The flowers are blooming in profusion, their blossoms a joy to behold, their aroma an essence of sheer delight. There is no one to enjoy their beauty or to appreciate this delicate fragrance. The two short streets of the mountain village are deserted and still.
A scrap of paper on a tattered billboard flutters awkwardly in the wind while an ancient battered sign creaks back and forth on rusty hinges. Blank windows reflect the muddy streets and the somber graveyard beyond.
During the night, an airliner had crashed on the craggy heights of the mountain. Most of the inhabitants of the town were engaged in the searach for survivors.
Neither the dark heavy rain-laden clouds nor the falling mist succeeded in lessening the determined ardor of the townfolk. Nothing could dissuade them from this mission of mercy. With the zeal of the dedicated and blind faith of the optimist, a procession had begun the trak up the high mountain. Regardless of the dismal occasion, a festive holiday spirit prevailed.
By mid-day, the rains gradually subsided, but seemed to the natives to be falling in torrents. While the trails at this low level were always in odd repair, the journey gradually became more difficult. The spirits of the group were still lively, but the spring was now removed from many steps, the light in the eyes no longer shone as brightly. The party was sprinkled over a great distance, with the strong and weak evenly divided.
A curious doe watched this strange procession from the sheltering branches of a giant fir, staring boldly and unnoticed at those strange two-legged creatures who walked with heads lowered and no apparent awareness of their surroundings. Her curiosity sated, the doe returned reluctantly to her bed beneath the trees and nuzzled the dozing fawn, the memory of passers-by already forgotten.
In Mid-afternnon, the level of the clouds enveloping the mountain was reached,the thick fog-like substance chilling the air. In this gloom, the procession appeared as ghostly patterns as they pressed onward and upward through the dense forest. The eerie silence preponderated everything, with shadowy forms of trees and boulders creating a feeling of unreality. The awesome silence accented the huffing for breath and the creak or clang or equipment shifted about on tortured backs. The loud silence became a cascading roar.
Rest stops were becoming frequent, each slightly longer in duration. At one of these intervals, the group suffered its first casualty, an old man expiring from a heart attack. Two boys were not missing and the holiday atmosphere faded.
The little party climbed on through the long afternoon. A woman suffered a abroken ankle. No other serious injuries occurred except small frustrating mishaps, as falls and spills became commonplace. The lone doctor on the trip was tired, wet and cold, weary from packing one member of the party after another, only to receive two more calls for every service rendered.
The group reached the timber line,scaling sheer walls of treacherous cliffs, baren earth and stone and patches of melted ice and snow. Through a concealed crevice, a member of the party fell to his death. There was no trace left of the festive holiday spirit that had previously prevailed.
When darkness descended on the mountain, it found the excursion on a small ledge, carefully measuring their way across a towering crag to the main peak. In the last glimmerof light, they could see the twisted wreckage of what had once been the most beautiful of those proud birds known as airliners, now resembling nothing but a city dump. Only the tailsection seemed intact.
Afraid to venture further in the darkness,the party chose to spend the night on the precarious ledge,thereby choosing the lesser of two evils - fright or cowardice. No firewood was available here and the party shivered and shook from the severe cold, huddling together like penguins trying to retain their body heat.
The rains ceased under a clearing sky,lightless stars twinkled coldly, and the moon was invisible. A flavorless supper was silently consumed in the cruel darkness.
The night seemed an eternity as the group shivered on the baren ledge. Comfort could be gained by memories of an open fire in a cozy parlor, but they each wondered if they would ever again experience such bliss.
The first light of dawn found all of the members of the party but one, still huddled on the ledge. There was no trace at all of the one missing until light filtering into the gorge beneath the ledge revealed a mangled body on the jagged rocks below.
The first beams of sunrise became visible, gleaming on the twisted wreckage of the demolished airliner. After a weary hour spent retreiving the body of the missing member,the group began groping their way over the remaining shelf of the ledge toward their goal.
When they reached the silver heaps of wreckage,all was quiet as a tomb. It seemed impossible that anything could have survived such an impact. Awaiting them was the unenviable task of identifying and burying the dead. No one looked forward to this gruesome task.
One of the stronger men climbed up to the tailsection of the plane,detected a slight movement and heard a voice croak, "Are you me daddy? Take me away from here, daddy. I don't like it here,. Please,daddy, take me away!"
The man struck a match and saw before him a grimy battered youth. almost as tall as himself. He quickly carried the youth out into the light to lay him beside the wreckage, after screaming for the doctor to "come a runnin, this 'uns alive!". While awaiting the doctor,he surveyed the youth he had discovered. Around the boy's neck was a tag stating, "In an emergency, contact the Fremont Home for the retarded or call a policeman for assistance."
After the retarded lad had been attended to, all the dead buried,and a careful doumentation made of all valuables and records, the party prepared for the long descent down the mountain.
The retarded youth was being carried by the tall man that had found him. He wove both arms tightly around the man's neck as if he would never let go. Now and then a shudder convulsed his gaunt body, then he would hug the man all the more tightly.
On the trip acros the ledge, a youngster in the party slipped, and a young woman rushed to his aid. While trying to pull him to safety, she was clutched so fiercely, both were plunged into the gorge, hundreds of feet below. The woman's husband of just a week, the young deputy sheriff, watch helplessly with horror and grief. He began climbing down the gorge to rescue them, falling several times, but each time surviving, continuing on until he reached the smashed lifeless bodies on the jagged rocks at the bottom.
Returning to the village, the group appeared to be a sad funeral procession bewildered, grieving and staggering under their heavy burden.
The accompanying bodies of those who died on the trip were laid out in the little grey church for the mourners to gaze upon in final observance, Almost everyone there had lost a loved one or a near and dear friend. The young deputy, sobbing heavily in his great sorrow, smiled fondly through his tears in farewell to his beautiful young bride.
Siomething caught the fancy of the retarded youth, causing him ro giggle, then burst forth into full laughter.
The grieving deputy searched for the cause of laughter in stunned disbelief, then in a rage. Upon learning the identify of the culprit, his rage increased. That such unbearable losses should be suffered for such as he! "No!" he shouted over the crowd. "No, it's too much! It's too much!"
Drawing his revolver, he emptied it into the still giggling youth. Only when the youngster lay still in a spreading pool of blood did the young officer realize the enormity of his act.
All the inhabitants of the town are now cloistered in their homes in mourning behind closed doors and drawn shades. Most are thinking of their trek on the mountain, of the casualties, and of the survivor they rescued, who did not survive after all.
The flowers are blooming in profusion, their blossoms a joy to behold, their aroma an essence of delight. There is no one to enjoy their beauty, or to appreciate this delicate fragrance. The two short streets of the mountain village are deserted and still.
A scrap of paper on a tattered billboard flutters awkwardly in the wind while an ancient batterd sign creaks back and forth on rusty higes. Blank windows reflect the muddy streets and the somber graveyard beyond.
A scrap of paper on a tattered billboard flutters awkwardly in the wind while an ancient battered sign creaks back and forth on rusty hinges. Blank windows reflect the muddy streets and the somber graveyard beyond.
During the night, an airliner had crashed on the craggy heights of the mountain. Most of the inhabitants of the town were engaged in the searach for survivors.
Neither the dark heavy rain-laden clouds nor the falling mist succeeded in lessening the determined ardor of the townfolk. Nothing could dissuade them from this mission of mercy. With the zeal of the dedicated and blind faith of the optimist, a procession had begun the trak up the high mountain. Regardless of the dismal occasion, a festive holiday spirit prevailed.
By mid-day, the rains gradually subsided, but seemed to the natives to be falling in torrents. While the trails at this low level were always in odd repair, the journey gradually became more difficult. The spirits of the group were still lively, but the spring was now removed from many steps, the light in the eyes no longer shone as brightly. The party was sprinkled over a great distance, with the strong and weak evenly divided.
A curious doe watched this strange procession from the sheltering branches of a giant fir, staring boldly and unnoticed at those strange two-legged creatures who walked with heads lowered and no apparent awareness of their surroundings. Her curiosity sated, the doe returned reluctantly to her bed beneath the trees and nuzzled the dozing fawn, the memory of passers-by already forgotten.
In Mid-afternnon, the level of the clouds enveloping the mountain was reached,the thick fog-like substance chilling the air. In this gloom, the procession appeared as ghostly patterns as they pressed onward and upward through the dense forest. The eerie silence preponderated everything, with shadowy forms of trees and boulders creating a feeling of unreality. The awesome silence accented the huffing for breath and the creak or clang or equipment shifted about on tortured backs. The loud silence became a cascading roar.
Rest stops were becoming frequent, each slightly longer in duration. At one of these intervals, the group suffered its first casualty, an old man expiring from a heart attack. Two boys were not missing and the holiday atmosphere faded.
The little party climbed on through the long afternoon. A woman suffered a abroken ankle. No other serious injuries occurred except small frustrating mishaps, as falls and spills became commonplace. The lone doctor on the trip was tired, wet and cold, weary from packing one member of the party after another, only to receive two more calls for every service rendered.
The group reached the timber line,scaling sheer walls of treacherous cliffs, baren earth and stone and patches of melted ice and snow. Through a concealed crevice, a member of the party fell to his death. There was no trace left of the festive holiday spirit that had previously prevailed.
When darkness descended on the mountain, it found the excursion on a small ledge, carefully measuring their way across a towering crag to the main peak. In the last glimmerof light, they could see the twisted wreckage of what had once been the most beautiful of those proud birds known as airliners, now resembling nothing but a city dump. Only the tailsection seemed intact.
Afraid to venture further in the darkness,the party chose to spend the night on the precarious ledge,thereby choosing the lesser of two evils - fright or cowardice. No firewood was available here and the party shivered and shook from the severe cold, huddling together like penguins trying to retain their body heat.
The rains ceased under a clearing sky,lightless stars twinkled coldly, and the moon was invisible. A flavorless supper was silently consumed in the cruel darkness.
The night seemed an eternity as the group shivered on the baren ledge. Comfort could be gained by memories of an open fire in a cozy parlor, but they each wondered if they would ever again experience such bliss.
The first light of dawn found all of the members of the party but one, still huddled on the ledge. There was no trace at all of the one missing until light filtering into the gorge beneath the ledge revealed a mangled body on the jagged rocks below.
The first beams of sunrise became visible, gleaming on the twisted wreckage of the demolished airliner. After a weary hour spent retreiving the body of the missing member,the group began groping their way over the remaining shelf of the ledge toward their goal.
When they reached the silver heaps of wreckage,all was quiet as a tomb. It seemed impossible that anything could have survived such an impact. Awaiting them was the unenviable task of identifying and burying the dead. No one looked forward to this gruesome task.
One of the stronger men climbed up to the tailsection of the plane,detected a slight movement and heard a voice croak, "Are you me daddy? Take me away from here, daddy. I don't like it here,. Please,daddy, take me away!"
The man struck a match and saw before him a grimy battered youth. almost as tall as himself. He quickly carried the youth out into the light to lay him beside the wreckage, after screaming for the doctor to "come a runnin, this 'uns alive!". While awaiting the doctor,he surveyed the youth he had discovered. Around the boy's neck was a tag stating, "In an emergency, contact the Fremont Home for the retarded or call a policeman for assistance."
After the retarded lad had been attended to, all the dead buried,and a careful doumentation made of all valuables and records, the party prepared for the long descent down the mountain.
The retarded youth was being carried by the tall man that had found him. He wove both arms tightly around the man's neck as if he would never let go. Now and then a shudder convulsed his gaunt body, then he would hug the man all the more tightly.
On the trip acros the ledge, a youngster in the party slipped, and a young woman rushed to his aid. While trying to pull him to safety, she was clutched so fiercely, both were plunged into the gorge, hundreds of feet below. The woman's husband of just a week, the young deputy sheriff, watch helplessly with horror and grief. He began climbing down the gorge to rescue them, falling several times, but each time surviving, continuing on until he reached the smashed lifeless bodies on the jagged rocks at the bottom.
Returning to the village, the group appeared to be a sad funeral procession bewildered, grieving and staggering under their heavy burden.
The accompanying bodies of those who died on the trip were laid out in the little grey church for the mourners to gaze upon in final observance, Almost everyone there had lost a loved one or a near and dear friend. The young deputy, sobbing heavily in his great sorrow, smiled fondly through his tears in farewell to his beautiful young bride.
Siomething caught the fancy of the retarded youth, causing him ro giggle, then burst forth into full laughter.
The grieving deputy searched for the cause of laughter in stunned disbelief, then in a rage. Upon learning the identify of the culprit, his rage increased. That such unbearable losses should be suffered for such as he! "No!" he shouted over the crowd. "No, it's too much! It's too much!"
Drawing his revolver, he emptied it into the still giggling youth. Only when the youngster lay still in a spreading pool of blood did the young officer realize the enormity of his act.
All the inhabitants of the town are now cloistered in their homes in mourning behind closed doors and drawn shades. Most are thinking of their trek on the mountain, of the casualties, and of the survivor they rescued, who did not survive after all.
The flowers are blooming in profusion, their blossoms a joy to behold, their aroma an essence of delight. There is no one to enjoy their beauty, or to appreciate this delicate fragrance. The two short streets of the mountain village are deserted and still.
A scrap of paper on a tattered billboard flutters awkwardly in the wind while an ancient batterd sign creaks back and forth on rusty higes. Blank windows reflect the muddy streets and the somber graveyard beyond.
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