Whiteout ReWrite II-1 (Empty Slopes) [Part 1 of 2]

Long chapter, had to split it in to two parts. Second part should be the post right after this!

1. Empty Slopes

     “So that’s it then? You all just escaped death at the black market and went on your merry way?” Winston took a sip of tea, pursed his lips, and then dumped what looked like the entirety of the sugar bowl into it.

     Nick could not help but grimace, appalled once more by the man. A part of him wanted to slap the teacup out of Winston’s hand, but he remembered he was being paid, and kept it to himself. “Well, there was quite a bit more bickering, but as far as the story is concerned; yes, that’s all.” Nick had left out the game of Russian roulette for a bottle of brandy, but that part of the story was too fuzzy to tell true anyway.

     “I will warn you only once not to skate around the facts Mr. Ventner.” Winston’s tone had turned oddly threatening. “I have a keen interest in this story, but only if it is the truth, and only if I can hear all of it.”

     Nick was taken aback, and for a moment could not find the right words to speak. He had not expected to be challenged. “Of course, I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t getting the whole story,” he said, quickly trying to backtrack. “I only mean that I didn’t want to waste your valuable time recounting pointless chatter.”

     Winston sat back in his chair, and Nick did the same, trying to look confident. Winston’s sudden desire for the truth made him uncomfortable. Something about him doesn’t quite feel right, he thought, and took another look around the room as if hoping for a clue of some sort. There was nothing but the confusing decorations of the room, and Winston clutching his cup across from him. As Nick thought through this, the conversation fell into an awkward silence.

     To his relief, Winston smiled once again. “Of course, my boy, only trying to chap your hide a bit,” he said, taking another drink of his disgusting sugar tea. “What’s the point in paying for a story if you can’t get your money’s worth eh?” He gave Nick a wink and motioned for him to continue.  

     Nick picked up his glass for a drink, but realized with dismay that once more, it was empty. The more he told of the story, the more painful memories came back, and there was nothing to cure them but strong drink.  He had always believed nothing good came of rehashing the past… That was, unless someone was paying him to do it.

     As if sensing Nick’s need, Winston snapped his fingers and the mysterious butler appeared at Nick’s side with a full glass.

     “Cheers,” said Nick, and took a big gulp of the strong liquid within. The butler was gone before the glass left his lips. Warmth spread through his body once more, albeit a little more dully than at the beginning of the night. That’ll do, he thought, and then prepared himself to tell the rest of the story.

     “The three of us were headed up the mountain,” started Nick, but was interrupted by Winston.

     “You, James, and the Sherpa?”

     It was around midnight that Nick really began to feel the cold. The light of the moon shone down through a cloudless sky, just barely illuminating the massive mountain before them. Higher up on the slopes, Nick thought he could still make out the outlines of storm clouds. The blizzard could hold for a few more days, or be gone in a matter of hours. Either way, it was likely not all that long before Manchester and his well-experienced team would begin their ascent. It was also likely that the storm would move down the mountain, meaning they would need to find shelter for the night soon.  

     The only sound was the crunch of their boots on the frost, echoing off the empty mountain slopes. Nick almost found it pleasant, until Lopsang stopped dead in his tracks, refusing to move.

     “Oh my,” said Lopsang. He looked far off into the distance where Nick could see nothing around for miles but hillside and rocky trail.

     “What? Did you leave the kettle on before you left?” asked Nick. Both him and James laughed, but the sound died in their throats as Lopsang clarified.

     “We are in danger,” he said, quietly, and then raised his hands above his head and sank down to his knees in a gesture of surrender. His voice was calm, but very serious.

     “Lopsang this is no time for jokes,” said Nick, hoping that Lopsang had developed a sense of humor. “Manchester is going to be moving up the mountain any minute.” As he said this, he looked up the trail, and his heart stopped dead. “Well shit.” Nick followed Lopsang’s lead, put his hands on his head, and knelt on the ground. This day just keeps getting better.

Emerging from the darkness ahead of them, like pale warriors, were three men holding AK-47s. From their stance, Nick hazarded a guess that they weren’t friendly militia. Allies tended to point their barrels in the air when patrolling, rather than at weary traveler’s heads. Nick muttered a prayer to a god that he never put much faith in and only contacted when it was convenient.

     “What are you two doing?” asked James, feeling that they had made some joke he did not understand.

     “Get on your knees, idiot,” seethed Nick, not wanting to lose James over a matter of pride.

     James looked aggravated, but then looked up. He too saw the men, and knelt.

     As the gunmen approached, their shapes became clearer. They wore silver masks over the lower halves of their faces that glinted in the moonlight. They were carved into expressions of great pain and suffering that were clearly meant to intimidate and unnerve. They were also wearing heavy climbing gear, and moved silently.  

     “We might be in trouble,” whispered Nick. His mind raced through possible escape plans. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the large gear bag James had been carrying. That idiot. When James had knelt, he had dropped the bag behind them, out of reach. Enough weapons to kill an armada, but we can’t use any of them without getting shot.

     We should have been carrying them, he thought. In hindsight it was idiotic to think that they were going ascend the mountain without harassment. It was always the parts of the map that were ‘uninhabited’ that played host to cannibals, killers and cults. He had even made a point the last time he was being spit-roasted by an island king to never travel unprepared. Unfortunately, something about the after party where the cannibals had thought him a god blurred the memory.

     As the gunmen got closer, Nick could hear a deep chant coming from beneath their masks. It was thick, sonorous, and made it feel as though the mountains themselves were shaking. It rumbled onward, distracting Nick until he felt the cold metal barrel of an AK-47 pressed against his face. The man in the lead had barely begun to give orders when Nick had to stifle a laugh.

     If they were going to kill us, they would have done it already. We’re going to be taken prisoner, wonderful. Nick always preferred being taken prisoner to the alternative. Being stuck in a cell held many possibilities, whereas execution only held one. Out of the countless times he had been a hostage or a prisoner, Nick had only been harmed once. In short, he felt the odds were turning in their favor.

“Listen closely, I will only tell you once,” said the taller masked man with a red patch emblazoned on his arm. “You will stand, you will walk, and you will not say a word.” His voice was foreign, but Nick could not quite place it.

     “What if we don’t?” said James in an utterly stupid show of defiance. Whether it was because he had heard Nick’s laugh, or because he wanted to impress Lopsang, the outcome was the same. The masked man slammed his rifle butt into James’s jaw, and sent him sprawling backward into the snow.

     Never argue with a man who has a rifle to your head, thought Nick, and winced as James sat up, dripping blood from his mouth. All the same, Nick could not help but smile. More shows of non-lethal force. They’re not planning on killing any of us. “Do what he says James, or you won’t have many teeth left,” said Nick, in what he hoped was a show of fear to their captor.

     “Good,” said the masked man. “This will be much easier if you cooperate. Now stand.”

     Nick did as the man said, standing, keeping his hands on his head. While they hadn’t shown lethal force yet, Nick didn’t want to give them an excuse to. Hostage situations, while better than executions were still quite dangerous. James, had never even been held for a night in the drunk tank, and Nick was now feeling he should have explained the process of captivity better to him.

     When James was reluctant to stand, the man made a threatening gesture with his rifle again. Head still spinning from the first hit, James stood as well. He was shaky on his feet, but otherwise looked alright.

     Lopsang remained silent and regarded their captors with cautious eyes.

     “Walk, now.” The man’s voice was firm and left no room for argument.

     Nick was still confused by the slightest hint of an accent, but he could not place it. Maybe some kind of Russian? he thought, remembering just how many Russians had been sent to kill him. It was unclear when the trend had started, but Nick maintained that the later Bond films legitimized the stereotype, and allowed Russian assassins to put a cap on the market. In the end it seemed to have been a lucrative turn of events for them.

     The masked man moved behind them and the other two walked to their sides. There were no escape routes. Once more, they resumed trudging up the mountain path, only this time, at gun point. This, Nick felt, made the entire act of climbing the mountain far less tiring. The mundane walk through the dark seemed a lot less so when there was the potential to die at any moment. Each step was another tiny opportunity to keep on living. In a way, Nick felt that the highwaymen had done them a favor by picking up their pace.