The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Page 16
‘Bloody hell,’ Liam said. ‘I didn’t mean to blurt out everything. Sorry.’
‘Ah, get away with you.’ Gary was now on his second mug of tea while Liam was on his third bottle of water. ‘I wish I’d had a mate like you. Casper’s a lucky man.’
‘Except he has to go back to Greece, join the army and then get married, or some shit,’ Liam said, and for the first time in an hour felt sadness creeping back.
‘So he’s straight?’ Gary sounded surprised.
‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Don’t sound so shocked, mate. Everyone thought I was until I wasn’t, if you see what I mean. You told me how clever he is, what he’s learning, the athletics, the music. In fact, you make him sound like a regular genius, but you didn’t mention a girlfriend, not that a girlfriend means anything.’
‘He doesn’t have the time.’
‘That what he said?’
‘Yes. And I believe him.’
‘Which is what makes your time together even more special.’
Liam wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
‘Look at it this way,’ Gary said. ‘He’s taking three A-Levels, or was it four? Doesn’t matter. He’s got all that studying, he’s got his music lessons, you mentioned Greek school or church or something and other stuff, but my point is, by the sound of it, he’s got very little free time, and yet he chooses to spend it with you, not a girlfriend.’
‘I think that’s because his mum expects him to marry a Greek girl when they move back.’ The sadness wasn’t creeping so much as trotting Liam’s way, and it wasn’t coming alone. The thought of Casper marrying a Greek girl, any girl come to that, accompanied it, leaving the bitter taste of jealousy at the back of his throat.
‘But meanwhile, who does he choose to hang out with?’ Gary persisted.
‘That’s because of the music.’
‘Maybe.’
Gary considered the answer while his eyes continued to bore into Liam as if they were determined to prise from him another admission. What did he want to hear? That he was right and Liam wrong? Casper was straight, he had made no mention of feelings or sex because he didn’t want to give off the wrong signals or he just wasn’t interested, and he never showed any interest in girls because they were complicated. At least, that’s what he had once said when they were alone in Liam’s room listening to a Strauss concerto, the one Liam disliked, but Casper found invigoratingly difficult.
‘Anyway…’ Gary untangled his legs from the sofa. ‘I’m boring you, and I need to check your CT.’
‘My what?’
‘Core temperature. Give us your hand.’
Liam did as he was asked, and Gary attached the plastic clip to his finger. He was warmer now that he had eaten, though his insides still felt like a solid block, and the rain lashing the windows did nothing to make him feel any happier, but he did at least feel safe. More than that, he felt understood.
‘Thanks, mate,’ he said, and when Gary raised an inquisitive eyebrow, added, ‘For listening.’
‘Ah, get away with you, man.’ Gary checked the monitor. ‘Another degree up and you can take a bath. I’ll spark up the hot water, then you should sleep.’
‘Not until I know Cass is safe.’
Gary glanced at the clock. ‘Not long now.’
It was ten minutes later when Gary had turned on the hot water tank, stoked the fire and done the washing up, that the radio hissed into life. Liam had been fighting sleep, the room was warm, and he was about to ask if he could do without the blanket when Gary answered the call.
‘Receiving you, John. Over.’
‘Yeah, summit team here.’ John’s voice was distant, and matter of fact, but Liam was able to make out the words.
‘Summit my arse,’ Gary laughed. ‘What’s your status?’
‘Is your casualty nearby?’
Liam’s heart leapt to his mouth along with a hand, all warmth left him, and when Gary turned to face him, his expression grave, he knew something was wrong. Gary said something and came towards him, but Liam didn’t want to hear the news, and he cowered into the corner of the sofa, shaking his head.
Gary pulled the hand from Liam’s mouth and held the radio receiver to his ear. Liam shut his eyes, shaking not from cold but from fear. Not wanting to hear John’s words, he struggled to back away, but Gary was stronger and held the handset firmly.
‘Hello?’ Liam said, weak with fear.
The voice that replied sounded as if it was in the same room, quiet but clear and yet otherworldly.
‘Liam?’ it said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Fourteen
John had thought of nothing but his feet and the path during most of the ascent. The half-mile from Barrenmoor to the first of the six streams had been easy, monotonous even, but the stream-channels had been flooded, and he concentrated on crossing them while staying as dry as possible, not an easy task with the rain coming in horizontally in the head-on wind. The zigzag was a relentless hundred yards each way to achieve only a few feet of altitude, but it was safer than crossing the boulder fields in the dark. Above it, where the wind bit harder, he bent his head and stared at the puddle-soaked path, making sure he didn’t lose it. The head torch threw a powerful beam, but over a limited distance, and had he not known the mountain so well, it would have been easy to become lost in places where the route had been reclaimed by flooding.
It was something of a testimony to Liam’s courage and determination that he had brought himself down over this terrain without injury and without getting lost, and John compared his actions to his own two years ago when he had been called to carry out a spot pick-up to a possible casualty beyond the ridge.
Then, it had been snow jabbing his eyes, and he had not known what to expect, but tonight, he had a pretty good idea that the casualty was going to be hypothermic, possibly severely so, as Liam hadn’t been able to say how long his friend had lain in the rain. On its own, being wet wasn’t the issue, but the wind chill was close to freezing, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the storm was followed by a snowfall.
Lightning lit the way in violent flares, but he didn’t flinch from the thunder that followed hot on its heels. Instead, he counted the time between flash and roar, judging the storm’s distance and the higher he climbed, the more distant it became as it moved inland.
Arriving at the runoff gully, and having called in his location, he took his hand torch and scoured the teaming water. How Liam had crossed this without being swept off his feet was a question for later, how John was going to achieve it was a different matter. The level was up, and water flooded beyond the banks, drowning most of the rocks he would otherwise have used as steppingstones. The power of the runoff had brought down rubble, and some of it was still tumbling, breaking the surface and rendering the usual crossing impassable.
‘Diggers’ Hike,’ he mumbled. ‘Great.’
No-one knew where the name came from, but it had grown up over time and referred to the place where early settlers carved the cliff to use the stone for a fortification that once stood on top of the fell. Whether that was true or not didn’t matter. It was a hell of a hike to the summit on that route, walking the east slope was bad enough, and crossing the runoff with a torrent at his feet would not be easy, let alone safe.
He checked his GPS to record his elevation before heading west beside the flow of water towards the overhanging cliff. There, as if they had been dropped from above, two massive boulders formed a semi-dam in the watercourse. Most of the runoff poured around them, some of it spouted between them, but they could be used as a bridge by anyone who knew what they were doing.
John did, but he also knew he had no belay. It was pointless to rope-on, there was no-one to take the other end, but bouldering the bridge was tricky enough when free climbing in go
od weather. It was dangerous even in the early summer mornings when the dew made the rocks slippery, and to attempt it in a gale with water being thrown from every direction was madness for most. It was not, however, beyond someone like John, and having secured his rucksack more tightly, drawn his hood strings to their limit and put away the hand torch, he stood ankle-deep in the flow, his eyes fixed on the first boulder four feet away. The head torch highlighted a suitable crack, and he aimed for it, thinking of nothing else. Leaning sideways into the current, he strode towards the boulder, and his cupped fingers made directly for the crack. It provided a deep handhold, making it easy for him to secure himself and find the first foothold. From then on it was a ten-foot ascent and traverse made less easy than usual because of the unpredictable gale, and even more difficult to see across to the second rock because of the spray and darkness. White water raged between him and it, and aware of its force, he didn’t look down. There was no point. Waiting for the next lightning flash, he picked a place to land. His hand would have to reach it as his foot found purchase on a narrow ledge just above the waterline, it was a five-foot leap, and he would be swept away if he missed, but John wasn’t a climber who baulked at dynos or soloing. A deep breath, his fingers flexed and then relaxed, his mind clear of all sounds and with only one objective, he launched himself from the first boulder, and a second later, was pressed against the other.
‘Must try this in daylight,’ he muttered, securing his grip and tipping his head back to look for the next hold. Above, the lightning lit deformed grey clouds, and the rain washed his eyeballs. A couple of blinks and a shake of his head to clear his vision, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a suitable crevice. With the lightning gone, he only had his memory to guide him, and keeping the distance in his mind, he drew his left leg up the smooth rockface until his foot encountered a ledge.
‘Would have been easier with shoes,’ he said. His boots were heavy and thick-soled, making it hard to find the tiniest of cracks which, in the correct footwear, would have afforded him enough grip to balance on his big toe, but the boots were keeping his feet dry and were suited to moorland terrain if not bouldering.
Pushing himself up, his right hand flew into the darkness and found the hold, his legs followed, and as if climbing a ladder, he scaled the top, lying flat to prevent himself being blown away.
The leap to the far bank was easier than he expected, and he landed only knee-deep in water. Two lunges and he was free of it, and after checking with his GPS, he returned to the same elevation and direction as before. The crossing had been easy enough for him but would be impossible with a casualty.
How to get Casper down was a decision for later, there was another ascent to make first, steeper and more slippery, but Adam’s Ledge was not far.
He had made good time and called in to Gary again to appraise him of his position. Everything sounded fine back at home, and Gary had gleaned some information which he relayed in whispers, presumably because Liam was listening.
Poor lad, having to leave a mate solo and try for a rescue. It was one of the hardest decisions to make. Maybe not for experienced, high-altitude climbers who all understood that if you were down you were dead, and no-one would risk themselves for your own stupidity. That was an unwritten rule, part of a code, but they were not at high altitude, they had simply been unlucky. Liam had done well though, apart from taking the hike at the worst time of year without enough experience or equipment and failing to understand the weather in the Dales. Still, John thought, can’t knock him for his bravery.
As he approached Adam’s Ledge, he set his mind to his checklist. No matter how instilled it was, he always ran through it when approaching a rescue as he did when approaching a climb. Preparation was key and picturing where each piece of equipment was in his bag, and imaging every possible scenario left him prepared for anything. It was unlikely the lad would be dead, not unless he had wandered from the tent and had fallen from a height. From what Liam had said, Casper was in dry clothes and under as many layers as they had available, but there was still the threat of paradoxical undressing if he’d fallen into severe hypothermia. John had seen it on the mountains where the onset of SH led the victim to believe he was too hot when in fact, he was closer to cardiac arrest because of being cold. Again, it was unlikely Casper had succumbed to that, but the unknown factor was the time he had spent unconscious in the open.
The other considerations were whether Casper could take himself off the hill with only John to assist, or whether the air ambulance would be necessary. The third option was a whole team callout, but as John’s colleagues had spent the night over at Northpeak, they’d be none too pleased to be called to similar conditions so soon. However, if that was necessary, that’s what they would do, and no-one would complain.
He was on the summit path now, with the ledges up to his right, and squinting into the rain, he made out familiar rock formations. A little higher and a burst of lightning to the east provided enough to light to see the apex of a dome tent sheltering behind a low boulder, and he left the path to scramble the incline. Reaching the top, things became easier. The wind and rain hadn’t lessened, if anything they were worse, but the tent was lit from the inside and acted as a beacon as he picked his way between the outcrops until, finally, he arrived on flatter ground.
A quick scan of the area as best he could in the conditions, revealed no prone body, and he was relieved to see the tent flap was closed. The tent was a good make and well pegged, an indication that at least one of the boys knew what they were doing, and the outer zip opened smoothly, another sign of quality.
‘Casper?’ he called as he crawled into the vestibule and started on the second flap. ‘I’m here to help.’
Inside, the tent was well lit from a battery lamp hanging from a central hook, and it threw light onto the mess from a hurriedly emptied rucksack and a sleeping bag, just as John expected, but the bag wasn’t moving, and no-one had replied to his call.
Zipping up the outer flap, he dropped his rucksack and dragged it in before securing the inner and calling Casper’s name again.
A soft rustle from inside the bag and John heaved a sigh of relief. Scooting around on his knees, he came beside it to see what he had to work with.
A pale face, blue lips, tightly closed eyes but also the sound of soft breathing. The lad was wearing a makeshift hat, but his face was exposed, and at some point in his sleep, he had freed one arm from the bag.
‘Hello, matey,’ John said, as he undid his backpack. ‘You look like you could do with a stiff drink. Are you awake, or are you out for the count?’ The boy sighed when John attached the monitor clip to an exposed finger. ‘Good, no airway problem there. Nothing to worry about, Casper,’ he said. ‘You’re okay now. Can you hear me? Casper?’
The eyelids flickered, and John studied them as he reached behind for his first aid kit. Putting it beside him and opening it without looking, he took out a pencil torch.
‘Just going to look into your eyes,’ he said. ‘Don’t be alarmed.’ Lifting each eyelid in turn, he shone the light and saw the reaction he expected. It wasn’t the most subtle way to wake someone, but it usually did the trick, and, there was no time for niceties.
Casper gasped and tried to struggle, but John was ready and steadied him, cradling the lad’s head as he put away the torch.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Liam said you wanted to see me?’
Casper’s mouth opened, and he tried to form words, but they wouldn’t come.
‘Don’t struggle,’ John repeated. ‘You’re safe now, but I need to take a look at you. Do you understand me? Casper? Are you receiving, over?’
Smiling and making light was one of his personal techniques. Calm authority and humour were more useful than barked orders and panic, because it put victims at ease, allowing John to work quickly without fuss as if he did this kind of thing every day.
The head moved while the eyes darted from John to the roof to the walls either side.
‘You’re in your tent,’ John said, removing his gloves. ‘Does anything hurt?’
‘My head.’
‘Hey, excellent news. Not your headache, the fact you’re talking. Where does it hurt?’
The free arm lifted and pointed vaguely to Casper’s face before flopping back into place, and the movement proved to John that the lad was responsive but weak, two useful clues to the necessary treatment.
‘There’s no blood,’ John said, examining the hand that had supported Casper’s head. ‘But you’ve got a lump at the back there, and I see you’ve got plasters on your temple. Do you feel dizzy?
‘No.’
‘Sick?’
‘Cold.’
‘Okay. Can you follow my finger?’
Holding one up close to Casper’s face, he watched as the boy focused. The fact that he was comprehending instructions was another positive sign, and there had been no panic. This lad knew to stay passive and do as he was told.
‘Good man. Okay, now don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going in.’