The Lift

by Patrick Carman

A late-season storm bringing a foot of fresh powder to the

mountains was a rarity. When it happened during the middle
of the week and forced the schools in the small town of
Buckley to close, it was a gift from the snowboard gods.

At least that’s how Adam Thomas and Dylan Smith looked at

it.

They were obsessed with snowboarding. When they weren’t

snowboarding, they were dreaming about snow- boarding.
And when it was summer, they read boarding magazines and
watched boarding videos. They even went so far as to build a
ramp in Adam’s backyard that ended in a pile of wood chips.
It was a rough landing, but it helped pass the time until the
snow fell again.

Still, nothing compared to the real deal. Adam and Dylan

weren’t about to miss the opportunity for a day on the
mountain.

Unless, of course, Adam got them killed first.

“Dude, slow down!” Dylan yelled above the music blast- ing
out of the car’s half-blown-out speakers. “The snow’s not
going anywhere.”
The car was old but it went plenty fast, and as usual,
Adam was taking the slick corners quicker than Dylan was
comfortable with. He held on to the door handle as Adam
threw the Honda into another slide around a blind corner on
the narrow, snow-covered road.

“No worries, bro!” shouted Adam. “I got this!”

As the car drifted into the other lane, Adam screamed with joy
and honked the horn. He punched the accelera- tor, and the
tired engine roared in protest. The studded snow tires bit into
the softer snow; the car clawed back into its lane.

A moment later, a delivery truck blew by in a hurricane of

snow and debris.

“Five seconds!” Dylan yelled. “Just five little seconds and we’d
have been face-to-face with that thing.”

Adam didn’t seem to even hear Dylan.

“Don’t you feel it, bro? The mountain is calling us. And today, I
promise you, I’m gonna land that 360.”

Dylan didn’t contradict him. He wasn’t stupid. Adam could

brag all he wanted, and Dylan would let it slide because of
one all-important fact: Adam had the wheels. Without Adam,
Dylan was stuck—no wheels, no snowboarding. And Dylan
had some serious tricks of his own he wanted to bring out of
the backyard and up to the mountain. He reached forward
and turned down the volume on the stereo.

“Just take it easy,” he said. “The snow’s still gonna be there

whether we arrive in ten minutes or twenty. And either way,
you know I’m gonna rule the mountain.”

Because here was the thing: Adam might have had the
wheels, but Dylan had the mad skills. He’d landed his first 360
two seasons earlier, and Adam had been eating powder ever
since. Being younger by a year only made it sweeter.

“Remember what happened to Bobby Miller?” Adam asked,

punching in the clutch and quickly down-shifting as they came
to a hairpin turn. He wasn’t really asking, Dylan knew. This
came up all the time with Adam, and Dylan had learned to
roll with it.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” Adam said with a raised eyebrow. “He was the
hot-shot boarder. I mean, he could do stuff that you could only
dream about doing.”

“Is that right?” Dylan said, not sure if he’d been insulted or if it
was just Adam blowing more hot air his way.

“He was awesome. You know he was. Until he ran into

something he couldn’t beat.”

“A tree,” said Dylan, as if he’d heard it all before (which he

had—many times). “I know the story, Adam. It’s not like it’s
new or anything.”

Adam took his eyes off the road and stared at Dylan.

“Dead. Yep. According to the stories, he was dead before he

hit the ground — I mean, the snow. Broken neck.”

Dylan felt a chill flutter down his back. That part of the story
always bugged him, even if he had heard it a bunch of times.
He turned up the heat in the car and gazed out the window.

As Adam slid the car around another curve, Dylan caught

a glimpse of a person walking way off in the woods. He
was holding his snowboard in one hand, dragging it on the
ground. Whoever it was glanced over his shoulder as the car
passed.

“Hey, did you see that guy?”

“You saw a person?” Adam said sarcastically. “Out there?”

“I’m telling you, there was someone standing out there. We

should go back.”

“It was a tree,” Adam said. “Or Bigfoot. Just chill.” “What if he
needed our help?”

“Then he woulda been standing on the edge of the

road! You’re seeing things.” He gave Dylan a wolfish grin.
“Or maybe you just saw Bobby Miller?” He began to hum the
theme song from that old shark movie Jaws.

Dylan felt that chill again. “Very funny. Just drive.”

“I know these two guys at school,” said Adam, anticipation

rising in his voice. “On their final run down the hill last year,
just as it was starting to get dark, they were chased. Chased,
dude! By something . . . not quite human . . .”

“You’re starting to freak me out,” Dylan said.

Adam shrugged. “They said it was like a black shadow on a

board, riding right through the trees, doing all sorts of bizarre
tricks. You’ve gotta wonder. . . . Bobby Miller always acted
like he owned the place. And from what I heard, he didn’t like
anyone showing him up.”

Dylan shook his head. “I don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“Yeah?” said Adam. “Well, maybe you should. My advice?
If you’re gonna tear it up, I’d get off the slopes before the sun
starts to set. Just to be safe.”

It was nearly noon before Adam’s Honda slid into the parking
lot at Bluewood Ski Resort. They grabbed their gear and
snowboards, trudged up to the lodge, and got their day
passes. Ten minutes later, they were standing in some of the
best powder they’d ever seen. It was amazing snow—perfect
for testing out new tricks. It’d be like landing in six feet of
cotton candy.
“Welcome to Bluewood, boys,” the lift attendant said as they
waited in the line.

They knew this guy by sight. He was one of the regular

workers who crawled out of some cave or bar or mountain
cabin every fall, worked through the winter, and then
disappeared again. He was dressed in oil-stained
snowmobile coveralls and he had a ratty beard that looked
like dirty dishwater. Clifton was stitched across the front of the
overalls. Dylan had never been sure if it was his first name or
last.

“Incredible snow, Clifton!” Adam yelled.

“Powder as far as the eye can see,” Clifton agreed. “Enjoy

it while it lasts. S’pose to warm up tomorrow, then it’ll turn to
mush.”

One day of powder, that was it. Dylan and Adam looked at
each other and knew they had to make the most of it.

Clifton smiled, leaned in close to the boys, and said, “A smart

man might make sure he’s off the mountain before ol’ Bobby
decides to take a few runs.” Clifton’s cackle followed Adam
and Dylan as their chair started up the hill.

“What a freak,” Dylan muttered under his breath.

“He’s harmless,” Adam said. “And funny. So, the usual plan?”
“Sounds good to me,” Dylan said with a shrug.

“The usual plan” meant that if they happened to get

separated, they’d make sure to keep in touch using the
walkie-talkies they both carried.

In fact, Dylan usually went out of his way to ditch Adam. He

actually preferred snowboarding alone. There was nothing
quite like coming across a slope covered with fresh powder
and knowing that he didn’t have to share it with anyone.

Adam managed to keep up for the first two runs, but on the
third, Dylan saw Adam flip over his nose and dis- appear
into a cloud of snow near the edge of the trees. Instead of
stopping, Dylan pointed his board straight downhill and took
off.

Hours passed and the boys saw each other here and there,
but Dylan was so on and the powder was so great, he just
had to take the toughest routes and get as much big air as
possible. Somewhere around five p.m., with only enough
remaining light for a run or two, Dylan’s walkie- talkie
sounded off.

“Where are ya, dude?”

“Almost at the top,” Dylan answered. “You okay?”

“I had an awesome wipeout. You shoulda seen it!” “Yeah,

sorry I missed it,” Dylan half lied. “If we don’t meet up, I’ll
catch you at the lodge after the last run. I’m gonna try and get
in a couple more.”

“Let’s run it together. I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

Dylan wasn’t so sure. The good snow would be gone by the

next day, and anyway, they weren’t coming back up until
who-knew-when. He needed to make the most of what little
time he had left.

“Let’s just meet at the lodge, if that’s cool,” said Dylan.

A long pause on the walkie-talkie followed, and then Adam’s

voice returned.

“Okay . . . yeah, sure. I might wait for you at the lift, anyway.”

He sounded disappointed.

Dylan felt a little bad for ditching, but the feeling quickly
passed as he raced down the mountain.

The next two runs seemed almost like a dream. Dylan was
having the best afternoon of his life. He was snow- boarding
like those guys you see in Warren Miller movies. He kept
finding open glens with fresh snow, and jumps, drops, and
ledges that let him try out all of his tricks. In fact, Dylan almost
wished Adam—or someone—had been around so they could
see how awesome he was doing. But the mountain was
starting to empty of people as it got colder and closer to dark.
When Dylan stopped to catch his breath after a particularly
great landing, he suddenly had a strange feeling — like he
was being watched. He scanned the trees and the slopes
behind him, and felt that familiar chill in his bones.

But he was completely alone.

After a long minute of absolute stillness, Dylan spied someone

weaving fearlessly through a tight stand of trees and, feeling
sort of spooked, took off after him. But when he lost sight
of the guy and tried to follow his path through the trees, he
couldn’t find any tracks in the snow.

Weird.

It was closing in on darkness when Dylan coasted to the lift.

There was no line, only Clifton stomping his boots to keep
warm.

“Technically, the lift is closed,” said Clifton. He looked every

which way, as if the cops might show up and haul him away
for letting a kid ride up one last time. “You wanna go once
more, I’ll look the other way.”

As Dylan started to dig out his walkie-talkie, Adam came

barreling past and pulled to a stop right where he’d be able to
hop onto the next chair.

“Hey, man! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Dylan was actually

relieved to see his friend. He’d been on his own long enough;
it would be good to travel to the top one more time with his
buddy. Dylan lined up next to Adam and waited for the two-
person chair to swing around and pick them up.

“Last run!” said Clifton, waving them onto the lift. “See you at
the lodge.”

Adam kept his helmet and goggles on as Dylan sat down

beside him. He seemed upset.

“Some good runs today?” asked Dylan, but Adam just stared
off into the trees without answering. It was darker and colder
on the lift as it snaked through the tall trees. Dylan looked up
the long line of empty chairs in front of him and shivered as he
was buffeted by a gust of wind. He was starting to think this
might not have been the best idea.

“Let’s stick together on this one, okay?” Dylan asked his friend.
Adam stayed silent, unmoving, and Dylan started to think
maybe he’d taken one too many runs on his own. Maybe he’d
been a little too brash about his skills.

“Sorry I ditched you today,” Dylan said, his teeth chattering.

And then a strange thing happened.

Dylan’s walkie-talkie started blaring in his pocket. He fumbled

into his jacket and pressed the button on the side.

“Adam?” he said, looking at the figure slumped in

the chair next to him.

There was a long, static-filled pause.

And then Adam’s voice, coming through the walkie-talkie.

“Hey, if you can hear me, I’m waiting for you at

the lodge. You there? Hello?”

“Yeah,” Dylan said very quietly, a tremble in his voice

as the cold started to clamp around his limbs. “I’m heading up
for one more run.”

Another long pause, then finally Adam was back, quieter this
time.

“Just get off the mountain, okay? It’s getting dark.”

Dylan twisted around in his seat and looked at the line of

empty chairs going all the way to the bottom. Clifton was
gone.

Everyone was gone.

It was like Dylan was the only living thing on the mountain.
Him and whoever—or whatever—was sitting next to him.

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