoulders, and together the two men eased their friend Amanda Bentley onto the bed. Jesse quickly placed two fingers in the hollow under her chin, waited a moment, and said, "It's there. It's weak, but it's there." He unsnapped her parka and began a more thorough examination as Mark blew out his cheeks with a sigh of relief at the news. Steve closed his eyes and silently gave thanks.
"Steve, what happened to your arm?" Mark asked over his shoulder, as he moved to assist Jesse.
"Body-slammed a tree when I slipped on a patch of ice," Steve answered wearily as he shrugged out of his
parka.
"My left arm went numb." He winced as he used his right hand to pull the sleeve off his injured left arm. "Wish it still were," he muttered, but his father heard. Mark and Jesse exchanged a quick glance. "Go, check him out," Jesse said. "I'm okay here. She seems stable." Jesse hoped that Mark would believe him. The whole truth was that she was stable, for a person who was just shot. Jesse was glad that Mark had talked him into bringing a medical bag along with them. Even if it wasn't much more then a sophisticated first aid kit. It contained enough bandage wrapping to wrap an elephant. Jesse decided that it wasn't the right time for humor, so he let his little witticism fade. The important thing was that the bag had pressure bandages of various sizes. These would help to stop the bleeding until they could get Amanda to the nearest hospital.
Mark turned to his son, took the parka from him and said, "Sit." While Steve sat, Mark took his now-dripping parka and hung it near the fireplace. He returned to the bedroom and knelt beside his son, helping him unbutton his flannel shirt, and noticing the pallor that had faded his usual healthy tan.
Before Mark could begin his exam, however, the sound of the front door opening turned every eye in the room toward the door. A puff of cold air entered the room as the front door of the cabin slammed shut. The three men silently exchanged glances and waited. Their jaws dropped open.
***************
The snow was falling harder now. The once beautiful snow laced evergreen trees were now heavy laden with snow. Their branches almost breaking under the snow's weight. The blue sky with puffy white clouds now was dark and forbidding. The slight breeze was now becoming a blizzard. Steve knew that he had to find Amanda fast, his skis slowed him down. He called out her name. "Amanda, Amanda. Where are you? It's Steve. Can you hear me?"
The woods were full of silence. Steve could hear his voice echoing through the timbers.
Steve called out again.
"Amanda, Amanda. Where are you?"
Suddenly Steve heard a shot. It was a rifle. It seemed to come from not too far away.
He ran towards the sound. As he did he slipped on a sheet of ice and slammed his left arm against a tree. The pain seared from his shoulder to his fingers. It hurt to move his arm.
As Steve glanced to the right he saw Amanda lying on a snow bank. She was unconscious, but she had a pulse. Then Steve saw crimson red snow. He knew that Amanda was bleeding somewhere, but where? Steve knew that he couldn't help his friend where they were. He had to get her to the cabin where he hoped his father and Jesse would be by this time.
Steve carried Amanda back to the cabin.
******************
Steve was never so happy to see an old, dilapidated cabin. It must have been a miner's cabin in its' heyday. It was a small cabin with a large living area with a fire place and a small kitchen and bedroom area. Furniture was sparse, a battered couch, a small armchair, a small wooden kitchen table and an old cook stove.
The cabin door blew open and a blast of snow and icy air swirled through the room. A bulky, snow-covered
figure strode through the door with an equally snow-covered and unidentifiable burden slung over his right shoulder. He kicked the door closed as Dr. Mark Sloan exclaimed, "Steve! Thank God. You found her."
Steve headed toward the bedroom, shedding clumps of snow as he went. Jesse Travis was already in the room when he entered, and Mark wasn't far behind his son.
"Jess, you're going to have to help me lower her," Steve said. "My left arm isn't working." He placed his right hand firmly on the back of the inert figure draped over his shoulder and leaned forward. Jesse moved smoothly to support her head and shoulders, and together the two men eased their friend Amanda Bentley onto the bed. Jesse quickly placed two fingers in the hollow under her chin, waited a moment, and said, "It's there. It's weak, but it's there." He unsnapped her parka and began a more thorough examination as Mark blew out his cheeks with a sigh of relief at the news. Steve closed his eyes and silently gave thanks.
"Steve, what happened to your arm?" Mark asked over his shoulder, as he moved to assist Jesse.
"Body-slammed a tree when I slipped on a patch of ice," Steve answered wearily as he shrugged out of his
parka.
"My left arm went numb." He winced as he used his right hand to pull the sleeve off his injured left arm. "Wish it still were," he muttered, but his father heard. Mark and Jesse exchanged a quick glance. "Go, check him out," Jesse said. "I'm okay here. She seems stable." Jesse hoped that Mark would believe him. The whole truth was that she was stable, for a person who was just shot. Jesse was glad that Mark had talked him into bringing a medical bag along with them. Even if it wasn't much more then a sophisticated first aid kit. It contained enough bandage wrapping to wrap an elephant. Jesse decided that it wasn't the right time for humor, so he let his little witticism fade. The important thing was that the bag had pressure bandages of various sizes. These would help to stop the bleeding until they could get Amanda to the nearest hospital.
Mark turned to his son, took the parka from him and said, "Sit." While Steve sat, Mark took his now-dripping parka and hung it near the fireplace. He returned to the bedroom and knelt beside his son, helping him unbutton his flannel shirt, and noticing the pallor that had faded his usual healthy tan.
Before Mark could begin his exam, however, the sound of the front door opening turned every eye in the room toward the door. A puff of cold air entered the room as the front door of the cabin slammed shut. The three men silently exchanged glances and waited. Their jaws dropped open.
***************