Return to Dyatlov Pass

~ Chapter Twelve ~

There was no point asking if Andrew was sure. The man had phenomenal recall when it came to names, faces, and voices. Steven was lucky her producer hadn’t found him out earlier.

The question was, what did they do about it? If he really was related to Lyudmila, he had a vested interest, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d want to sabotage the trip. The opposite might be true. He had swallowed Vasily’s yeti stories a bit too quickly, though, even if he had seen a cryptid in California. She’d expected more skepticism, especially from him.

Should she confront him? Andrew had argued against it, saying as long as they kept Cliff/Steven in the dark, they had the power. But it wouldn’t be easy to hide her anger. If it hadn’t been for the guy’s constant baiting and heckling, she never would have gone forward with this trip. Okay, her stupid ego had had a bit to do with it too. Now two people were dead and a third had deserted them. It was all she could do to refrain from clawing his pretty blue eyes out. Let’s see how alarmingly intense his gaze was without them.

“The food’s almost ready. Is Andrew coming?” Steven smiled at her, completely guileless. He had no idea they knew. No clue what was coming. And there was something rather satisfying about that.

“He’s not feeling up to it. I told him I’d bring him something later.” In reality, Andrew didn’t feel he could look Steven in the eye just yet.

“That’s not good. Is he going to be able to ski today?” Steven’s forehead creased in concern, and Nat wondered how much he actually cared. After all, he’d wanted to abandon Andrew from the beginning. Maybe he’d been afraid the producer would eventually figure him out.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t ask him yet. But Igor, you’re still okay to help, right?” After the bombshell Andrew had dropped, leaving had been the last thing on her mind. She hadn’t even thought to ask him how he was feeling. Shit.

“Yah, I’ll carry him to Vizhai if I have to. We need to leave today,” the Russian said.

Nat waited for Steven to argue, to talk about the importance of everyone getting down the mountain under their own steam, but he didn’t say a word. Perhaps he was finally learning.

“It’s a shame we’re leaving without being any closer to solving the Dyatlov mystery, though. I was really hoping we’d find out what happened to Lyudmila especially.” She watched Steven out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he’d take the bait. She didn’t have to wonder long.

“Why Lyudmila?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ve always felt the sorriest for her. She was one of the youngest, and the most horribly injured. I’d hoped, at the very least, to be able to give her family some sort of closure. But I guess that ship has sailed.”

“What are you talking about? Vasily’s story confirms what happened to them.”

Nat snorted, deciding to lay it on just thick enough to bait him. “That ridiculous yeti theory?” She was glad the Mansi hadn’t returned from his business yet. She’d be much more reluctant to disparage his account with him sitting right there. “I’m not buying it.”

“You saw Anubha and Joe. They didn’t die of natural causes. How else do you explain what happened to them?”

“I actually didn’t see them. Not close up. But the fact they’re dead doesn’t mean yetis killed them. Occam’s razor, right? The simplest explanation is usually the truth.”

Steven leaned back on his heels and stared at her, breakfast temporarily forgotten. “What are you saying? Who else could have possibly done it? No one is here but us.”

“We don’t know that for sure. There could be someone else here. If the government murdered the Dyatlov group for seeing something they shouldn’t, maybe whatever it was is still here. The military could have continued to monitor it. But I agree it’s unlikely.”

The mountaineer’s face darkened. “I repeat—what are you saying?”

“When Anubha and Joe disappeared, only you, Lana, and Vasily had the opportunity. Me, Igor, and Andrew were too far away, not to mention Andrew was in no condition to walk, let alone harm anyone. So, the killer had to have been one of you.” Nat prayed he would give her some reason it couldn’t be true, some indisputable proof of his innocence. As unlikeable as he had been, she couldn’t see Steven as a murderer.

Then again, people had thought Ted Bundy was a real nice guy too.

“You can’t seriously believe one of us was responsible. Or even capable of slaughtering them like that.”

Forcing aside the horrific image of Anubha’s face, Nat folded her arms across her chest. “I find that a lot more believable than some farfetched story about a tribe of yetis.”

To her surprise, Igor spoke up. “Yah, Steven. The yeti story, it’s a bit crazy, no?”

“You think it’s more plausible that I killed them? For starters, Joe would have ripped me apart. For another, I don’t have a motive. They were the only people capable of getting us food that doesn’t come in a packet. If I were going to kill anyone, it would be someone useless. Someone like—”

Nat’s jaw tightened. “Don’t say it. If you thought Joe could tear you apart, you don’t even want to think what you were about to say.”

Before the mountaineer could respond, someone called his name. Screamed it.

“Steven, Steven! You must come. Please help.”

Vasily ran toward them, repeatedly losing his footing in the deep snow. His breathing ragged, the Mansi stumbled into Steven’s arms, tears running down his cheeks. “You must help. Please.”

All evidence of his anger gone, the mountaineer steadied the older man and spoke to him almost tenderly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It is the fair-haired one. She is… it is not good.” His face set in lines of desperation and grief, Vasily turned to Igor and spoke rapidly, his words tumbling over each other as if in a frantic rush to escape.

Igor shook his head, lifting his hands palms up. “I’m sorry. I do not understand.”

The nagging feeling something was terribly wrong returned, if it had ever really gone away. “Is he talking about Lana? But Lana left for the other site, didn’t she?” Fear and helplessness became rage as Nat stared at the guide, who babbled away in a language none of them understood. Could one even call him a guide? He’d been next to useless so far. He certainly hadn’t protected them. “What did you do to her? Answer me.”

She would have shaken the truth out of him if Steven hadn’t stepped between them. “Oh, so now Vasily is guilty too? You’d better get your villains straight.”

“I know who my villain is… Cliff.”

Fuck. She hadn’t meant for the name to slip out in the heat of the moment, but she’d felt too furious, too betrayed, to keep her big mouth shut. So much for retaining the power. Sorry, Andrew. She always had been lousy at keeping secrets. Didn’t her producer know better than to entrust her with something like this?

Steven’s face contorted as though he were in pain. “We can talk about this later.”

“Why did she call you Cliff? I don’t understand.” Poor Igor. Between Vasily’s dialect and this new drama, he looked beyond confused.

“I’ll explain later. Vasily, are you talking about Lana?” At the man’s blank expression, Steven raised his arm to a level slightly above his head. “Tall, blonde, pretty?”

The Mansi nodded. “Yes, yes. Please help.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

In response, Vasily pulled at Steven’s jacket sleeves violently enough that the mountaineer slid forward. “Come, you see. Please, I have no words.”

As Igor and Nat prepared to follow, the Mansi held out his hand. “No, only him. Only him see.”

“I’m in charge of this expedition. If something is wrong with a member of my team, I should see it for myself.”

“Please, Nat. Let me go with him, and if it’s something you need to be involved in, I promise I’ll tell you.” Steven’s face flushed as he met her eyes. “I realize it’s difficult for you to trust me right now, but I swear I’m not the enemy. Though it probably seems that way.”

“Look, I don’t need either of you to protect me, and I don’t appreciate being treated like a child. Everyone on this team is my responsibility, not yours, and not Vasily’s. So you can either come along and keep your mouth shut, or stay here with Andrew.”

Steven sized her up for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever you say. Go ahead, Vasily. Show us what you found.”

Lana lay on the path between their campsite and Anubha and Joe’s final resting place. Her legs were folded toward her chest, as if she’d been trying for the fetal position but couldn’t quite muster the energy. Her hands covered her breasts and were clenched into fists. Her eyes were closed as though she were sleeping, but the condition of her face belied that faux peacefulness.

Her once-lovely features were swollen and dark with bruises. Deep purple and reddish abrasions covered her hands as well. Lana had not gone quietly.

Nat swallowed hard against the discomfort of déjà vu. She had seen this scene before, and she knew exactly where. By either happenstance or design, Lana’s body mimicked that of Zinaida Alekseevna Kolmogorova, one of the Dyatlov group.

Eyeing the men who stood with her, heads bowed, Nat had the uncomfortable realization she was the only woman left. Lyudmila had no doubt suffered, watching her female friends die, and now she was in the same position. Given what had happened to Lyudmila, it wasn’t a comforting thought.

“How could you?” The words erupted from her lips before she could think better of them. She felt Andrew’s absence like a missing limb. He had always stepped in on her behalf, smoothed things over, played the diplomat. He’d saved her from herself.

Steven’s brows knitted together, his features a gathering storm. For the first time, she wondered if it was smart to openly challenge this man. If she truly believed he’d murdered three people with no motive at all, it wasn’t the brightest move to give him an ironclad one.

But when he spoke, his voice didn’t hint at the fury in his eyes. “You can’t be serious. You can’t seriously think I’m responsible for this.”

“If not you or Vasily, who else?” When she said the Mansi’s name, Vasily shrank back as though she’d slapped him. She watched herself as if from afar. Why was she acting this way? And worse, why couldn’t she stop?

“Jesus Christ, Nat. Look at her. Look at her. See her hands? Whatever did this got the fight of its life. The killer would be covered in cuts and scratches, bruises for sure.” Steven tilted his head, lifting his chiseled cheekbone to the light. “Take a look. Not a scratch. How do you explain that?”

“I don’t know.” She held her hands tightly together to keep from punching him right on his pristine chin. “I don’t know, okay? I just know one of you had to have done it.”

“Why? Nat, that’s crazy. I could see you maybe thinking that about Joe after the scuffle we had, but what reason could I possibly have for hurting Lana? As you so discreetly pointed out, I was more than a little fond of her.”

Fond of her. Unable to stand it any longer, Nat sank to her knees in the snow beside the skier’s body. Taking off one of her gloves, she touched Lana’s bare fist. It was cold and hard, like rock. Already frozen. The Olympian had been here a while.

“What are you doing?” Steven lifted her under the arms, pulling her to her feet, a lot more gently than she deserved, in light of the fact she’d just accused him of murder—again. “You can’t touch her. There’ll be evidence on her hands: skin, hair, clothing fibers, DNA. Like it or not, this is a crime scene now. The more we touch it, the more we contaminate it. We should find some plastic bags and put them on her hands, preserve the evidence as best we can.”

“I’m s-sorry. You’re right. She just looks so sad, so alone. I… needed to do something to comfort her.”

“She’s dead, Nat. The best thing we can do for her now is help the police find her killer.”

“I will go find the bags,” Igor said, the first words he’d spoken since Steven and Vasily had led them to the body. He’d gotten along well with Lana too. Nat remembered them laughing and joking together, the easy camaraderie they’d had. Then again, Lana had been like that with everyone. The campsite already seemed colder and more dismal without her.

“In the front pocket of my pack there are some sterile ones. We can use those,” Steven said.

The Russian nodded, looking relieved to have a reason to leave, if only for a few minutes. If this continued, these woods would soon be an abattoir. Some podcaster of the future would cover the killings, talking about the great mystery of their deaths. The McPherson Pass incident. It would have been amusing if it weren’t so fucking depressing.

Nat raised an eyebrow. “You brought sterile bags?” Had he been expecting a crime scene?

“Food storage. You should go with him.”

“Why? I’m sure he’s more than capable of finding the bags on his own.”

“There’s no reason for you to hang around here. You too, Vasily. Get back to the fire where it’s warm. Once Igor comes back, it’ll only take me a few minutes to bag her hands, and then I’ll join you. We can discuss our options then.”

Discuss our options. It sounded so formal, as if they were project managers at a job site instead of three dazed and deluded fools standing over the corpse of their dead friend. Nat averted her eyes. She felt guilty for not looking at Lana, but the sight of her battered body made Nat’s heart twist in despair. She would forever see the woman’s bruised face in her nightmares.

“Do you have experience with this sort of thing?”

Steven was too cool, too controlled. Perhaps it was an act, but it wasn’t normal. Then again, nothing about this situation was normal. Any minute, Nat expected someone to lose their mind and run around the campsite yelling gibberish. Most of the time, she expected it to be her.

The corners of his mouth rose in a faint imitation of a smirk. “Only what I’ve learned on CSI. Go on, Vasily. You take her back.”

“I can go by myself,” she protested, but the truth was, it did feel comforting when the Mansi slipped his arm through hers. The gesture was unexpected. This must have been difficult for him too. She was sure he didn’t ordinarily lose three members of his group to murder.

The walk back to the campsite and their fire went much faster than their journey into the woods. Once the terrible scene was at their backs, Nat felt a desperate need to escape. She quickened her step, and Vasily, perhaps feeling the same, did as well.

She’d expected to bump into Igor on the way, and as they drew nearer and nearer to camp, an awful realization dawned on her. Once again, they’d separated. What if something had happened to the Russian? What if he were dead too? She nearly wept with relief when they made it to the clearing and she spotted him, crouched at the entrance of Steven’s tent, the mountaineer’s backpack in his hands.

“What’s wrong? Can’t you find the bags?”

Bright bursts of color flared on Igor’s cheeks, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were glassy.

“What is it, Igor?”

“I found them. But I also found this.” He pulled out a knife, its blade winking cruelly in the gray light. Nat was no expert on knives, but she was pretty sure it had belonged to Joe, the same blade the trapper had threatened Steven with.

Its edge was darkened with dried blood.