‘That was the easy bit. Now we have to drop through here.’
A clearing in the trees at the side of the piste led to a thickly wooded and more steeply plunging descent. Outcrops of sharp limestone rock stuck up through the snow. Though they were both experienced skiers, neither of them had done more than short-burst or open-mountain off-piste skiing. This was going to be something new.
Reading his apprehension, she said, ‘We just ski where we can, side-slip where can’t, step round, or take off our skis and walk where we have to. Ready?’
She didn’t wait for his answer. She turned her skis towards the trees and let them glide into the mouth of the dark woods.
Ten minutes later they were in trouble. The terrain was steep and uneven. Jagged teeth of amber rock broke through the snow at random intervals; the pine trees hid aggressive roots under the deceptively smooth white carpet and thrust stout, low-hanging branches at shoulder height above it. Finding a path between the trunks was tricky. The going was made worse by the presence of semi-frozen channels carrying meltwater down the mountain. Some of these streams were hidden by snow bridges; others were open and too wide to step across. They lost a lot of time trying to negotiate these streams, and sometimes had to step back uphill when it became impossible to simply point the skis down the fall-line.
Zoe fell early and took a crack on her arm from a boulder. Jake also went on his back twice when his skis got tangled in black roots or hidden snares under the snow. He shed a ski and they lost a lot of time finding it and digging it out. They pressed on, helping each other where they could. They tried to take off their skis and carry them on their shoulders; but in their heavy moulded boots they were plunging thigh-deep into snow at times, so they abandoned that idea.
Opportunities to let the skis run never delivered them more than fifteen or twenty metres. It took them two hours to make the kind of distance they had covered on the piste in two or three minutes.
They made a stop, cleared a space in the snow and rested. Though both knew that the light was fading. They could not be caught in the woods on skis after dark.
‘I didn’t think it would be quite as tricky as this,’ Zoe said.
‘How much further, would you guess?’
‘So long as we keep heading downhill at an angle, we have to hit that road through the woods. Can’t be above an hour. Or two at the rate we’re going.’
‘An hour or two until we get to the next village? Or an hour or two until we hit the road?’
‘One or the other.’
They sat in the profound silence of the snow and the woods. She wished he would say something.
‘I’m sorry for bringing you this way,’ she said. ‘You can give me hell if you like.’
‘It was a good idea.’
‘No it wasn’t.’
‘It was a brave idea, at any rate.’
She wished he would tease her. When they had no banter, that meant the situation was serious. Zoe looked through the trees up at the grey sky. She hoped the thinning light would hold out long enough for them.
‘Ready to go again?’
‘Ready.’
In fact they met the road just half an hour after they’d got started again. It was no more than a logging track winding between the trees, but it plunged downwards and Zoe was elated because her map-reading had been accurate. It had been tricky, but they’d made it.
It was a huge relief to ski freely again. The road was deep with snow and a little narrow but it presented no further challenge to their skiing abilities. The light around them was fading rapidly now. On occasion the road would hit a dip and if they couldn’t generate enough momentum to carry them up the other side they had to sidestep up; but that exertion was invariably rewarded with a free sweep through the dusk downwards on the other side.
Eventually the spruce and the fir parted wide enough to afford them a glimpse of lights twinkling in the small village below. As they got nearer they could see illuminated hotels and houses, and cars parked alongside the road leading into the village.
They hugged and laughed, and confessed that back up in the woods they’d both been too afraid to admit that they had been out of their depth. But now they could let their skis glide further down the track, a little more slowly, though, for fear of encountering moving traffic.
But there was no moving traffic. And as they entered the village there was no sign of people, either. It was as deserted as the village they had left behind them.
Jake spoke first. ‘You’re not going to like this.’
‘What?’
‘I think they’ve evacuated this place, too.’
Zoe groaned.
They had arrived at a flat stretch of road and had to take off their skis and carry them over their shoulders. They marched into the centre of the deserted village, scanning the houses for the least sign of activity, like soldiers in a conflict but carrying skis instead of guns.
Zoe’s face clouded over. ‘This can’t be right. This just can’t be right.’
‘What?’
‘Stop. Stop. Look at that hotel. And look at the church at the top of the hill.’
‘What about it?’
‘The tower. It’s the same. Same as the one in our village.’
‘Similar.’
‘Not similar, Jake. Not similar at all. It’s the same. So is that hotel. We’re back in Saint-Bernard. We haven’t gone anywhere!’
Jake half-smiled at her, an agonised grin of disbelief. He looked up the road, squinting at the church ahead. Then behind him, to examine the road they’d come in on. He twisted his neck around all points of the compass. Finally he threw down his skis and poles in a clatter and went running, in his heavy ski boots, up the hill towards the church.
Zoe was right. It was the same church. Same hotel. Same houses and streets. Same supermarket, with the police station next to it.
They’d circled back on themselves.
Jake ripped his woollen hat from his head and ran his fingers through the sweaty strands of his hair. Then he walked back down to Zoe. She was crouching, holding her gloved fists under her nose, looking up at him. ‘How?’ he wanted to know.
‘It’s not possible.’
‘We must have taken a wrong turn.’ He couldn’t keep the blame out of his voice. She’d been leading, after all.
‘It’s just not possible.’
‘Of course it’s possible. We’ve just proved it’s fucking possible. Here we are. Q. E. Fucking. D.’
‘No. You’re wrong. We went up that mountain, and on that side.’
‘There must be a pass! A pass must snake through the mountain and wind back down here. We’ve inadvertently followed a pass.’
‘I’m sorry, Jake! I’m really sorry!’
He looked like he wanted to be furious with her, but he couldn’t. He’d asked her to go in front, after all. He had no sense of direction whatsoever himself, and he had been the one who’d told her to lead the way.
‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkk! It’s a joke! I feel like someone is having a laugh!’
‘Jake!’
The road delivered them to the opposite side of the village, in the same place where they’d emerged when they’d tried to walk out. They had to walk past the church all over again. Jake took his compass out of his pocket and in frustration he hurled it at the silver tower of the church.
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Where you going?’
Zoe walked up to the door of the church and pushed it open. In the traditional Catholic style it was a cave of shadows and echoes and images of agony, relieved by alcoves in which numerous candles were burning. Jake
