Read Part I here

***

Ethel was drowning, her heavy mountain gear a ball and chain dragging her deeper into the frigid depths of a mountain lake high up on the slopes of Mount Kenya, cocooning her in a dark silence that seemed to get thicker the deeper she sank.

She watched in dreamy horror as perfectly spherical translucent silver balls floated erratically before her eyes, air escaping her lungs. Try as she might, Ethel couldn’t move her limbs, they felt wooden, frozen in place by the cold water which was as sharp and biting as thousands of knives and needles pressing into her skin. How was it that just a moment ago, she’d been canoeing with her husband, Damon, watching the sun sink below blue tinged peaks?

Damon! The thought of him was a shock to her system. Ethel felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her like hot lava flowing within her constricted vessels, fuel for her limp muscles. She sprung to life like a bewitched statue, kicking out furiously, pushing her arms in wide arcs as she frantically swam to the surface.

He’d pushed her overboard, tried to drown her! And for what? A measly life insurance payout! After 10 years together, the betrayal was enough to drive Ethel half mad. She burst to the surface as violently as a whale breaching, her loud gasps echoing eerily in the deep valley that surrounded the lake. But she couldn’t celebrate yet as she struck out for the shoreline, unable to see it in the pitch blackness of the night.

Her gear weighed her down and her muscles grew more fatigued, but just as despair threatened to take hold, her knees sank into soft mud and she crawled, shivering and unsteady as a newborn calf, to lay on long grass that grew wild and untamed around the lake.

She was exhausted, but the incredibly painful cold that engulfed her as she lay in her wet clothes, now fanned by an icy wind which blew steadily through the valley, forced her to move. On all fours, Ethel headed toward a large rock whose massive silhouette stood out, a black solid shadow framed against the surrounding darkness, which she remembered as their camping spot. Fingers claws that dug into the wet ground, Ethel collapsed in the shadow of the boulder, grateful that the numbing wind was cut off, then gave a shout of joy as she discovered her heavy backpack, discarded by a bush.

Miles below her, stumbling as he literally ran down the steep foreboding rocky slopes, Damon whooped with joy at the exact same time Ethel did. Waving his arms to slow his momentum, he skidded to a clumsy stop and listened intently. Had he heard something? But there was only the drum-like beating of his heart, the hoarse shallow breaths he drew in and the low keening of the wind. Assured, he took off again.

Meanwhile, Ethel was fumbling frustratedly on the zips and fastenings of her backpack with her frozen fingers, finally digging out a change of clothes and a thick sleeping bag.

After wriggling into the dry items, she carefully pulled out her phone which she’d hidden away, not wanting to be completely unplugged, though Damon had insisted they leave all technology behind.

“Hello? It’s Ethel I…” the line was full of static.

“Ethel? I thought you…Mount Kenya…you back?” her best friend’s voice sounded surreal after her ordeal.

“Damon…drown me, he…” Ethel tried to speak as fast as she could, afraid the connection wouldn’t hold.

“He what!?” Kim, her friend, cried sharply.

“Listen!” Ethel nearly screamed into the phone, “He’s after…life insurance cover, he pushed me…the lake,” waves of delirium begun to wash over her as the events of the evening took their toll, “The lake…so beautiful…”

“Ethel focus!” Kim’s voice cut through the static, “Where are you?”

“Lake Michaelson,” Ethel said just as the line went dead.

The morning broke over the mountain like an egg dashed against a hard surface, the dazzling light like yolk that oozed slowly down the slopes and spread, its yellow gold colour in wonderful contrast to the grey purple of the peaks.

Damon, wild with fatigue and every inch the terrified man, stumbled into the courtyard of the park warden’s office. He could barely talk and threw up twice before he was able to force a few sips of hot bland tea down his parched throat.

“She drowned!” he wailed repeatedly, jumping up as if he were about to run to his wife’s rescue before collapsing on the rickety wooden chair he sat on.

The wardens took his statement sympathetically, shooting each other looks in between Damon’s antics that he should have been wary of, but they nodded their heads as he detailed his story and a false security fell warmly over him.

Then, at a sudden deafening noise, his bubble shattered. They all ran outside to see a helicopter whipping up a violent wind as it landed and Damon felt strong hands grip him in place as the aircraft door opened and Ethel, supported on either side, lurched out in bad shape but alive. Damon threw his head back and roared.

Up on the slopes, by jagged rocky formations that resembled dragon’s teeth, a balding man looked up frightened from a grandiose camera, his jowls quavering as he chastised his jovial guide.

“You said there were no mountain lions!”