The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Read online

  ‘Liam Dent.’

  He understood what was happening, which was a good sign, and allowed John to unzip his jacket. Some victims fought against help, panicking and confused, but the youth was either too exhausted or too frightened, and gave himself up to the assistance without interference.

  ‘Okay, Liam,’ John said, supporting him with one hand while slipping his arms free of the jacket’s sleeves with the other. ‘I’m going to ask you questions. I want simple answers. How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen.’ The voice was quiet, and the word said through teeth that chattered, the boy’s head twitching in spasms, and his arms shaking.

  ‘Good lad. I’m laying you right down now, then I’m going to check you over. Nothing to worry about. Where have you come from?’

  ‘Dover.’

  ‘Nice. Where have you come from just now?’

  With Liam on his back, John was free to throw the jacket to one side and unknot the boots. At least they were suitable for November weather, whereas the jacket was pointless. Liam wore a woollen jumper which was fine for dry and cold, but heavy when wet and retaining moisture. Had they been out on the fells, he would have taken a different approach, but they were inside, and it made things a hell of a lot easier.

  ‘Where were you?’ John asked again.

  ‘Up.’

  Gary was suddenly beside them. Having dumped a pile of clothes and towels on the sofa, he gently lifted Liam’s head and placed a pillow beneath while John removed the boots. A second later, he was gone, returning almost immediately with John’s MRT backpack.

  ‘LP,’ John said, not wanting Liam to hear the word ‘LifePak’ again in case it panicked him.

  Gary passed him the portable defibrillator, keeping it out of the victim’s line of vision, and set about removing Liam’s socks. There was no need to shock the lad, but the machine came with a thermometer and oxygen level monitor and having attached the clip to the lad’s finger, John pressed a pad.

  ‘Keep still,’ he said, taking a towel and drying the boy’s face. ‘Did you get lost?’

  ‘Casper.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘My friend.’

  ‘He’s one of the two I told you about,’ Gary said, as he shuffled on his knees to Liam’s waist. ‘Liam,’ he spoke directly onto the boy’s face, watching his eye reaction. ‘Liam, I’m going to get your trousers off, but I’ve got others to put on. Is that okay with you?’

  ‘Have to get you dry,’ John said. ‘All above board.’

  ‘Casper.’

  ‘Where’s Casper?’ Gary unbuckled the belt and popped a button. ‘Is he with you?’

  Liam’s head lolled from one side to the other, his eyes searching the room as if he had just woken up and didn’t know where he was.

  Gary and John exchanged glances.

  ‘Pulse erratic but strong. CT ninety-five,’ John said, reading the monitor. ‘Borderline, but dropping. Oxygen fine. You reheat, I’ll mop.’

  They had trained together at the mountaineering centre and on the hills, and it was natural that John, being more experienced, took the lead. Gary understood the rules and set about stripping Liam while John searched the body for injuries. Liam’s hands were scratched, one knee was bloody, and his shins were bruised, but they were scrapes rather than lacerations, the injuries of someone stumbling rather than falling. The main concern was hypothermia.

  John kept Liam talking as he and Gary worked around each other, Gary drying the legs before removing the guy’s underclothes and pulling on a pair of his own thermals, covering them with John’s high-altitude long johns and then a pair of joggers. Two pairs of thermal socks covered his feet. When John had assessed Liam’s head and found it injury-free, they lifted the lad upright and removed his jumper and two layers of shirts beneath. Once dry, they dressed him in more of Gary’s clothes, and when John had cleaned his hands, lifted him onto the sofa where Gary pulled a ski hat over his head.

  The trembling had stopped, and John reattached the thermometer while Gary unfolded a Mylar blanket.

  ‘You’re doing great, Liam,’ John said, his voice reassuring and yet slightly detached as if his words were being said by rote while his mind worked through a complicated procedure. ‘A few hours like this and you’re back to normal. Can you tell me more about Casper?’

  Liam’s eyes were focusing, and he had stopped shaking. Colour had not yet returned to his skin, and his lips were still on the blueish side, but that was to be expected.

  ‘Casper fell.’

  Another uneasy glance between John and Gary, who stopped tucking in the blanket and glanced at the radio. John shook his head and asked, ‘Where?’

  ‘Up.’

  ‘Great, Liam, that’s great. Can you say exactly how far?’

  ‘Near the top.’

  ‘Were you climbing?’ John packed away the medical kit. The lad’s hands were treated, and the air would dry the wounds, there was no need for bandages, but the fingers needed to be kept warm, so he placed Liam’s arms inside the blanket, and folded it over.

  ‘No,’ Liam said. ‘Outside the tent.’

  Gary took the guy’s wet clothing to the kitchen, and set the kettle to boil, leaving John free to glean information while he busied himself at Liam’s feet with his backpack.

  ‘And where was the tent?’

  ‘Below the top. Flat ground, boulders.’

  ‘Top of the path?’

  ‘Just off.’

  ‘Adam’s Ledge,’ Gary said, and John nodded.

  ‘You’ve come down a fair way, Liam,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with Casper?’

  Liam was coming to, and the more strength he regained, the more he became concerned. It was a common occurrence that John was prepared for, and he made no mention of the fact that Liam was crying. Shock was to be expected, but allowing the lad to recover from it would take too long. He needed more information now.

  ‘What happened to your friend?’ he asked, kneeling at Liam’s feet.

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was more of a wail than a statement.

  ‘That’s fine, don’t fret. We’ll find him. Is he hurt?’

  ‘Cold,’ Liam said, staring at the fireplace. ‘I found him outside. He cut himself.’

  ‘Where is he now? Still there?’

  Liam shook his head. ‘Inside, but he’s not right. I couldn’t phone.’

  ‘What do you mean, not right?’

  Another shake of the head but no words.

  ‘How long was he outside?’

  Liam shrugged.

  ‘Time, Gary?’

  ‘Three forty-seven.’

  The bag now fully packed, John gripped Liam’s knees. The contact made him jump, but it kept him focused.

  ‘Anything else apart from his head?’ John asked. ‘Anything broken?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Shivering…’ Gary trailed off, his face screwing up as he remembered the scene. ‘Mumbling. I put him in the bag.’

  ‘Sleeping bag?’

  Liam nodded. ‘Dry,’ he said. ‘I made him dry. I had to leave him.’

  ‘You did the right thing.’

  John’s mind raced. The descent from Adam’s Ledge to Barrenmoor would take a healthy man ninety minutes and the ascent, two hours. John could do it in half the time, but on a good day with fair weather. The storm had eased, but it was returning. The timeline flashed past like a speeding train. Guessing at two and half hours for Liam’s descent, and adding it to an unknown length of time his friend had been exposed, and then allowing himself ninety minutes to ascend, the victim would have been untreated for at least four hours, and alone for most of it. If the puffer jacket had been anything to go by, the sleeping bag wouldn’t be much better, and there was the temperature to factor i
n. At least Liam had the foresight to dry the casualty.

  ‘Please,’ Liam stammered, his hand trying to find John’s but hampered by the blanket. ‘Help him.’

  ‘We will.’

  Gary appeared, blowing on a mug of tea which he put beside the sofa. ‘It’ll take them at least half an hour to muster,’ he said. ‘Another two to go up, assuming they’re back from Northpeak.’

  ‘And it doesn’t sound like a medevac,’ John added. ‘I’ll go, assess and call in.’

  ‘Want me to come?’

  ‘This one needs you more.’

  ‘The river,’ Liam said, blinking between one man and the other.

  ‘Yup, know it well.’ John pushed himself to his feet. ‘Right, Liam, here’s how it’s going to work. Gary’s going to stay with you, and you are going to do exactly as he says. Do we have a deal?’

  Liam nodded, his mouth twitching as if he was trying to laugh, but no sound came. Another natural reaction to being safe after a traumatic experience, an outflowing of relief which had not yet found its path.

  ‘Good lad.’ John turned to Gary, now at the dining table. ‘I’ll get dressed.’

  ‘Batteries charged.’ Gary waved a two-way handset. ‘You want the drag-bag?’

  ‘Can’t if the river’s up,’ John replied, un-belting his dressing gown. Spinning at the door, he called across to Liam. ‘You’ve got a stove and food up there?’

  ‘No,’ was Liam’s pathetic reply, and Gary swore.

  ‘Gary?’

  ‘On it.’

  ‘Add the FA, MP, an MB, and clip the two-way to cold gear. I’ll be two minutes,’ and with that, John was gone.

  To anyone else, the words would have made no sense, but Gary knew exactly what John wanted and knew how to support. As much as he would have liked to go with his husband, there was no need. The storm was gathering for a return match, and the conditions would worsen, but John knew what he was doing, was far more experienced, and had been out in worse. Now Liam was dry and warming, Gary’s job was to keep him that way and deal with the inevitable aftershock when it came. The most difficult part was yet to come, and that was the wait between John’s leaving the house and radioing in from the summit.

  Putting thoughts of the danger from his mind, as he had to, he packed what John had requested. First Aid, MediPack and a Mylar blanket. The two-way radio he attached to John’s oversuit, and packed a small stove, a set of lightweight pans and two tin mugs. He added dried provisions and two water bottles, filling and attaching travelling canteens to the side pocket, before putting the rucksack on a chair, open for John to double-check. That wasn’t because of a lack of trust or training, it was just another precaution.

  By the time he had John’s cold-weather suit unzipped and ready to step into, John was back, properly dressed and carrying his boots.

  ‘I’ll radio every fifteen,’ he said, making sure it was adequately secured. ‘If I need you to call the team, I’ll let you know, but by the sound of it, it’s straightforward, and the quicker someone gets there, the better.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Once he was dressed and happy with his equipment, John took Gary’s face in his hands, drew him close and kissed him.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, ignoring a challenging crack of thunder that shook the windows. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Roger that, mountain leader,’ Gary winked back, grinning. ‘Go on, be a hero, be a photograph.’

  ‘Great,’ John said, swinging his rucksack onto his back as though it was weightless. ‘I’m going to have that song stuck in my head all the way up.’

  ‘Watch out for the runoff.’

  ‘And you,’ John whispered, returning the grin and thumbing towards the sofa. ‘You behave yourself. You’ve already had his clothes off.’

  ‘Ah, give over, you wazzock.’ Gary tightened a shoulder strap, checked the backpack was fastened correctly, and playfully pushed John towards the door. ‘Every fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Feed him. Keep him warm.’

  ‘He’s not a pet. Now bugger off and do your thing.’

  John waved as he headed down the passage. Throwing open the door, he turned into the wind, and set off through the storm.

  Although his stomach was knotted with worry, Gary set his mind to what needed to be done. The checklist was instilled during his training, and he adapted it for the circumstances, closing the sitting room door to retain the heat. Filling another water bottle and taking a notepad from the table, he returned to the sofa to assess the casualty’s progress.

  Liam was huddled and rubbing his hands beneath the blanket.

  ‘Mind those scratches,’ Gary said, sitting side-saddle beside him. ‘Sip this.’ He put the water bottle to Liam’s lips and made sure he drank before picking up the tea.

  Testing it first, and finding it hot but not scalding, he told Liam to free his hands, noting his motor control as he did so. It took the guy a while to untangle the tightly wrapped blanket, but he managed it and even closed it over himself as best he could when his arms were free. Gary offered him the handle, ready to catch the mug if Liam faltered, and the lad took it from him. His hands were encouragingly steady.

  ‘You’re doing great,’ Gary said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Odd.’

  ‘Like you can’t feel your stomach, your fingers hurt, and you want to sleep for a month?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t look surprised,’ Gary smiled. ‘I’ve been there myself. Are you up for more questions?’

  Liam nodded, lifting the mug to his lips.

  ‘Go carefully,’ Gary warned. ‘Don’t touch the mug if you can help it, the heat will feel ten times worse, but sip until it’s gone. I’ll make you soup in a minute. First, mate, what happened to your friend?’

  Liam stared into his tea as he drank, giving Gary the time to watch his reaction to its temperature. There was no flinch, no splutter, and he swallowed with no problem. Even though he had been told not to, Liam wrapped his fingers around the mug. Gary was ready to pull it from him if the lad yelped with pain, but he accepted the warmth, relished it judging by the way he shivered, and took another sip. All good signs.

  ‘Good lad,’ Gary said. ‘So, what happened to Casper?’

  Liam clutched the mug as if he was afraid it would be taken from him, and his shoulders slumped. Shaking his head, he said, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Okay. Well, tell me anything you remember so I can tell John, and he can help your mate. You can sleep later.’

  ‘I can’t sleep. Not while he’s up there on his own. Oh, shit, I’m so fucked up.’

  It was the most Gary had heard him say. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘John’s been doing this for years. You’re lucky you found us.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was you.’

  ‘Hey, if it wasn’t us, you’d have found someone. Casper’s going to be okay.’ There was no way of knowing, but Gary wasn’t going to say that. ‘You said you found him outside?’

  Liam nodded.

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I can’t tell…’ The lad’s eyes flicked across to Gary, and his brow furrowed.

  ‘What is it?’

  Liam looked away. ‘We’d been up the top,’ he said. ‘We pitched the tent as it was getting dark.’

  Sunset was around half-four, and Gary made a note in his book.

  ‘Then?’

  ‘We found out Casper had the wrong bag.’

  ‘Wrong bag?’

  Liam explained how they had mixed up their rucksacks at the café but didn’t realise until they came to set up the inside of the tent. Their food and cooking gear had been inside with Casper’s sleeping bag. The information was noted, and Gary prompted Liam to continue by asking what happened nex
t.

  ‘We had a bit of… That is…’

  ‘It’s okay, mate,’ Gary said. ‘Just what you can remember.’

  The fact Liam remembered anything was a sign his hypothermia wasn’t too severe.

  The colour gradually returning to his cheeks was another, and the pinker they became, the more his light dusting of blond stubble became visible.

  ‘We put the light out around seven or half-past, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Uh-hu.’

  Liam gave him a sideways look, still thinking deeply as if he was unsure how much to say.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ Gary encouraged. ‘It’s the best way to help.’

  ‘Will he be alright?’

  ‘He will. A good friend, is he?’

  ‘I thought so.’

  There was something Liam was not saying, and the idea they might have had a fight crossed Gary’s mind, but Liam was too slight and gentle to imagine in a brawl. There were no marks on his face, and the injuries to his hands were on his palms, not his knuckles.

  ‘You thought so?’

  A deep breath from Liam followed by another glance at the room and his eyes, dark green but rimmed with pink, settled on Gary.

  ‘That man’s your husband, is that right?’

  Gary smiled. Any mention of ‘husband’ did that, and the smile came with a flashback of their wedding. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Married last year.’

  Liam pulled a face. ‘But he’s…’ The blunder he was going to make was covered by a gulp of tea.

  ‘Thirty-nine,’ Gary said, recognising the reaction. ‘And I’m twenty-two. I was nineteen when we met, but we’re not here to talk about that.’ A thought struck home. ‘Why are you asking? Is Casper your boyfriend?’