Read Online The Mountain King by Rick Hautala - Free Book Online Page A

serenity of the forest. He was a bit amazed—and relieved—that he had slept so soundly and that there had been no problems during the night.
He fished around until he found his clothes, zipped opened the tent flap, and crawled out into the chilly dawn. The first thing he did was wander over behind some trees and take a piss.
The campsite was still shrouded in shadow, but the first slanting rays of the morning sun lit up the snow-covered mountain peak like a fiery cone. Mark helped Sykes get breakfast going, and by the time the food was ready, Doyle had roused himself and made an appearance.
    The three men ate in silence. Their agreed upon plan was to leave this campsite set up as a base camp. It was no more than an hour’s climb to The Zipper. From there they could begin their search for Phil. After breakfast, they cleaned their eating utensils, stowed their food high up in the branches to discourage squirrels and other scavengers, and draped their sleeping bags over branches to air out.
Then they headed out.
Mark was tingling with expectation as he gripped his hiking stick and followed the two rangers up the steep, rocky incline. Most of last weekend’s snow had melted, but in sheltered areas large patches still glistened with a dull blue glow. The morning air was surprisingly cold out in the open. All three men snuggled into the collars of their down jackets.
    They moved off the marked trail and made a bee-line for the base of The Zipper. As much as the terrain allowed, they walked side by side in order to cover as wide a swath as possible leading up to the cliff edge. Sheer ice made the going a bit difficult in places, but by pushing hard, they made it to the cliff in a little under an hour.
    “This is the place, huh?” Doyle asked as they stood at the bottom edge of the cliff and looked up. Still shrouded in shadow, The Zipper looked like a long, wide slippery-slide made of red granite.
Mark nodded silently as they all looked around.
“See anything?” Doyle asked.
Mark shivered as he stared up the steep incline, remembering how helpless and terrified he had felt the instant he realized his friend had gone over the edge. Now, after being scoured by wind and weather for even only a few days, there was absolutely no trace of their passing. The dark spot Mark had seen at the foot of the cliff, what could have been either Phil or his abandoned backpack, was gone. No tracks were visible in the remaining patches of snow below.
“Well, let’s have ourselves a look around,” Doyle said simply.
They quickly spread out around the base of the cliff and started examining the area carefully. Wally found what looked like one small splotch of dried blood on the rocks at the base, but that was all. Between the sheltering rocks, drifted snow was six inches to a foot deep, but there was no indication that anyone had broken the smooth surface.
The three men fanned out wide, keeping within calling distance as they searched the side of the mountain for even the slightest trace of the missing man. After more than an hour of fruitless searching, Doyle called them back together.
    Mark, who was the furthest away on the steep downside of the mountain, was about to start back when he caught sight of something in the snow between two rocks. He whistled shrilly and waved for the two rangers to join him.
“What’s this look like?” he asked, pointing to the wide, rounded depression in the snow.
“A footprint,” Doyle said simply, kneeling down and studying the print carefully.
“Yeah, and a pretty goddamned big one, at that,” Mark said. He found it difficult to contain a rush of excitement. He wanted to mention the large creature he had seen, but didn’t want either of the men to think he was crazy or something.
“You know, it snowed for the first time this year last weekend when my friend and I were up here, so this print has to have been made since Saturday.” He regarded the track a moment, then added, “And I’d guess that