MARCH 8

I’m not stupid. Far from it. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find someone smarter than me. That’s why I’m writing this diary. When I get out of this fucking crevasse, I’m gonna take it and publish it. A tale of survival, told in real time! And I AM going to get out of here, too.

One misstep. One! God damn rocks. They gave way right as I was about to set up my anchor. I guess that’s what I get for going for a dyno. As soon as my foot touched the outcropping, I knew I was fucked. I just didn’t know how badly until I came to.

I guess my belay came out, too, because it’s just hanging there, mocking me. Not attached to anything substantial enough to haul me up out of here, that’s for sure. Not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon. My backpack is right next to it, too, dangling on the rock wall like an asshole, with most of my supplies still tucked safely inside. Damn my expert packing skills…

I hit my head at least a few times on the way down. Felt the first blow for about half a second before everything went black. The movies get it right. I heard a lot of ringing, everything started swirling, and then…nothing. I’ve probably got a concussion or two. Maybe a TBI. Still able to write, though, so that’s good, I suppose. I got some shreds of my handkerchief tied around my head and I think the bleeding has stopped. The cold is probably helping. Blood vessels shrink in low temperatures, right?

Though my head is probably the least of my worries. Funny thought, that. A few dings and bonks on the ol’ noggin are no laughing matter, typically. But I should probably be more worried about my foot.

The break in my ankleis bad enough, sure, but the fact that my foot is trapped in a fucking crevice is worse. I don’t even know how it got wedged in, but God damn, it’s stuck in there good. I’ve tried yanking it out, but the pain. Even wiggling my toes is agonizing. It’s a compound fracture, yeah. Fuck me, does it hurt like a bitch. Maybe the cold will help with the swelling. Right now it’s turned into a purple balloon, and I’m ninety percent positive the exposed parts of my foot are already frostbitten.

I should conserve energy. It’s hard writing with these damn gloves on, anyway, and the sun is setting. I’d better collect up the food before I can’t see a damn thing. By some miracle, a few of the snacks fell out of my pack and landed within reach. If being, literally, stuck between a rock and a hard place could have a silver lining… Yeah, strike that. This absolutely sucks.

I hope the swelling in my ankle goes down enough to get my foot out. I hope somebody comes looking for me. And I hope there’s no bears who like to call this place home…

MARCH 9

Apparently nobody received my distress signal.

No, that’s not necessarily true. It takes three days to get here on foot.

But help wouldn’t be coming by foot. That’s what helicopters are for.

Don’t think about it. Someone will come, I’m sure of it. I should have dialed 911. I heard an emergency call will go through when a phone is basically dead. But me, I’m smart. I used the last of my phone battery to send a text, smashed screen and all. If my mother doesn’t understand my cryptic message, then I’ll get out of here on my own. I’m not one to ask for help. I don’t need it. Some might think that’s stupid, but I’ll tell you what’s more stupid…not having weather-resistant phone power packs. A little cold and my cheap little portable chargers are as dead as my cell phone.

I’ve never hacked such a frigid fucking night, either! That shit was colder than a witch’s tit, believe you me! I was terrified to fall asleep, afraid I may not wake up.

But I guess I drifted off at some point, and awaken I did. A part of me had seriously hoped, through the hazy veil of heavy-lidded eyes, that my foot and ankle would’ve miraculously worked themselves free in my slumber. Unfortunately that didn’t happen. In fact, I think they’re somehow MORE wedged in there.

This is gonna make great material when it’s published. A New York Times bestseller, I’m sure of it!

I’ve got enough snacks to ration for another day. The cold is getting to me, but no bears, thankfully! Not that I think a bear would be crazy enough to venture up here where there’s no wildlife, but you never know.

God must be smiling on His best free climber! He always has! I’m more than deserving, after all.

From as far back as I can remember (before the fucking cold distracts me) I’ve excelled at everything I’ve done. There’s not one thing on this planet I can’t do! That’s why I picked up climbing. One of the hardest and most labor-intensive sports out there. If anybody can do it, it’s me! And what better way to start out than Savage Mountain? Even the name is meant to be daunting, but did that stop me? Hell no. Neither did the cries of my mother begging me not to go, or my friends calling me insane.

I’m gonna prove them all wrong as soon as I get out of here. They’re not just gonna have their feet in their mouths… I’m gonna make them eat their own smelly toe jams!

MARCH 10

Still swollen. Still stuck. Still no sign of help. I’m starting to get worried now. The rations are running low and my fingers are turning blue.

I can still throw a mean fastball, though! I’ve been throwing rocks and chunks of ice at my backpack all day. Managed to hit it a few times, too! I’ll get it down from there. Eventually, I will. Last time I hit it straight on and it swung. I almost had it! But I can’t stand looking at that ice again right now. There comes a point that your skin gets so cold, the numbness wears off and it starts burning.

It’s funny looking at my fingers now, knowing how adept they’ve always been. Drawing blueprints, writing scientific equations, dissecting frogs. I’ve always had steady hands and nimble fingers. Before he left, my dad told me I should be a surgeon. Now, though, the joints are starting to fail on me. Can’t feel much in the tips of my fingers, either. I hope I don’t lose them, even though that would probably add another couple thousand book sales to the profit margins. The climber who lost their fingers and still saved themselves! Imagine that!

The sun has come out, at least. Just a little. Not much reaches me down here. But it did melt enough ice for me to get some water in my canteen. That should last me a little while longer, even if it is fucking cold to drink.

God, I want to swallow these hand warmers. They’re my last ones. And yeah, my fingers are important, but I’m so cold internally. I stopped shivering sometime overnight. And if I’m this cold now, I can’t imagine how much worse it’s going to be when the sun goes down.

I guess it’s best not to think about that…

I used to love nighttime. When I was a teenager, I got away with the most unruly of shit under the cover of darkness. I’ll never forget about the time I spent four hours setting up the most elaborate practical joke on Mr. Jeffries down the street. And like I said, I’m not one to ask for help. Did it all myself! No one ever knew it was me, though. Once he offed himself, it wasn’t such a fun thing to reminisce about anymore. Everybody wondered who could be so cruel. I just figured, nice to let the guy think his missing daughter had come back. At least for a few minutes…

I guess I’ll have to edit this once I get out of here. Best to remain the untainted hero on paper. Because I am one!

Leave it to me to obsess over my fingers when I can’t feel my toes any longer. Can’t see them, either. I’m sure they’re black with frostbite. Hopefully I can keep my foot, at least. Diabetics have been known to lose a few toes, right? And I’ve also heard you’re more likely to avoid amputation if the fracture is compound instead of open. I’m thankful for that, at least.

Time to get back to throwing rocks.

MARCH 11

It’s no longer a compound fracture. And it wasn’t even worth it. But I’m getting ahead of the story. I decided to hearken back to my days as a top pitcher and put my whole weight into my last rock. Hit the pack dead center and knocked it free. It bounced like a fucking pinball, glancing off every rock and crater until it landed and skittered across the ice in my direction. But it came to a stop just out of my grasp. Damn it!

That’s when I went for it.

I threw myself toward the damn thing, not realizing what I would do to myself, and still missed.

I fucking missed.

The ends of my fingertips barely brushed the nylon and instead of grasping the bag, I pushed the damn thing. Off it went.

Even if I wanted to go after it, the damage was already done.

I didn’t realize skin could tear so easily. What was I thinking, taking off like that with my foot jammed in a crack? I have no idea. What I do know is, as soon as I lunged for that backpack, my ankle split open like a Bible on Sunday morning. And the pain! Holy shit! As numb as it was before, fucks sake, I can feel everything now.

I can see it, too, now that I’m able to do something other than scream with my eyes clenched shut. I can see where the bones disconnected. It’s a pretty bad break. All the way through the tibia and part of the fibula, too. The only thing holding me together now is whatever skin that managed to remain intact and some soft tissue. Tendons and shit. If I twist myself hard enough, I could probably rip my foot right off at the ankle. Still can’t get it out of the crevice. What a fucking joke.

The skin’s turned black, too. Below where it split open. I got the bleeding to stop by tying my handkerchief tightly around my shin above the fracture, but it’s still fucking hurting.

I wish I hadn’t even bothered with the backpack.

It’s about three feet out of reach. I might be able to get to it if I take off a few layers of clothing and sling them for it, hopefully snagging one of the zippers or something enough to pull it my way. The thought of taking off my clothes right now is just too much, though. Maybe tomorrow.

I’m cold. And I’m hungry.

I wish I would’ve called 911.

MARCH 12

The sun came out again today. If I didn’t have the summertime in the Bahamas to compare it to, I might have thought it was warm! Okay, I did overestimate the sunlight. Taking off my coat and thermal wear taught me the error in that thinking, though.

I did what I said I was going to do. I used my clothes to try to get my pack. Seven hours of slinging before I finally snagged the zipper. I nearly screamed, but my voice was still hoarse from the day before.

I probably should’ve gone slower. I got excited. Fuck me for getting excited.

I yanked it a little too overzealously and unzipped the whole thing, spilling the contents out onto the ice and scattering them helter skelter—any direction but toward me. I got to watch helplessly as all my water bottles, all my food, everything, went sliding out of reach. Some dropped down into the crevasse. I hope whatever animal finds it fucking chokes on it.

So I got my pack. An empty sack of folds of fabric and zippers. Great. Fucking great.

Oh, wait, I almost forgot to mention, there was one thing still in there. My hunting knife. A fat lot of good that’s gonna do me. There’s nothing to hunt down here.

There’s only one thing I could use that knife for…

I’d rather not think about it.

The skin has turned even blacker now. It’s spreading up my leg, past the fracture, where things are still attached. I can see some of the torn muscles and tendons turning a sickly yellow, too. Even if I do manage to get my foot out of this wedge, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep anything below the ankle, anyway.

My other appendages are okay for the time being. The warmer temps today are helping. My toes on my right foot are a little frostbitten but I think they’re okay. Moving them and staying active has kept the blood flowing.

I think tomorrow is my birthday.

If it comes down to it, at least the knife is sharp…

MARCH 13

Today is my birthday. It feels like only yesterday that I was a little kid, running around the playground at school. I was always the fastest runner. I loved showing the other kids how much better I was.

Nobody ever came to my birthday parties. Well, that’s not true. When Mommy and Daddy would invite the whole class, a few kids made an appearance. But once I got past that age, the kids stopped showing up. First it was just a few of them. Then, before you knew it, I was blowing out the candles all alone. And that was fine. I didn’t want them there, anyway. Though it would’ve been nice to have someone sing me “Happy Birthday” every now and then.

I wish I could’ve stayed little forever. Having people make over how special you are for anything you do is, well, nice. But it doesn’t last. Fades with every passing year until you’re stuck striving for someone, anyone, to notice you, to notice that you’re still that special little kid—you’ve just grown a little longer in the legs.

Well, now I might be shorter in the legs. At least on one side…

I think Mr. Jeffries came to me overnight. Might’ve been a fever dream. I don’t know. Can you have a fever when you’re this cold? Was it really that warm yesterday or was it just some kind of delusion?

Oh, right, Mr. Jeffries…

He told me how disappointed he was in me. That he thought I was better than what I did. I tried to explain that I was just trying to give him a little hope, if only for a short period of time, but I think he knew it was bullshit. Or rather I knew it was. Maybe I was projecting. He wanted me to recount everything. I told him I would today.

So I guess that’s what I’ll do.

It was a cold night in January when I executed my plan. Nothing like the cold here, mind you! I was thirteen, I think? Maybe fourteen. Dressed myself up in an outfit I found at the thrift shop. Matched it to one of those missing-persons posters around town. She was a cute kid. Last seen trying to board a Greyhound at three o’clock in the morning. They denied her entry, then she up and vanished. A few people developed theories, like a vagrant at the station had snatched her. The posters went up. Volunteers searched. Eventually life went on.

I got the closest coat I could find to match her last-seen-wearing description. Pink with a little frill on the ends. It wasn’t exact, but it didn’t need to be. He was only going to see me from a distance, anyway.

I called him up, muttered out a few words that sounded garbled, then made sure “Daddy, help me. I’m at the station and—” came through clearly before I hung up.

Then I waited. I waited so long, I didn’t think he was gonna show. Right when I was about to leave, his silver Cadillac pulled into the lot. Showtime!

Behind the station, there was this thickly wooded area. I knew I could outmaneuver him in the trees. I was the fastest runner, remember? I stood there, waiting for him to spot me.

Then we locked eyes.

He sprinted for me, and I took off. He called out to me. Well, not me. “Hailey.”

He was fast, I’ll give him that.

But I was faster.

He gave chase for a while before I reached the other side of the woods, coming out exactly where I had planned. I hurried up and ditched the coat then gathered my composure, acting like I had just been walking down the street.

Mr. Jeffries came running out. Nearly plowed into me. He looked harried and wild-eyed as he grabbed me and started asking me if I’d seen her. Of course, I denied it. Called him crazy, laughing the whole time.

He wasn’t laughing.

But he didn’t get upset, either. He just got this paleness about him. I thought it was like he’d seen a ghost, but… looking back on it now, I realize he died in that moment. Not three hours later when he took a bath with a toaster. He had given up right there, on the street, with me laughing in his face.

Now, we know the truth of what happened. After his suicide-by-electrocution, Hailey came out of hiding and admitted she’d run away. That’s her guilt to shoulder now.

Speaking of giving up, my stomach has, too. I’ve started puking up the water I’m drinking. I know that’s a symptom of starvation. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to die.

I would say that I hope someone finds this notebook and publishes it but I doubt if anyone even knows this place exists.

No. Fuck that.

In the beginning I said I wasn’t going to die here. I will do whatever it takes to get out.

It is my birthday today. And I guess there’s no better gift to give myself than freedom.

I think I know now why I was given the knife instead of food. God knows I’m His strongest warrior, and I can do this. I don’t need help. I can do it on my own.

This will be my last diary entry. From now on, I’ll be too busy climbing my way out of here and sliding back down the mountainside.

I’ve freed myself of my guilt. Now it’s time for the rest.

I might come back to write an afterword once I’m healed up. Yes. Yes, I will do that.

But right now I’ve gotta start fashioning my tourniquet.

MARCH 14

This is some kind of cruel joke. Monsters like me deserve this shit, I guess.

I’m sorry, Mr. Jeffries. I’m sorry for what I did. I’ve always said I wanted to give you hope for a few minutes, but that’s just not true. It’s not. No. I did it because I’m a sick fuck and I wanted to see your face.

I shouldn’t have.

I shouldn’t have done that to you.

Oh my God, I’m so sorry.

Last night, I cut my foot off just above the ankle. I passed out once, early on, then woke up and finished the job before I passed out again. There wasn’t much feeling left in the black parts but it still hurt in a way I can’t really describe. It was like a weird sort of burning combined with screaming nerves and absolute misery. The last part may have been the worst, because I just reached down, gave it a nice twist, and ripped my leg free, leaving my foot to dangle from some meat that was still trapped in the crevice, frozen solid.

But I got through it.

I said I would only come back for the afterword. But that’s the funniest part of all. This is the afterword.

While I was passed out, the boulders shifted, and now my other foot is pinned.

Meanwhile, the bleeding has tapered off from my stump. And even though it’s no longer connected, I still have my foot. My dead, frostbitten foot. Pulled it out from the crevice now that the boulder has shifted. But now the god damn thing is frozen to the ice. Been staring at it all day, trying to think how I can pry it free. Guess I can dig it out with the knife.

My head feels light. I’m going to need food. I think I finally understand Mr. Jeffries. His disappointment, I mean. I feel disappointed in my foot. Fucking no-good foot. Got me up this mountain and into this mess.

Remembering how I used to run on it for so long. Remembering wiggling and wriggling those little toes. How as a baby, I used to put them in my mouth.

Now I’m going to be doing that again.

I guess we’ll find out if human flesh really does taste like chicken.

Once I get my strength back, I’m going to shove this rock over and get the fuck out of here. But first, I need to eat.

MARCH 15

Fuck you, Mr. Jeffries.

Fuck you, Hailey.

Fuck you, Mom.

Fuck you, Dad.

Fuck all of you.

Fuck everyone I’ve ever met.

Fuck.

You.

This rock pinning my remaining foot isn’t moving and neither am I. I’m turning into a frostbitten skeleton and nobody gives a fuck.

No one is coming to save me.

Pride goeth before the fall? No, pride sticks around after the fall, too.

Fuck you, pride.

I’m better than this. I’m the best there is. I’ve still got my knife. I did it once, and I can do it again.

And if all else fails, I’ll have more to eat. Even though it definitely does not taste like chicken.

I’ll come back for that afterword. I will. I’ll come back and write about what it’s like being a double amputee and how the healing of the stump itches and tingles.

I’ll come back.

I will.

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