Mouth of the Mountain (Novella Preview)

“Stuff this in your coat pocket.” Clark Bauer held out a small tripod with one hand and dug in the backpack strapped to his front for a shotgun mic with the other.

Snow fell on the sleeve of his bright red coat. Amanda Carter had given him a hard time for it–“Good morning, Red Cross!”–but it was what he had, and his graduate school finances did not leave room for anything new. He had his short, messy hair tucked under a thick wool cap, so they had no ammunition on that front. It was too bad he couldn’t keep his neck gator over his face to cover his splotchy acne scars, but no one had mentioned it so far. His plastic ski boots clicked against the soaked orange-red brick platform by the gondola lift.

Pine trees ran up the side of the mountain and wide, steep trails climbed its face and blended into the sky. Steam drifted around Clark’s legs from the heating system that melted the snow as soon as it touched the ground. A loose crowd stretched to the end of the wide-set dividers. Electronic music blasted through some guy’s speaker that hung loose from his backpack a few people to Clark’s right. Laughter and conversation drifted over the music and created a wall of noise that intensified the headache Clark had developed over the course of the morning.

“It’s not going to fit.” Rebecca Brown pulled at the front pocket of her dark green jacket. Auburn hair poked the edges of her hood and freckles ran across her nose.

“Just try,” Clark said. “They won’t let us on the lift otherwise.”

Rebecca took the tripod and wiggled it into her pocket. It fit but stretched the purple nylon. It looked like she’d stuffed a TV remote in her pocket.

“You don’t know that,” Evan McGuinness chimed in.

Clark straitened his posture and glared at him. Evan swiped at the granola bar crumbs on his navy-blue coat. With his other hand, he pointed his phone camera at Clark. His edges of his mouth turned up in a devious grin below his wide nose. The stubbled edge of his tapered haircut peeked from under his stocking cap and traced his squared jaw.

Amanda stood behind him in her purple coat and rocked on her toes. A long black braid bounced against her left shoulder and sun-kissed skin stood out against her white beanie.

Amanda had protested the decision to get to the lift as quickly as possible. She’d said she’d grown up skiing around this area and the crowd was always bad right when the resort opened at nine in the morning, but Clark had insisted they get on the slopes as soon as possible. The night before, he’d listened to a weather forecast and a blizzard was predicted to settle onto the mountain sometime that afternoon.

“I’d rather not get a thousand questions about what’s in my bag,” Clark said. “Now if you could put that camera down for five seconds, I could use your help shifting equipment.”

Clark’s bag was taut with camera equipment and light camping gear. He hadn’t thought it would be a problem until he saw a no large packs sign at the base of the lift. Apparently, the rule had to do with people that hid on the mountain to camp.

If they suspected you might be one of said people, they checked your bag. Clark didn’t think his was huge, but it might’ve been big enough to rouse suspicion. Ol’ Olly Olson’s cowboy cabin off the backside would be awfully hard to get to if they had their lift passes revoked. The area was fenced in by ski resorts, and they’d already been kicked out of the other two for sneaking off the trail.

“Fine.” Evan stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “Hand me that trail cam.”

Clark passed it over, and the line shuffled forward. He zipped his bag and moved with the crowd.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, Clark approached the base of the lift. The cars were boxy with clear panel walls around two leather benches that ran perpendicular to the face of the mountain. At the mouth of the line, a bored, twenty-something attendant with a patchy red beard and hair that flared out under his flat bill waved a scanner across peoples passes and waved them through.

“Pass?” The attendant said.

Clark silently pointed to a pocket on his bicep. His heart pounded and it felt like his breakfast punched the walls of his stomach.

The attendant ran the scanner over Clark’s arm. It beeped and he waved Clark toward the lift.

His crew made it through without incident. They marched across the platform to the cars, loaded their skis into the holders on the outside of the moving cabin, and stumbled inside. Clark sat on the outside next to Rebecca, hyper-aware that their thighs touched.

“I told you there wouldn’t be a problem,” Evan said.

“Because I reorganized,” Clark said.

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

Irritation bubbled in Clark’s chest. Evan was the most aggravating crew member Clark had ever worked with. Granted, he hadn’t worked on many projects, but it didn’t take a lot of experience to pinpoint obnoxious people.

  The documentary he was about to direct was supposed to be his big break, but Evan thought it was going to be a huge bust. He documented most of the trip with his phone. In his words, “Whenever this documentary falls through, I’m going to make a killing doing a behind the scenes spot on YouTube.”

Clark had wanted to leave Evan off the trip, but he needed the hands. The three people with him were the ones who’d volunteered. So, Clark had decided he’d let Evan film his movie, use his help, then conveniently leave his name out of the credits.

Clark stared out the polycarbonate panes. Trees raced by in a green blur. Occasional skiers flew down the trail below the lift in clouds of white powder. Despite his worry about the project, Clark was excited to get his skis under him. He hadn’t been in ages, and the trip down to the cabin was going to be a beautiful trail. The mountain report said twenty-four new inches had fallen. Once they were off the resort’s trails, it would be fresh, untainted powder.

“This would be a great shot to intro the film.” Amanda sat diagonal to Clark. “The trees and the snow behind you are beautiful.”

She pulled a DSLR camera from her pack and clicked it on. Evan pulled out his own camera, but the glint in his eye was much more sinister than Amanda’s. It baffled Clark that they were a couple. Evan was such a mean-spirited person, and Amanda was one of the nicest he’d ever met.

What if Evan has some dirt on her?

It really was the only logical explanation. Otherwise, it would be a mismatch that was a huge disservice to one of them, and it wasn’t Evan.

“The Mouth of the Mountain,” Amanda said. “Take one.” Amanda snapped her fingers next to the camera. “Who are you and what are we doing out here?”

“Well,” Clark said, “My name’s Clark Bauer, an aspiring documentary filmmaker. What we’re doing out here is sort of a long story. Let’s see if I can get it out before we reach the top.”

Clark gestured toward the top of the mountain.

Payne Spiva (c) 2024