Teeth

The team made a hasty camp as thick, grey clouds advanced over the mountains. And then the murders began. Matthew was first to find the body, splayed awkwardly among its own entrails. Blood crept out of the tent and fled back down towards the valley.

The three men gathered outside. They stood in silence for a while, thinking. Matthew stared at his feet. There were bloodstains on his boots.

Peter broke the silence; a tall, muscular man with dark, determined features. His red jacket was zipped up tightly, and he fingered his tightly-cropped beard as he spoke.

‘Fucking wolves. There’s nothing we can do now,’ he said. ‘Rescue team can’t get up here until the storm passes.’

‘Well, that’s the record fucked then, isn’t it?’

Peter turned to face the other man.

‘Are you kidding me, Adam? A man is dead and your first concern is shaving an hour off your personal best?’

‘Forget it. I told you we shouldn’t have stopped.’

Adam turned towards the peak, eyes screwed up against the biting wind. Snowflakes caught in his thick, grey moustache. He was older than the others. Fit, but a little less so every year. This might be his last chance. He saw the mountains like jagged teeth; a stony jaw into which they ventured willingly, daring it to bite.

A dark mass of snow was rolling in, whistling through the surrounding trees. The storm had arrived.

‘We can’t stay out here,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ll call for help.’

‘Little Matthew has to call for mummy?’ sneered Adam. ‘It’s just a bit of snow. It’ll pass.’

‘Richard’s dead, for god’s sake!’ said Peter. ‘We’re done. I’m not dying on this fucking mountain.’

‘Fine, give up. You’re as pathetic as Richard,’ said Adam, ‘and look what happened to him.’

There was a long silence. Matthew walked back to his tent to find the radio. Peter looked at Adam, but there was nothing more to be said. The two men retreated to their own spaces, to think and to brood.

Soon, the air was thick with snow. The forest was fading, its trees adrift in a sea of frothing white. Dark shapes moved unseen. The mountains were already gone; great ships drowned in the frozen tempest.

* * *

Half an hour passed before Adam came to Peter’s tent, ice-pick in hand. He tugged at the zipper with useless fingers, finally stumbling in amidst a howling blizzard. He was breathing hard.

‘Jesus, Adam — you scared me.’

‘Matthew’s dead.’

Winds buffeted the small tent, scarcely big enough for two men. A tiny electric lamp cast a feeble light across maps and notebooks, scattered across the floor and dusted with fresh snow. Adam placed his pick down, careful not to disturb anything.

‘I went over there to apologise,’ he said. ‘His tent was open. It was a fucking mess.’

‘Just like Richard?’

Adam nodded, then pulled something small and black out of his coat pocket. He laid it down between them. It was a mess of wires and plastic.

‘Found this nearby,’ said Adam. ‘Don’t know if he managed to call for help or not.’

Adam shoved his hands back into the depths of his coat pockets. Peter caught a glimpse of red-stained fingers.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I said I don’t believe you, Adam.’ He sat backwards, watching Adam’s face intently. ‘I think you were sick of him holding us up, and you killed him.’

‘Jesus christ,’ cried Adam. ‘I can’t believe you’d— God, no!’

‘And Richard too! He made us stop when he saw the storm coming, right? I bet that pissed you off,’ said Peter, his eyes widening. ‘Fucking wolves ... It was you, the whole time!’

He grabbed a utility knife up from the floor and pointed the blade at his companion, knocking the tiny lamp over. Manic shadows leapt across his features.

‘I’m not dying on this fucking mountain,’ Peter growled.

‘Slow down, Pete. You’re not thinking straight.’

‘Fuck you. I saw the blood on your hands, you lying piece of shit.’

‘It wasn’t me, Pete, I swear,’ said Adam. ‘Jesus fucking christ, put that thing away!’

He slipped backwards. His hand found the ice pick. Pete lunged across the tent.

* * *

It was dawn before a helicopter arrived; thudding blades creating a blizzard as it landed. Blood showed through the virgin snow in smears and patches. Men disembarked and began to search the ruined campsite. Amongst the trees, a wolf watched with interest.

---

Written for the weekly short story competition on the 'Writer's Block' Discord server.