Snowhumps continued

The last thing I remember was falling asleep in a soft, white cloud. It was so cozy and warm, I didn't want to move. When I awoke, I saw the Buzzard circling above me, gazing coldly down at me with his beady eyes; plucking and pulling at me, ripping me out of my slumber with persistent attacks.

"What the hell! Leave me alone!" I cried out, feebly flailing my arms, as I was violently yanked out of the snowy bed I was ready to die in, and was lifted into the air by his gargantuan body.

"Come on, Buddy, You can't fall asleep. That's the worst thing you can do. Stay with me, Mike," Budzinsky hollered hoarsely over the wailing wind, pulling my limp, almost frozen body into a bear hug.

"Buzzy, what's going on? Am I in hell?" I stuttered through chapped and bleeding lips.

"Dude, nice. No, you're not in hell. Am I that bad?" he replied sardonically. "I'm your fucking knight in shining armor. Have some respect."

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at Base?" I asked, delirious, and not quite believing I was being rescued after I'd given up all hope.

"I heard your call come in while I was looking for people up in Windhill East and figured you were a better bet than the folks I hadn't heard from in hours. Besides, you happened to be on my way," he told me.

"So, I'm not dead?" I whispered, amazed, not quite believing it.

"No, Mike. I promise you aren't dead. Not yet. Now all we have to do is get you to the Cooter and make it down the hill without getting swallowed up like everybody else," Buzzy yelled while dragging me by my armpits through the three feet of fresh powder and setting me in front of him on his custom snow mobile, the "Cooter Scooter."

He cautiously followed the lift towers down the hill, avoiding suspicious-looking rises in the snowy landscape. Several large tremors tossed the Cooter around like a toy. I was certain we had bought it a few times before hitting ground level, where the lodge and First Aid stations were.

I couldn't believe what we were looking at when we reached Base. A battalion of ambulances and rescue vehicles from five or six different townships crowded the parking area. Resort staff and first responders were scurrying around, pulling skiers off the low hanging, but precariously listing chair lifts and hauling them away on stretchers. Fire Ladder trucks had descended upon the lower half of the mountain, aiding in the rescue of those dangling high above the ground.

Parents were screaming encouragement to terrified and frozen children, who had been caught in the chair lifts when the towers above the forty-meter line had fallen, pulling down the chairs and trapping the skiers with shredded razor-sharp cable wire. Fire trucks were laying their ladders across the dangers to pull the frightened patrons out of the lifts.

Chaos was everywhere, and in the midst of it, directing the staff and rescuers, was a calm, stolid Collins, triaging victims and answering questions that were being thrown at him by frantic parents and staff members. Watching him gave me a newfound respect for the man. He could be a prick. But, when the going got tough, his military background kicked in and he was unstoppable.

Budzinski dragged me by my armpits into the lodge, which was as hectic as the grounds outside had been. Every square inch of the floor inside the cavernous, stone and timber, CCC-era lodge was filled with accident victims in every condition imaginable.

The sounds that assaulted my undamaged ears made me wish my hearing had been rendered inoperable during my time in the snow drift. Children sobbing, parents shrieking as they searched for their children, the wounded screaming while broken bones were being set with rudimentary equipment, or crying out, as staff or paramedics attempted to sew up lacerations and apply bandages.

Buzzy propped me up on a picnic table near the blazing fire, which two staff members constantly fed to keep the injured warm. They had run out of bandages, so he ripped a strip of tablecloth to bind up my wounded hand, which had begun to bleed once again. Then, he went off searching for warm drinks, and I fell asleep as the fire began to warm my body. By the time he returned with hot coffee for us both, my nerves had woken up, and every cell in my battered body began screaming. I moaned and rolled my head in agony on the table as the pain took over.

"Dude, what's wrong? What's happening?" Buzzy asked in alarm, shaking me; making the pins and needles sharper.

"Stop. Stop. It hurts. Everything hurts. What's going on?" I cried out.

"What does it feel like? Did you break something? Let me take off your gear and see if you have other injuries," he pleaded.

He began undressing me, checking for broken bones or bruising. Finding none, he asked a nearby paramedic, explaining where he had found me and how long I'd been exposed to the elements. The paramedic's answer both terrified me and relieved me, "You rescued him just before frostbite set in. His limbs will feel like they are on fire for hours, but it will go away. Hopefully, no permanent damage was done. You got to him right in the nick of time. Keep him warm and hydrated, and don't let him fall asleep until the tingling stops."

"Buzzard. I don't know how to thank you. You could have easily taken the Cooter and gotten back to base quicker without me," I whispered, in awe of the mammoth, bearded man, who had just become my hero.

All he did was wink at me and give me a sly smile... uh oh.