"Had no idea, man, I'm sorry. I eyeballed the weather forecast before we left and they said it'd be hot n' sunny, like just about any other day in Vegas."
"Well, hot n' sunny just turned to hot n' rainy. And with this wind pickin' up I think hot's not stickin' around much longer."
Nick took the coat with the map and rolled it into as small a ball as he could and shoved it into his bag, then jammed the straps over his shoulders and started off down the trail, Warrick right behind him.
As Warrick predicted, once the clouds blocked the sun and the wind continued picking up the air quickly cooled around them. Air whipping past clothing still damp from the day's exertions had both men chilled, quickening their efforts.
The rain that rolled in with the winds was icy cold, drops stinging as it struck their flesh. The rumbling they had heard earlier was louder and arriving much faster with each flash off in the distance.
Muttering curses and stumbling as they made their way down the steep trail, they found the way becoming slicker as rain mixed with the loose dusty dirt under their feet. More often than not they found themselves planting hands on the ground and half sliding on their asses in some sections, coating their clothing in cold mud.
"You were worried about us not havin' enough water, bro?" Nick yelled to his partner over the steadily increasing pounding of rain.
Warrick grunted as his rear hit the ground for the tenth time in as many minutes.
Raindrops merged to form a shower, then a solid sheet of rain and their path, formerly slick, was past slippery and had moved on to deadly. Not even bothering now to try to gain their footing each man had resigned himself to tobogganing on his ass, stopping themselves when they could with booted feet on outcroppings of rock. Hands grasped furiously for things to grasp, occasionally being rewarded with a scrubby bush or clump of sharp bladed grass.
Nick's hands were a bit better protected, still wearing the short fingerless gloves, but his fingers were now sliced and scraped in too many places to count. Warrick had a deep gouge out of the palm of his left hand from where a thorny bush had caught it as he was whisked past.
Another flash, much closer now, the crack of thunder following right on its heels. The next flash struck the cliff side not 1000 feet from them and the CSIs felt the hair on their bodies rise as the tingle of static electricity reached them. The smell of ozone mixed with the wet loamy smell of the mud they were drenched in.
"Fuck! That was close, Rick!"
"Too close, bro. Just keep movin'!"
Nick grunted as his now sore rump coasted over a hard rocky point in the path. He had lost his cap several hundred feet back and rain soaked his hair, cascading in a waterfall down his forehead into his eyes. Vision obscured by water, he raised a mud-covered hand in an attempt to wipe them clear. Gritty dirt scratched on his corneas and he squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears flowing to join the icy rainwater.
Another flash that lit up the whole sky, the deafening explosion of thunder almost instantaneous and the rain, as heavy as it was actually became heavier. It was as if the heavens were a bathtub and the whole thing had been upended on the two men.
Water came rushing down in mini-Niagaras over the rocks surrounding them and the muddy path was turned into a rushing stream.
Chunks of rock began to tumble down on either side of them and Warrick yelled as a fist-sized stone caught the side of his face leaving a dark red slash in its wake.
Nick risked a glance backwards to see what had elicited the shout and turned back too late to realize that the trail had taken a ninety-degree turn. His velocity too great to stop he flailed for purchase, hands digging fruitlessly in the river of mud beneath him. The path disappeared from underneath him and he shot off to sail through the air, his heart in his throat as he braced for the eventual impact.
When he was a kid Nick remembered visiting relatives in Michigan. The kids were all out for Christmas break and the Stokes Army filed into their '71 Ford Econoline Van, Cisco driving like a man possessed, speaking only long enough to threaten to pull the van over when the inevitable result of shoving seven kids into a cramped space for a seventeen hour trip would irritate him. Mom tried, turning frequently to keep an eye on the two bench seats crammed with squirming, fighting, squabbling kids of various ages. As the youngest, Nick sat stuffed between his parents, the heat from the vent baking his skin crispy. His dad was still smoking back then and wouldn't open the window for fear of ruining their "aerodynamics" and with gas as expensive as it was in the late seventies, he wasn't wasting a drop. Choking on cigarette smoke and his mom's Charlie, the dry heat wicking away all moisture from his eyes and mouth, and eight year old little Nicky couldn't have been happier. Because he had heard they had snow in Michigan. Real snow, not the three flakes they got every few years that never stuck. Real honest to goodness, hafta wear boots, making snowmen and snow angels and snow forts and snowballs, SNOW. Like he saw in Rudolph and Frosty and A Charlie brown Christmas.
At first, as they passed the Michigan state line he saw the beginnings of snow cover. Rather disappointing it was. Grey, sloppy, thin and mealy. It made a neat sound as it hit the undercarriage of the van, but the depth and quality left a lot to be desired. He turned to his mom with a pained look and she smiled at him. Patted his knee and told him not to worry, Aunt Theresa had said there was plenty of snow where they were headed.
He nodded and went back to staring out the windshield. The heat and rocking of the van finally caught up with him and he felt his eyes closing, his head slipping sideways to rest on his mom's shoulder.
He woke up when he heard the heavy metal doors on the sides of the van creak open on their rusty hinges and the sounds of his brother and sisters shouting and squealing. Sitting straighter, small fists rubbing at his bleary eyes he looked up at his mom, then saw past her through the dirt and salt grimed windows. Snow. A solid blanket of thick shiny white snow.
His mom planted a kiss on the top of his rumpled dark hair and murmured, "I told you, Nicky."
He clambered off the high bench seat, his legs pins and needles and almost crumpling under him, their last use six hours before when the old man had reluctantly pulled into a rest area so everyone could pee.
He took a few staggered steps, slowly realizing that his feet were cold. He bent down and scooped a handful of fresh snow off the ground, hesitantly raising it to his mouth. His tongue dipped out and touched the surface, and he decided there and then that snow was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
He made it through the gauntlet of hugs and kisses and a particularly egregious cheek pinching followed by a light supper and all the kids were bundled off into the great room to lay their sleeping bags down for the night.
Nick lay between his brother and his closest in age sister and the three of them whispered and giggled about the sledding they were supposed to do the next day for almost an hour before their father's form darkened the doorway and threatened them all with bodily harm if they didn't settle down. While none of the Stokes younguns had ever actually been hit, the threat was always enough and they squirmed down into their sleeping bags, Nick falling asleep dreaming of flying through the air on a shiny red saucer.
The next day, bellies filled with breakfast, stuffed into their now grown cousins' old snow clothes, the kids set out for the "Big Hill". Quentin Park had a huge built-up area that teemed with kids all off for winter break. Fathers holding squirming toddlers in their arms huffed up the hill dragging sleds behind them. Older kids on wooden sleds joined hands and went down in groups, flinging themselves apart like slingshots as they picked up speed. Teenage couples held hands as the girls sat themselves on the sleds in front of their dates, the boys wrapping their arms protectively around girls who squealed in fear and delight as they shot off the top. Nick stood and stared, enraptured, until he felt a tug on his coat and his brother was taking off for the top, leaving Nick standing there with his mouth hung open.
Saucer tucked awkwardly under his arm, Nick's little legs pumped as he climbed the steep hill. His feet weren't used to snow, and it gave beneath him, making every step like five more. By the time he got to the top his brother had already jumped on his saucer and was careening his way down the hill with a whooped cry.
Reluctant to take his first trip down the hill among the teeming masses, convinced he'd take everyone else on the hill out like a giant bowling ball, Nick eyed up the back of the hill. A few intrepid kids were trying out that side but the snow was still pretty virgin there. Fifty feet out from the bottom was the start of forest, but Nick figured there was no way he'd ever make it that far.
Settling the plastic saucer on the ground, and then lowering his body to sit Indian style inside the bowl, he perched at the top, listening to the unique squeak-crunch of the snow flattening under his weight.
Digging mittened hands into the snow on either side he launched himself forward and gravity did the rest.
Cold air and snow rocketed past his face, his cheeks reddening and numbing. He leaned back instinctively, picking up speed and sailing down the hillside. When he reached the bottom he expected to slow, like he would on a roller coaster when the ride was over. But the practically friction-free connection of plastic and his light weight on the fresh snow meant no natural braking and the trees loomed up before him.
He heard a voice scream, "Fall out! To the side! Fall OUT!" and he dumped his body to the side, rolling several more feet, the wind knocked from his body.
He lay spread eagle in the snow, a face coming into his vision turning out to be that of one of the local kids, probably the one who had yelled at him.
"What the frick were ya thinking, stupid?" the kid taunted. "You tryin' to kill yourself, a-hole?"
Nick couldn't do much more than blink as cold settled into his limbs. He sat up a minute later, scanning around, trying to find his saucer. A bit later his eyes finally caught the shiny red plastic hugged up against the trunk of a huge old pine tree.
Twenty-five years later the lesson learned at the foot of a hill in Michigan saved his life on a mountainside in Nevada.
Thirty feet below him the cliff jutted out far enough to catch him.
His right leg shoved out to catch his weight on the shelf, he hit with a blinding sear of pain but threw himself to the side, as if dumping himself from an imaginary shiny red saucer. He let out a loud, "Oof!" as his shoulder and side took the brunt of the impact and he rolled several times, coming to rest in a clump of brush, hands reaching out to wrap around the branches to stop himself.
And just as before, wind knocked from his body, he lay stunned on his back, blinking as rain continued to pour from the sky and cascade down the hillside. Only this time the face that swam into his vision wasn't a punk kid from Michigan, it was Warrick's about twenty feet above him.
Seeing Nick disappear as he coasted down the trail, Warrick had managed to twist his body to keep going with the flow of water and mud and skidded himself to a stop on a natural lip about ten feet further.
He heard the grunt of pain from below and watched in time to see Nick roll to the side and land in a thorny bush, now not moving.
His first attempt to yell to his partner was drowned out by a crash of thunder. His next bellow of Nick's name got no response.
He skidded down a few more feet and tried again, panic tingeing his cry. "Nick!"
This time he was rewarded with a hand lifted in a weak wave, but still no voice response that he could hear.
At least he knew the man was alive.
He eyed the fall of the trail below him. It wound its way down in an s-curve, the second arc of its path taking him the closest to the shelf Nick was on, but still ten feet apart at least. Watching Nick earlier clinging to the cliff face and traveling forty some feet he figured he'd just do like he'd observed his friend do and inch his way over. Yeah, Nick had done it well on his first time, and had traveled much further, but then he hadn't had to do it in the middle of a raging thunderstorm with the mountainside crumbling under him.
He slid along the first of the curves, gasping several times as he lost his grip and skidded faster than planned, always managing at the last minute to dig his fingers into something that held and kept him glued to the trail.
As he arrived at the second arc he dug his heels in and wrapped his hands around the trunk of a spindly shrub. Nick had dropped his hand back down and was lying motionless again.
Warrick flinched as another scrape opened on his raw and ragged hands, a shard of bark from the bush jutting out raking across his flesh. Leaning out to his right he scrabbled for a foothold, checking that the ground under his toes would hold his weight. His hand sunk into the softening earth and found a root. Giving it a tug, holding his breath, he launched himself off the trail and hung for a minute until his left foot joined the right. He stood perched precariously on a few inches of rock, then managed to work up enough gumption to reach his right foot away. Two more leaps of faith and his right foot landed on the shelf where Nick was. Warrick flung himself over and landed with a grunt, heart pounding madly in his chest, practically kissing the ground beneath him.
He gave himself a minute to collect himself and realize that he was on a stable shelf of rock. He drew himself to his knees and crawled over to his partner's side.
Nick's eyes were open, blinking against the still pouring rain, then darting over in response to the touch of Warrick's hand on his shoulder. Nick gave him a feeble smile and wrapped a hand around Warrick's arm, using his partner's body to pull himself up.
He groaned in agony and took in a gasping breath, drawing rainwater into his throat that made him cough and gag.
Propped up on one elbow he hacked the water clear, almost falling back again weakly. Warrick sidled over to offer a shoulder for Nick to lean on as he pulled Nick's back pack, somehow still trapped around his shoulders, free and the Texan nodded in gratitude and inched himself up, letting himself be supported as he struggled to sit up.
Rain continued to course down the cliff side, the water rushing down around them, their bodies like dams diverting the stream around them.
"We need to move before we get washed away!" Warrick shouted over the water and wind. Nick's response was cut short as another flash of lightning burst overhead. The thunder followed a bit later, both men hoping that meant the storm was moving on.
"Can you move?" Warrick asked again after the rumble had faded.
Nick squinted water-coated eyes at him and nodded. The Texan's fingers gripped painfully on Warrick's arm as he stood, dragging the injured man up with him. Nick hopped on his left leg, right leg held out in front of him off the ground. Warrick gestured back with his head and the two men limped several feet back to the rear of the shelf where it met the cliff face.
Another shorter but broader chunk of rock jutted out above them acting as something of a roof and the water rushed off it in a frothy cascade. They held their breaths and breached the waterfall emerging on the other side to a slightly dryer area.
Warrick eased his partner down to the ground, his back now supported by the canyon wall, then dropped down heavily to join him. The sounds of their gasping and panting filled the small area, their breath puffing out in billowing clouds of vapor in the now freezing air.
Nick's eyes were screwed shut as he continued to breathe heavily, leaned up against the cliff face. Warrick took in the obvious pain the man was in and scanned Nick's beat-up body for obvious injury.
Obvious was a word he got stuck on as his eyes landed on Nick's right leg. Bright white bone, barely muted by dun-colored mud, jutted through the dark denim.
He wasn't sure if Nick even knew yet. Placing a hand on his friend's shoulder he brought his attention around.
Nick gave him a smile and nodded as his chest continued to heave with gasping breaths. His face behind the silvery vapor was pale, his brow scrunched up.
Warrick reluctantly dipped his head towards Nick's leg, his partner hesitating briefly then turning to see what Warrick saw.
"I think you Theismann'd yourself, bro."
