The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Read online

As John took the zipper, Casper showed the first signs of alarm and tried to prevent him from undoing the sleeping bag.

  ‘No,’ he croaked. ‘Please.’

  ‘Has to be done,’ John said, gently removing the hand and placing it at Casper’s side. ‘I’ve done this before.’

  Casper groaned and put his arm across his face to shield his eyes. It was an unusual reaction, and one John didn’t comprehend until he unzipped the bag and folded it open. The front of Casper’s trousers was soaked at the crotch, and when the warm air was released from the sleeping bag, it carried the smell of urine.

  ‘Was shivering so bad,’ Casper stammered.

  John understood, but there was nothing for the lad to be embarrassed about. ‘Just looking for broken bones,’ he said, ignoring his state. ‘Does anything hurt down here? This feel alright?’

  Carefully feeling Casper’s legs and ankles revealed no sign of breakages, and there was no blood. The wet trousers, however, could become a problem, especially as they didn’t do up and his midriff was partially exposed.

  ‘You could do with something warmer,’ John said. ‘Bear with me.’

  Unclipping the monitor, he took the reading. Ninety-two degrees, oxygen levels acceptable, pulse slow but worryingly weak. Casper was between mild and second stage hypothermia, not yet bad enough to warrant a medivac, but nowhere near able to get himself down from the mountain. Not yet.

  ‘It’s going to be a while before we can move you,’ John said, noting the time as he attended to his bag. ‘First things first. I want to get you dry.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Hey! Nothing to be sorry for, you’ve made my night. So, your name’s Casper, right?’ John took dry leggings and the Mylar blanket from his bag and set them to his other side. ‘My name’s John. Can I call you Casper?’

  ‘Liam?’

  ‘Liam’s fine, he’s at my house.’

  Casper’s arm fell from his face when John undid his boots, and he tried to look down his body.

  ‘Stay where you are for now,’ John said, gently pushing him back. ‘We’ll have you sitting up in no time. I’ll put on a brew, and you can tell me all about it. First, I need to do a bit of window dressing.’

  The boots came off with no objection, but when John began on Casper’s trousers, the lad fumbled to prevent him.

  ‘Honestly, mate,’ John said. ‘It won’t take long. Can you lift your arse for me?’

  Giving in, his arm back over his face as if to conceal his shame, Casper tried, but John had to help by lifting his waist before he could free the trousers and under-shorts. Working quickly, he dried his legs with a discarded t-shirt from the mess around him, rolled a pair of thermal long johns and expertly drew them up to and over Casper’s middle. A second pair went on straight after, followed by a pair of John’s own high-altitude leggings better insulated than any joggers or wool trousers. Casper’s feet were well protected, and his boots were a good fit, so he put them back on. The last thing was to cover the casualty in Mylar, tuck the blanket beneath him, and then re-zip the bag to Casper’s neck, making sure both arms were inside.

  ‘You might feel like a caterpillar right now,’ John said. ‘But keep still and do as I say, and you’ll be a butterfly when the sun comes up.’

  ‘It’s a chrysalis,’ Casper whispered.

  ‘It’s whatever you want it to be, mate.’

  The next thing was to check in with Gary, but before then, it wouldn’t hurt to light the campus stove and start heating water.

  That done, and the time once more noted, he took a minute to organise himself and be comfortable. There was little else to do now except monitor Casper and discover what had happened in case any more clues to his condition came to light.

  ‘I’ll get you some tea in a minute,’ John said, having set up the stove at a safe distance where any involuntary movement from the casualty wouldn’t knock it over. ‘Meanwhile, I need to call home. Are you getting all this Casper?’

  The lad looked at him as if he didn’t completely understand what was happening.

  ‘Remember my name?’ John asked, watching him closely.

  ‘John?’

  ‘Bravo. Yours?’

  ‘George.’

  ‘Oh. I thought it was Casper.’

  ‘They call me that.’

  ‘Can I call you that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old are you, Casper?’

  ‘Eighteen. You’re old.’

  John laughed. ‘That’s it, chum. Nice and personal.’ The question showed that Casper had a grip on his situation and was not as confused as John first thought. ‘I’m thirty-nine,’ he said, unclipping his radio. ‘Far too old for this kind of caper, but you can’t keep an old dog down. Now, you lie there while I check in.’

  ‘Where’s Liam?’

  ‘My house.’

  Mild amnesia was another symptom of the lad’s condition which needed monitoring closely.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Casper’s voice was weak, and his breathing still shallow, but he was trying, and that was the greatest help.

  The lad had to stay awake long enough to take fluids and eat something hot. After that, John could let him sleep until the storm passed and he could judge how best to get him down.

  ‘He was fine when I saw him,’ he said. ‘My husband’s looking after him, so he’ll probably be up to his ears in an Avengers sequel by now.’

  ‘Husband?’

  ‘Yes, mate. We get everywhere. Now hush up while I call in.’

  ‘Please?’

  Casper was struggling to free his arm.

  ‘Hey, you’re alright.’ John shifted to lean across Casper and keep him still. The realisation of finding oneself confined could cause anxiety which, in turn, could produce irregular heart activity, and that, in Casper’s condition, would be bad news. ‘What is it?’ John asked, gazing down at the lad and registering the colour of his lips while also taking in a look of profound sadness.

  ‘Can I speak to him?’

  The sentences were longer; the lad was improving.

  ‘Tell you what,’ John said. ‘You can say hello, but that’s it, okay? I need to relay an update and get you drinking. No time for a chinwag.’

  Sadness morphed briefly into a twitched smile with a mouthed, ‘Thank you,’ as John clicked the radio.

  His call was answered immediately. ‘Receiving you, John. Over.’

  ‘Yeah, summit team here,’ John said, forgoing the overuse of ‘over’ because the casualty was safe, and it was a two-way conversation on an unofficial channel.

  ‘Summit my arse,’ Gary, a thousand feet below, laughed, and the sound warmed John’s heart. ‘What’s your status?’

  ‘Is your casualty nearby?’

  ‘Aye. Why?’ Gary lowered his voice. ‘Bad news?’

  ‘No. OTR already. Wants a word.’

  ‘Stand by.’

  John listened until he heard the radio being passed over. When he heard Liam’s voice say hello, he pressed the talk button and held the handset to Casper’s face.

  ‘Liam?’ Casper said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Those were the only words. Casper started shaking uncontrollably, and tears of shock and relief started to pour from his eyes. John took back the transceiver and turned away.

  ‘Gary?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘No need to trouble the MRT. I’ll get him down as soon as it’s safe. Can you get me a weather report for the next twenty-four hours?’

  ‘Will get back to you. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ John said. ‘Settle in for a long wait.’

  Fifteen

  On the mountains, tea was the cliché that saved lives, and Casper drank two before John f
illed the tin mug with rehydrated soup. He had also taken water with an extra shot of electrolytes to combat dehydration and had recovered some of his lucidity. The lump on the back of his head was a worry because Casper couldn’t remember how it came to be there, nor how he received the injury on his temple. So far, he had been drinking while lying on his side, and it was time to check his balance.

  ‘I need you to sit up,’ John said once Casper had finished the soup, and he had taken back the mug. ‘Can you do it on your own?’

  Watching carefully, he noted the lad’s expression and his coordination as he found the zipper and released the sleeping bag a little further. Casper appeared remarkably together, considering his earlier condition, but his face was still white. His lips, however, had lost most of their blue tint.

  ‘Onto your elbows first,’ John advised, shuffling closer. ‘Take it slowly.’

  Casper responded well to instructions, and although it was a struggle against his confinement, he managed to raise himself, resting on one arm while he took a few deep breaths before sitting completely upright unaided.

  ‘Well done,’ John smiled. ‘Any dizziness?’

  ‘No.’

  John waited, watching carefully as the lad settled into the new position. The material of the tent was sucked out and pushed in by the unpredictable wind, underscored by the relentless drumming of the rain, but the thunder had passed, and there was a sense that the storm was dying. John was hopeful that Casper would be able to walk off the mountain in a few hours.

  ‘I’m just going to check the back of your skull.’

  Manoeuvring himself behind, and kneeling with his pencil torch between his teeth, John removed the t-shirt from Casper’s head. Brushing his hand over his hair, he felt no injury, but when he pressed harder, he located a single, solid lump.

  ‘Do you feel sick?’ he asked, probing the swelling.

  ‘Not now I’ve eaten.’

  ‘Headache?’

  ‘Still there.’

  Earlier, Casper’s eyes had focused on John’s finger, and there had been no signs of vomiting and no bleeding, and now, although his movements were sluggish, he was no longer confused.

  ‘I’ll give you something for the headache shortly,’ John said, continuing his investigation. ‘Still no idea how you got this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The one on your forehead?’ Turning Casper’s head, he examined the skin around the plasters and found only a little bruising.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you remember falling?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m just going to redress this. Can you pass me that first aid box?’

  It was within reach, but he wanted to test Casper’s reactions. They were good, and he passed the kit over his shoulder without dropping it or swaying.

  ‘Thanks, and turn your head this way… That’s it.’

  Removing the plasters and preparing a new dressing, John could tell the cut had been caused by a rock. He was no forensic analyst, but he’d seen more than his fair share of mountain injuries. The skin was scraped more than sliced, and the bruising suggested a sudden impact followed by a slide to the ground, Casper had fallen forward, probably after tripping in the dark. The blow to the back of the head, however, was a mystery, and he couldn’t understand how it might have happened. His confusion led to doubt, which in turn, brought a more sinister thought.

  ‘What do you remember?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Anything. How you got this.’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  Casper’s voice was stronger than before, adding to John’s hope of an easy descent. Gary had called in with a weather update, and the forecast from the Met Office offered them a window that afternoon. It was now approaching half six and would soon be dawn, giving John a chance to go out and assess the conditions for himself, but until it stopped raining, he was unable to evaluate Casper’s suitability for walking.

  The dressing finished, he placed a toque on the lad’s head and clambered back to sit cross-legged beside him with his rucksack close by.

  ‘What is the last thing that happened?’ he asked, casually fishing for paracetamol in an inside pocket.

  ‘I was in here with Liam.’ Casper touched the new dressing without wincing.

  ‘Can you be more specific? Time? Conversation?’

  ‘The time?’ Casper’s face distorted with concentration. ‘It was early. We’d set up the tent at sunset, but when we realised my bag was missing, it was dark.’

  ‘And where’s your bag now?’ There was only one rucksack in the tent, and John hadn’t seen one outside.

  ‘It was in the porch…’ Casper pointed ahead to the entrance. ‘There, whatever you call that.’

  ‘Did you take it with you?’ John gave him two tablets and a fresh canteen of water.

  ‘Take it where?’

  ‘Wherever you were going when you fell.’

  ‘I fell?’

  ‘That’s what I need to find out.’

  Now that John had tidied him up and had him talking, he was able to study him as a person, rather than a casualty.

  Black locks lay flat against his neck where they escaped the woollen hat. The forehead was broad and deep, giving the lad an intelligent look that was reinforced by dark brows and deep brown eyes that studied the tablets before he threw them into his mouth. The lips were almost the correct colour and growing fuller by the minute, and when Casper drank from the canteen, his mouth opened wide above a square jaw. A handsome guy for sure, made more so by highlighted cheekbones and a mildly untrusting look.

  ‘I don’t remember falling,’ Casper said, after sipping water. ‘I was in here talking to Liam, we had… No, wait.’

  John looked up sharply from where he had been unpacking provisions. Casper was staring ahead, running a gloved finger beneath his nose. His motor coordination was improving.

  ‘What?’ he prompted. ‘Tell me everything.’

  Casper related a story about taking the wrong rucksack from the pile at the Pot Hole and not realising the error until it was too late. It was an easy mistake to make, but one that upset him, and his voice wavered.

  ‘I expect some caver grabbed it in his hurry to get down Gaping Gill.’ It was unlikely, but John said it to reassure him. ‘Happens a lot.’

  ‘Who’s Gaping Gill?’

  ‘Not a who, a what. A pothole. A deep descent to nearly one hundred metres made by a winch. There’s always a queue, and you need to get there early. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You had the wrong bag. Then what?’

  ‘We walked up to the top. It was windy but exhilarating, you know?’

  John nodded as he poured porridge oats into a billy can.

  ‘We came down, pitched the tent and…’ Casper paused, eyeing John with a worried expression that suggested he was trying to decide how much he should say.

  ‘Everything and anything,’ John encouraged.

  Casper sighed and, shamefaced, said, ‘I went off on one. I was angry with myself, probably said a few things I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t explain… I suppose the bottom line is, I upset Lee, and he got into a huff.’

  ‘A huff?’

  At the back of John’s mind was the thought that there had been a fight during which Liam had bashed his friend on the head. Guilt would account for some of Liam’s hysterics, and panic might drive a young man to risk the mountainside in the storm, yet Liam hadn’t struck him as a guy who would be able to harm anyone.

  ‘A sulk,’ Casper explained. ‘Unusual for him. There’d been something on his mind all day, well, since before we came away. Later, I found out what.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘What?’

  Anot
her sideways glance, another wipe of the nose with a long finger and this time, a growl in Casper’s throat.

  ‘It’s not my place to say.’

  The answer was obvious, but only because Gary had filled John in on Liam’s story during one of their updates.

  ‘He’s gay?’

  Casper’s head turned so suddenly that if there had been any concussion, he would have fallen over. Instead, he remained perfectly upright, and his face took on a little more colour as though his skin was trying to blush.

  ‘Was that a big enough shock to make you get up and leave?’ John asked, casually adding water to the porridge.

  ‘I didn’t leave, Casper insisted. ‘I didn’t know what to say, so I just lay down and tried to get warm.’

  ‘And what had you told him to make him sulk and then come out with that?’

  Casper shrugged, unwilling to tell any more details to a stranger.

  John understood his reticence. The questions were personal, but they were also important. If this had been a case of plucking a fallen climber off a cliff, he would have been asking about experience, who’d fixed the ropes, and insurance, but this was different. Apart from being a yardstick by which to measure the lad’s recovery, it was intriguing.

  ‘Had you just said you hated gay people or something?’ John persisted. ‘Given him a reason to blow up at you?’

  ‘No! I’d never say that.’

  ‘Okay, mate. Stay calm. I’m just trying to understand why you buggered off, and then work out what time. I’m only asking because I have to, and it would be a great deal easier and better for you if you were honest with me.’

  ‘It’s stupid,’ Casper said, lying down and trying to avoid answering.

  ‘Not to him it wasn’t.’

  The billy can on the stove, John shifted position to sit where he could see Casper and stir the can at the same time, stretching one leg which until then had been cramped beneath him.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Everything and anything.’

  Relenting, Casper said, ‘I told him I was going back to Greece. I have to do the army, and I’m doing it next year to get it over with. I told him I’d probably stay there.’