To her left, Tara cried out.
“You found him?” Cassidy asked.
“I think so!” she replied. Cassidy and Mark rushed over.
“Where?” Cassidy said, her chest tightening.
Tara slid her probe in again, one foot from her last location. Her probe stopped halfway down—so five feet beneath the snow. Cassidy slid her probe into the snow and felt the soft tap on the other end. Pete!
Tara had already assembled her shovel. Cassidy and Mark quickly followed suit. Without speaking the three began to dig. But the snow was set up firm, like ice. The blocks were thick and heavy. Even with her extra-large blade, Cassidy’s progress seemed insignificant. She drove her blade harder into the snow, her muscles alive with purpose. Tears burned her eyes as she slammed her shovel blade into the snow, then lifted and dumped it in a pile beyond her left boot. Pete was under her, waiting. Slam, lift. Slam, lift. Her arm muscles burned but she pushed on. Slam, lift. Working together, a crater about five feet wide grew, but it was only two feet deep.
“Come on!” Cassidy shouted.
Faster they dug. The snow was less blocky the deeper they went, but still compressed and solid. The sound of the shovel blades slicing the rough snow blared in her ears. The pit grew. Around her neck, her beacon buzzed even louder. Dig, lift. Dig, lift. We’re coming, Pete, her brain screamed. We’re almost there.
On her next scoop, something blue appeared beneath the snow.
“Wait!” Cassidy called out, stopping Mark and Tara mid-action.
The three made softer use of their shovels and the length of something blue emerged—Pete’s coat. He was facedown.
They dropped to their knees and scraped away the snow with gloved hands. Please be alive, Cassidy begged. His body looked so still. How much time had they been searching? The three of them scraped and scrabbled. His body lay at an angle, his head downhill and lower than his torso. They uncovered the back of his head, his thick brown hair pressed flat to his head, and a cry escaped Cassidy’s lips. They dug down to reach his mouth. She saw the sandy brown hair of his beard; then they uncovered his chin. Suddenly, they broke through to a pocket of air in front of his mouth.
“Pete!” Cassidy called. She scraped away more snow around his face. He hadn’t moved. “Pete!” she called again, and peered into the space, her face so close her nose touched his cheek. His eyes fluttered and Cassidy cried out. “We’ve got you,” she said, her voice breaking.
Mark and Tara were working on the other side of Pete’s head and his shoulders. Cassidy continued scraping away more snow. “Pete, can you hear me?” she said, tossing her gloves out of the pit.
Pete moaned.
“Hang on, we’re going to get you out of here,” Cassidy replied, her heart pounding.
Moments later, they finished freeing Pete’s head and shoulders. One arm lay bent in front of his face below him, the other extended outward at a ninety-degree angle.
“Are you hurt?” Cassidy said, crouching as low into the space as she could to listen.
Pete coughed, his eyes fluttered open again. “Cass?” he croaked.
“Yes,” she said, stroking his back. “I’m here.”
“Oh, God,” he said with a gasp.
“It’s okay,” Cassidy said. “Mark and Tara are both here. We’re all okay.”
Pete was quiet, but she could hear his sobbing breaths.
“Can you tell me if anything hurts?” Her fingers were burning from digging in the icy snow beneath his face to get him more air and light, and to get his other arm out so his upper body could be free.
It took Pete a moment to answer. “My side,” he said. “My right hand,” he added.
“Okay,” Cassidy said, and looked up at Mark who was digging out Pete’s right arm. Mark nodded at this information and proceeded carefully. Tara had dug down to his legs.
“Can you wiggle your toes?” Cassidy asked Pete.
“Yes,” he said after a moment.
Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief. Wiggling his toes was a good sign. “You said your side hurt. Does it hurt to take a breath?” she asked.
Pete grimaced. “Yes,” he said with effort.
Broken rib, Cassidy thought. Her digging had uncovered the top of his hand and the edge of his arm. He wiggled his arm to help her uncover it the rest of the way. A moment later, Pete’s legs were freed enough that he could move them, but the effort seemed to cause him immense pain.
“What? Are your legs hurt?” Cassidy demanded, her mind already preparing their evacuation. If Pete could ski, they could have him out in a matter of hours. If they needed help, such as from a litter and twenty extra people to carry it, they could be here all day and even into the night.
“No,” Pete said with a grimace. “It’s just . . . my side.”
“Okay, we’re almost there,” she said, still digging. She saw his hand wiggle some more and then his arm. “I want you to keep your neck and back still, can you do that for me?” she asked. With such a tremendous force as an avalanche, spine and neck trauma was a likely injury. Until she could complete a full assessment, having Pete be still was standard protocol.
“Okay,” Tara said, digging away the last of the snow. “I think we can move him now.”
Mark sat back on his heels, breathing hard.
“We need to get him out of this,” Cassidy said, making eye contact with her companions. Together, they slid Pete forward on his stomach, his slippery ski clothes gliding over the bumpy surface, causing him to hiss with pain. They moved him to a semi-flat area. “Okay, let’s roll him over on my count,” she commanded.
Working together, they
