The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Read online

  As devastated as the tent would be if he didn’t close the flap.

  Sitting up and bracing himself against the frigid air, he switched on the hanging lamp. The tent was open to the elements, the half-zipped inside flap was thrashing, and the one beyond was completely undone.

  ‘Fucking hell, Cass…’

  Casper’s coat was still in the tent. What kind of idiot went for a leak without at least putting on his coat?

  Liam struggled to his knees, his feet tangled in the sleeping bag which he bundled to the corner. Their supplies lay about among the contents of his rucksack, and the tent was a mess. That could be dealt with later, the more pressing matter was telling Casper to get back inside. Given the way Liam had behaved, he wouldn’t be surprised to find Casper making his way back to the village. It was a stupid thing to attempt, particularly without a coat, and he expected to see him just outside when he crawled there and shone the torch.

  There was nothing to see but the driving rain that stabbed his face, the puddles collecting on the sodden earth, and in a burst of lightning, the mountain. Thunder followed immediately, telling him the storm was directly overhead. The torch was useless, and only the lightning gave him guidance as he pulled up his collar, emerging from the tent only to be pushed aside by the force of the gale.

  ‘Casper!’ The shout hurt his throat, but bellowing did no good as the wind stole his words and threw them into the chaos. Nevertheless, he shouted again, desperation building, soon to become panic if Casper didn’t appear.

  Another yell, a few paces from the tent, head bent, eyes stinging when he looked up, the torch aimed this way and that to no avail. Lightning detonated thunder, and in the monochrome flash, he saw Casper’s boots behind a rock five feet to his left. Liam was there before the lightning flare plunged him back into darkness.

  Casper was face down, half-hidden by the rocks, his clothes soaked, and his hat gone.

  Liam fell to his knees, screaming Casper’s name as a lecture from a visiting police officer darted in and out of his thoughts. ‘Don’t move a victim, you could do more damage. Call the emergency services.’ Something like that, but he’d been talking about a car accident. Whatever had happened to Casper had happened outside in freezing rain, and the police warning was pushed aside by Mr Mazur’s talk on mountain safety. Wet and cold means death. Broken limbs heal, a broken spine means you’re dead already when you’re on a mountain, and hypothermia kills more people than badly tied knots. It had been a brutal talk, and Liam was grateful for it; it was all he had.

  With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he rolled Casper onto his back, and Casper groaned. He’d fallen head-first against a rock, and blood was being swept away from a cut on his forehead leaving an inch-long gash.

  ‘Cass. Can you hear me?’

  Casper’s eyelids flickered as if he could, but he was unable to respond.

  ‘Cass. Can you stand up?’

  No answer.

  Rain was running in streams from Liam’s neck to the small of his back, his jacket was like tissue paper against the numbing air, and he thought he would vomit with fear, but somehow the lectures, the brief training and any number of adventure films came to mind. It was vital to get Casper to shelter, dry and warm.

  The lightning was his ally. It showed him the way, the torch crammed into his mouth as he lifted Casper beneath his arms and dragged him, backwards, painfully slowly towards the tent. Every footstep came with a yell of determination, and there was no way to tell if his face was soaked by weather or tears. The only thing he could think of was the tent, and it felt like it was a mile away. His legs throbbed, and his chest burnt, but the pain was nothing compared to his determination. Dragging Casper inside was harder still, Liam had to do it on his knees, but inch by inch and grunt by scream, he backed in until he was pressed up against the far end, and Casper was inside. He had zipped the flaps closed before he began to shake. Kneeling with water dripping from his face, his clothes clinging to his body, he shivered uncontrollably, possibly from the exertion but more likely from the cold. Without knowing how long Casper had been outside, there was no way of telling how bad he was, and without the rain to wash it away, the blood from his wound ran freely.

  What was it first? Stop the bleeding or get the victim warm?

  Hypothermia took longer than bleeding out, or was it the other way around? How bad was the cut? Did he have a concussion? How long had he been unconscious? Airway, pulse, away from danger…

  ‘In order, Lee, in order.’ Casper’s voice in his head. Take it one step at a time. Key signature, time signature, check for unexpected passages, look beyond page two, modulation?

  ‘Get out!’ Liam yelled at the intrusive thoughts. This was not a sight-reading test; this was life or death. ‘One step at a time. Worst thing to do is panic.’

  Taking a deep breath, he focused.

  ‘Airway, breathing, circulation.’ The climbing instructor’s voice this time, and he had never been so grateful for the Wednesday mountaineering club.

  Casper was on his back and breathing, but he was deathly white. Ripping off his gloves, Liam felt his neck. There was a pulse, and it was strong enough for him to detect through numb fingers.

  ‘Call for help.’

  Where had he put his phone? It wasn’t where he had been sleeping, and it wasn’t in his rucksack.

  ‘Pocket.’

  It was in his jacket, and bringing it to life, he noticed three things. The time was eight minutes past twelve, there was one bar left on the battery and none on the signal. All the same, he dialled three nines in case the Samsung had a built-in superpower to send signals to the emergency services no matter what. The thunder roared with laughter. The card from the café would be just as useless, and he dropped the phone into his rucksack. Whether he had been able to call for help or not, he still had to get Casper warm, and that wasn’t going to happen while he was in his sodden clothes.

  Kneeling at his side, he tapped Casper’s face and called his name. The eyelashes twitched again, and Liam called more loudly.

  The eyes opened, and he stared, confused. His lips parted, and he whispered, ‘Lee?’ as if he wasn’t sure.

  ‘It’s me, Cass. You’re okay. I’m going to get you dry and go for help.’

  Was he? Apparently so, though he had no idea how. That could wait.

  ‘Got to be warm,’ he said, feigning confidence. ‘Can you sit?’

  The answer was no because Casper’s eyes closed again, and as they did, he mumbled, ‘Sleepy.’

  ‘Okay, but don’t go to sleep, not yet. You’re not unconscious, you’re just tired.’

  That might not have been true, but the thought was too comforting to challenge. Scrambling around in the debris, he located his spare clothes. They wouldn’t fit well, but they would have to do. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘tighter is better than loose, right?’

  Again, he had no idea, but he also had no alternative.

  Liam knelt at Casper’s head and with a supreme effort, lifted him to rest in his lap. After a badly coordinated struggle, Casper’s jumper came free, and by the time his soaked shirt came into view, Liam was gasping for air. The shirt, and the t-shirt beneath, he pulled over Casper’s head, only then remembering the open wound. Without thinking, he used the t-shirt to wipe away the blood, and under the unforgiving lamplight, saw that the cut wasn’t as bad as he first thought. Now they were inside, he was regaining some of his composure and reasoned that the injury could wait and probably be contained by a couple of plasters. The first aid kit was in the top compartment of his bag, but it had to wait. Casper was topless now, and under normal circumstances it would have been a compelling sight. Defined muscles, hairless apart from a dash of dark running from his navel to his trousers and a toned stomach, Liam had seen it before, but never so pale and vulnerable. Drying him as be
st he could with his towel, he reversed the undressing process, and doubling his efforts, forced one of his thermal undershirts over Casper’s head, and crammed his arms into the sleeves before pausing.

  ‘A carer must stay strong or won’t be able to care.’ Mr Mazur’s voice telling Liam to rest.

  Not for long. Time was of the essence, and there was a way to go.

  A sweatshirt went on more easily, but the neck of Liam’s woollen jumper wouldn’t stretch over Casper’s head of thick hair. Finding the first aid kit, he wrestled with the ridiculously small round-end scissors to cut a gash in the pullover’s neck, and that done, was able to force the jumper down. It didn’t quite reach to his middle, but it was better than nothing. Casper’s puffer jacket was the last thing to contend with, but by then, Liam had learnt a technique, and it was on and done up quickly, which only left his feet and legs.

  His own legs were aching from the kneeling, and he took a moment to stretch them, rechecking his phone as he did so and finding it as impotent as before.

  Moving to Casper’s feet, he planned his moves more carefully, calmer now though still shaking. His fingers hurt as he pinched and battled with boot laces, and by the time Casper’s legs were exposed, his skin was raw from tugging at the trousers. Where Casper’s upper body was smooth, his legs were hairy and dark, but no less muscled. The damp towel soaked some of the moisture, one of Liam’s t-shirts took the rest. Casper’s body hair would help keep his legs warm, he reasoned in a moment of rational thought that was unexpectedly followed by another.

  The wrong rucksack.

  There had been clothes in there. They were filthy and tatty, but they were still clothes, and being under the extended flysheet, they would be dry.

  Except, when he looked, the rucksack was gone.

  It wasn’t until the flap was zipped again, and he was about to rip off Casper’s boxer briefs that he realised what the missing rucksack meant.

  Casper had been so appalled by Liam’s behaviour and his confession, he had been prepared to hike off back down the mountain in this weather, exchange the bags and be gone by the time Liam discovered him missing.

  ‘Some fucking mates we are,’ he fumed, accepting that he was half to blame.

  Furious with himself and shocked by his friend’s reaction, he was inclined to leave him as he was, but the moment passed by in a crack of lightning. The thunder took longer to follow, meaning the storm was moving away, and the thought gave him a little reassurance.

  If he could finish getting Casper dressed, he would be safe until daylight when Liam could descend low enough for a mobile signal; there was no need for him to risk going out in the dark. Casper might even wake feeling fine, and they could walk off the mountain together.

  That wasn’t going to happen until he was fully dressed and in the sleeping bag, however, and there was still the indelicate matter of changing his underwear.

  ‘He’s just another guy,’ Liam hissed as he reached for his spare underpants. ‘And it’s only Cass. No big deal.’

  It was, actually, but Liam allowed himself no time to gawp, blushing as he exchanged the clothing, and hurrying to squeeze Casper’s legs into trousers one size too small. They wouldn’t do up at the waist, but that was probably a good thing, they might hamper his circulation, and Liam left them open.

  After putting Casper into two pairs of dry socks, the last thing was to fix the sleeping bag back together and shuffle it from feet to neck. That done, he wiped away the last of the blood from the wound, sighed with relief when no more seeped out, and applied two sticking plasters in an X, thinking that would be better than just one. Neither of them had a spare hat, so Liam took his last dry shirt and fashioned it into headwear by wrapping it around Casper’s head.

  Having zipped the sleeping bag to its full potential, and leaving only the head exposed, he crumpled into a heap.

  Casper was sleeping, his mouth slightly open and his eyelids flickering from time to time as Liam sat silently under the yellow glow of the lamp amid the rage of the mountain, hugging himself and wondering how he was going to get dry.

  It didn’t matter.

  Liam wasn’t the injured one and would sit up all night with his hands dug between his legs or hugging himself. He would put on whatever he had that wasn’t too wet and find a way to cram in alongside Casper and use his own body heat to keep him from freezing.

  It was when he realised that he would die for his friend if he had to, that the tears, temporarily banished by concentration and necessity, flooded back.

  He he wept not because he had been an idiot, not because Casper was hurt and Liam was responsible, and not because he was frightened.

  It should have come as a shock, but it felt perfectly natural that he was weeping because he couldn’t imagine life without the man lying helpless at his feet.

  What he felt for Casper wasn’t mere friendship, not even intense friendship, it was so much more, and the realisation brought wails of helplessness.

  The tears evaporated, however, and were replaced by panic when Casper began shaking and mumbling incoherently.

  Eleven

  Liam couldn’t make out a word, but Casper’s lips were moving. Pale, almost blue they twitched as they spilled syllables that didn’t connect. His eyes were open one second and closed the next, flickering in an uncoordinated rhythm that made it impossible to tell if he was awake or asleep. His head jerked from side to side, even when Liam tried to hold him still.

  ‘Cass,’ he pleaded. ‘Cass, wake up. Can you hear me?’

  The eyes were still for a split second, the mumbling stopped, and Liam thought the spasm was over, but too soon, it began again, worse his time, and Casper’s voice was louder. The words were cries of helpless panic, like a man clinging to a cliff by his fingertips, knowing he couldn’t hold on.

  Liam’s panic intensified.

  Grabbing Casper’s shoulders and pressing on his chest, he tried to steady him, and that seemed to calm his friend a little. The disjointed, irrational words slowed, and his tongue licked his lips as if searching for moisture.

  Liam reached for the water bottle and unscrewed the lid.

  ‘Cass,’ he said. ‘Take some of this. Can you drink?’

  The touch of cold water to his lips shocked Casper, and he gasped, but he did make an effort to sip.

  That small improvement gave Liam hope, but Casper was still shivering inside the bag, his hands grabbing and wrestling to be free.

  ‘What you doing, Cass?’ Liam asked, trying to smile, trying anything to get him to return to his usual self. ‘You being naughty in there?’

  ‘Hot.’

  The joy at hearing Casper speak was almost overwhelming.

  ‘That’s it, Cass, have a drink, but leave yourself alone, yeah?’ Liam tried to laugh, but it was hollow and pointless.

  ‘So hot.’

  ‘No, you’re not, mate. You’re bloody freezing. You’ve got to stay inside.’

  The hands stopped moving as Casper looked blankly into Liam’s eyes but displayed no recognition.

  ‘It’s me. Lee,’ Liam said, putting the water bottle away, and thinking it was best to ration it. ‘You understand? It’s Lee?’

  ‘Lee?’

  ‘That’s it, mate.’

  What else had Mr Mazur said about accident victims in the outdoors? It had ranged from how to make a temporary bandage to the work of the Coast Guard. Too much information for a one-hour session in a classroom, but some of it was filtering back.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Liam asked, shifting his position to support himself with one arm across Casper. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cass, can you tell me your name?’

  The clue was in the question, but Casper still didn’t comprehend.


  ‘Hot,’ he gasped, his breathing shallow.

  Instinctively, Liam put a hand on his forehead. It was as cold as he expected, and his skin was tight revealing thick veins on his temples. The blood was moving through them in sluggish, weak pulses, and placing two fingers on his neck, Liam immediately knew his heart rate was slowing. Their teacher’s voice climbed from the depths of his memory to say two words, ‘Summon help.’

  It was an impossible choice. To leave Casper and try for a lower altitude where he might raise a signal and call for help or stay with him until dawn and hope that they would be found. The thunder was growing ever more distant, and the rain was pelting less severely, but the wind was still strong. He had a torch, but would he remember the way down in the dark? Would Casper try and free himself from the sleeping bag? There was no way he could be hot, it must be an effect of the cold in the way ice burns the skin. What if in his confusion, he wandered from the tent again, stumbled, hit his head on another rock?

  But what if Liam stayed with him and no-one came? Who would? A few days, he had told the woman at the café. She knew their planned route, but no-one expected to see them again, no-one would be concerned for days by which time…

  It wasn’t an impossible choice because there was no choice. Liam was out of his depth, Casper was sinking into unconsciousness, there was no food and little water, but they were only a few miles from people who could do something. The café had been filled with hikers and climbers, men who knew the hills, others better prepared for situations like this, and there was a chance some might be closer, camping like they were but with radios, supplies, experience.