My heart stutters, panic rising, but I force it down, thinking she must be ahead by just a few steps. I hurry forward, expecting her to reappear. But she doesn’t.
A sickening realization crashes over me. Not only can I not see Sita, but even the trail has disappeared. The storm has swallowed the world whole.
“Sita!” I yell, my voice carried away instantly by the wind.
I hurry another few feet on where I think the trial should be, but all I find is endless snow. No Sita. I spin in a circle, blinking against the swirling flakes as I search out a flash of color, anything other than this blinding white.
“Sita!” I yell, over and over again.
No answer comes, and now I have myself completely turned around. I have no idea which direction I'm facing, much less if I'm anywhere near the trail.
I’m lost.
The thought slams into me like a blow to the gut. I squeezemy eyes shut, trying to think through the rising panic. My mother’s words filter back to me from when I was a little girl.
If you get lost, stay where you are, someone will come to find you.
Not wanting to get any more turned around than I already am, I stand in one spot, yelling for Sita every few seconds. Within minutes I have to force my hoarse voice through my chattering teeth.
Shivers wrack my body, and I realize I need to get my blood circulating. I simply cannot wait here to be found. At this rate I’ll be here until the Spring thaw.
But which way?
I take a few tentative steps, trying to determine if they are going uphill or downhill but the complete whiteout causes an eerie sense of disorientation. I could be heading upside down for all I can tell. In the end, I pick the direction that feels like it slopes down the most, and take slow, cautious steps.
I try to map in my head where on the trail we could be, since I have walked it several times before. But it’s impossible—I am well and truly lost. Rubbing my hands together to keep my circulation going, I continue walking—it's my only chance.
Too late, I realize my next step lands on nothing but air. Mom was right. I should have stayed put.
I fall?—
And the world falls with me.
A deafening crack splits the silence, followed by a roar that drowns out my scream. The mountain shifts, collapsing in a surge of snow and ice. I tumble with it, battered by an unstoppable tide. I try to shield my head, arms curling over my face, but I’m weightless, helpless, freefalling until a violent thud knocks the air from my lungs.
Silence.
Darkness.
Time stretches as I lay there stunned. My lungs burn, and my body desperately tries to gasp in a breath, fighting for oxygen,but it doesn’t come. My pulse pounds in my ears until I choke in a breath as my paralyzed diaphragm finally relaxes.
My arms are locked around my head, my body twisted at an awkward angle. My ribs ache with every ragged inhale. I try to move my legs. Nothing. I try to shift my arms. Nothing.
Oh, shit. I didn’t just fall, I triggered a damn avalanche and now—I’m buried alive.
My breath comes too fast, using up what little air I have left. My chest tightens as panic surges, but I can’t panic. My mind knows this, but oh, my poor body wants to react instinctually.
With renewed urgency, I try to maneuver my arm further, but the weight pressing down on me is relentless. I can’t move. I steady my breathing, fighting against the pounding of my heart and the growing sense of terror welling up inside me.
“C’mon, Dahlia,” I whisper to myself. “Fucking think. You’re smart. You can do this!”
The pep talk gives me the encouragement to continue to try to make some room around my face, but the small pocket won’t be enough air to last very long. I need to balance using up more oxygen with exertion versus trying to get free.
I want to yell for Sita, but I have no idea where she is and that will only waste more precious air. The only sounds I can hear are the frantic beat of my own heart and above that my shaky breathing. I continue wiggling my arm, hoping I can somehow thrust it up and out through the top.
Within minutes, my body becomes impossibly heavy, limbs weighed down by the crushing embrace of the snow. An icy tingling is creeping up my legs from my numb feet. If I don’t suffocate, it looks like I'll freeze to death instead. And I don’t know which is worse.
Deciding suffocation to be my bigger fear, I slow my breathing, each shallow inhale scraping icy claws against my lungs. The cold feels sharper with every breath, but it’s a gamble I’m willing to take. Maybe, just maybe, slowing down will preservewhat little oxygen remains in this icy tomb until help arrives. It’s a long shot, but it’s all I’ve got.
