text: The following writings were found in Cabin 3-D on the Mt. Baker hiking trail. To whomever finds this, My name is Trenton Briggs, it’s January 4th, 1992, and by the time you read this, I will be dead. I’m writing this to document my experiences over the past day. Please don’t let my mother read this, as I don’t wish to subject her to the horrors of reading her child’s final moments. It was January 2nd when a group of friends and I decided to take the fateful hike up Mt. Baker. We’d heard from a couple work colleagues that it was the best hike in the state. Second to none, nothing like it. A life-changing experience. So we thought, fuck it. We’re young, healthy, a full life ahead of us. We strapped on our boots, threw on our jackets, met up at my place, and headed out towards the mountain. It was cold that day. The sky was clear and blue, but the sun did nothing to heat the frigid air. It cut through my jacket, tore through the layers of shirts, and stabbed deep into my skin, but the excitement for the journey warmed my spirit. As we stood at the base of the mountain, I looked up to try and see the peak of the intimidating summit. Instead, I saw nothing but monstrous mounds of snow. It was more than I had anticipated. Actually, that’s a bit of an understatement. It was the most snow I’d seen in my life. As I stared at it, I imagined my foot slipping and ungodly waves of the white powder coming down at incredible speeds, smashing into my legs, pulling me into it’s depths, and wiping away any trace of me. For a moment, I almost said something. I almost turned around and suggested coming back another day. Perhaps a warmer day, when some of the snow had a chance to melt. I was so fucking close. But, when I turned around, I saw her. Or you, if you ended up finding a way out. She was in a separate group, but we were on the same hike. She was beautiful. Her face was mostly covered by her red and teal ski jacket, but her dark brown curls protruded out onto her brown forehead. She stared up the mountain, her knees shaking with excitement. Or the cold, but I like to think it was excitement. She glided through both my and her group to get to the front of us all. She had an aura that soothed the fear in my heart, replacing the thoughts of snow with the promise of summiting. Her friends joined her at the front, and began their trek through the trees. My group, not wanting to be last, quickly followed behind them. And that was that, the journey had begun. The first hour of the hike was nothing exceptional. We crossed a couple bridges, stopped to snap pictures of waterfalls, and walked just a couple of steps behind her group. She led her group, so I guess she led mine as well. She didn’t ever stop to admire the scenery. It seemed all she was interested in was the summit. The few rests she did take were only on the top of smaller peaks, and to look at the summit. As the sun began to set, the exhaustion must have overtaken her ambition, as both of our groups stopped to catch our breaths. I decided now was as good a time as ever to introduce myself. I walked up to her, gasping for breath, and was as smooth as possible. “Sup,” I said. She looked me up and down, confused by my attempt at casual conversation. “Hey,” she said through the collar of her jacket. Her friends giggled at my awkwardness. “How are you enjoying the hike? Pretty brutal right?” I said, trying desperately to find something to talk about. “It’s not too bad, have you hiked it before?” She asked. “No, first time,” I said. “Oh, I kind of figured from your breathing,” she laughed. “But you talk like you’ve done it before.” “Yeah, no, I’m not much of an outdoors man, but I saw from the way you were leading that this seems to be your kind of thing.” “No, not really, just seemed like a good time, and why waste it lagging in the back. That seems to be your kind of thing,” she laughed again. “But if we want to make it to that cabin before dark, we better get a move on. Hopefully I see you up there, and not laying dead in the snow somewhere.” “For sure,” I said, turning back towards my group. My friends nudged my arms and joked at my awkwardness. But I didn’t mind. We rested for a little while longer, then pulled ourselves to our feet to return to the hike. We walked as the sun slowly disappeared behind the summit, getting to a cabin marked 3-D as night finally fell. I rushed to the front to open the door for everyone. “Glad to see you made it,” she said as she walked through the door, kicking her boots off and sitting on the bed nearest the sole window. My friends shook their heads and followed in. We all sat within our groups on opposite sides of the cabin, everyone shedding their coats as one of the guys from her group lit the fireplace against the wall. It was a cozy little place. All wood, snowshoes decorating the chimney, 6 beds lining the walls, and a long table separating the two groups. We sat in this segregated fashion for a while, until someone found a deck of cards in one of the nightstands next to a bed. They suggested a friendly game of poker, so we all rose out of bed and congregated at the table. I sat kiddy corner from her, as the guy who lit the fireplace dealt the cards from next to her. We played for a while, I lost more times than I care to admit, but during the game conversation between the groups began. In her group, there was Alex: the guy who lit the fireplace, Bridgette, Thomas, and her, Mable. For clarity’s sake I should say that my group consisted of myself, my buddy Donnie, his girlfriend Amy, and my other buddy Greg. Her group was a kaleidoscope of people. Bridgette was a soft-spoken girl. She was Korean, and they had met in an art class. After that the two of them became inseparable. She didn’t talk much, except to Mable. Thomas, Bridgette’s boyfriend, was a meek looking guy. Much like Bridgette, he hardly spoke, but was killing us all in the game. He was studying to become a radiation therapist, and had met Bridgette during their schools yearly culture day, where he was representing Ethiopia. I liked him. When he did talk he was funny. Cracking jokes on both his and my group. Then there was Alex. At first, I didn’t like him, if only because he sat next to Mable. But further conversation revealed that he was gay, which was a relief. After that, he ended up being really cool. He led most of the conversations, joking with everyone, not acknowledging his losses in almost every game we played. And finally, there was Mable. The brief conversation we had on the hillside did little to prepare me for the personality she held in her small brown frame. She was an artist, an adventurist, a politician in training, and a free-thinker, on top of a list of other self-proclaimed titles. But more than anything, she was a talker. Anytime someone spoke, she chimed in. She didn’t bulldoze them, she just had something to say about everything. It was kind of amazing. How can one person have so much to add? Regardless, I liked listening to her talk. Her voice was soft, but held a certain warm power. It’s hard to describe in words. It just felt as though everything she said was meant to be listened to. I liked everyone else, but I truly only wanted to listen to her. “So what about you Trenton? What do you do?” Mable asked me. “I’m a writer,” I said. “Ooo, what kind of stuff do you write? Is it smut? I won’t judge,” she asked. “No, not really. I kind of write anything. Any story that feels worth telling ya know,” I replied. “Yeah, I like that. Well, I hope this can be a story worth telling, ya know,” she laughed. After we had all lost mounds of imaginary money to Thomas, we decided to call it a night and go to sleep. As I laid in my bed, I closed my eyes and thought about the summit. I was excited. Not to see the curvature of the earth below me. But, to see Mable up there. Looking down, the sun reflecting off of her bouncy curls. That was my motivation. And it was all I needed. We woke the next day to see a fresh layer of snow had piled in front of the door. With some force we managed to push it up, and continue our journey. Our groups walked together this time. I struggled to keep pace with Mable, but I kicked through the snow as hard as I could to be by her. We didn’t make it very far before we realized how much harder it was going to be, walking at this elevation through such a thick layer of snow. We stopped after less than 5 minutes had passed and sat down. The snow was loose. Too loose to keep going. But, Donnie didn’t want to stop. He made fun of us for sitting, said we were wasting too much time. I told him that it was best to wait a bit, get our bearings and continue on. Mable told him that there was no rush, we had all day to make it up, but he wouldn’t stand for it. He walked over to Greg and pulled on his arm to stand up. When Greg said no, Donnie yanked on him, pulling him up to his feet. Greg was understandably irritated with Donnie’s refusal to listen, and told him to knock it off. Donnie, unable to understand when enough was enough, grabbed his jacket and tried pulling him up the mountain behind him. Greg shoved Donnie in the back, causing him to fall face-first into the fresh snow. Donnie got up and shoved Greg back. The two continued to shove each other back and forth, until Donnie punched Greg in the face and the two began wrestling. The commotion of the two cause snow to fly up from their feet, and their yells echoed against the surrounding rocks. Alex and I both got up to separate the two, but I lost my footing and fell hard. It took me a second to find my bearings and get back up, but when I did, I heard Bridgette's voice. It was a soft, shaky, whimper almost. “Guys, look,” she said. I turned my head towards the summit and saw something glide across the snow. “Guys, stop! Look,” Amy’s voice was more panicked than Bridgette’s, Donnie and Greg to brought their fight to a halt to join me looking up at the peak. A tsunami of enormous waves of white powder were rushing down the mountain side, quickly growing and multiplying as they picked up more and more snow. I was frozen. The image of the snow crashing into me and wrapping me in its wave jolted back into my brain. I heard Donnie and Greg get up and run back down the mountain, screaming for help, but I couldn’t move. I thought about my body falling backwards, the force of the wave crushing my spine as it threw me into the ground, my legs flying above my head, before whipping them back down again. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I thought of the snow clogging my throat, suffocating me under the cold, wet, blanket. Until I felt her grab my hand. I looked from the summit and saw Mable. She was scared, but not for herself. “Come on! We have to go,” she pleaded, pulling my arm towards her. The feeling in my legs returned, and we ran down the hill. I could hear the snow catching up to us. It tumbled and hit the ground, showering snow behind me. It kept growing louder and louder. I looked back, and the wave towered above us, casting a massive shadow on the ground. Then I heard it. Bridgette squeaked when she hit the ground. Thomas stopped and turned around, running back up the mountain after her. Mable stopped to check on them, but I overtook her and kept running. I couldn’t stop. One after another, the members of each group tripped, slipped, slowed, and fell. Ice-cold tears filled my eyes, and Mable screamed behind me. But I couldn’t stop. The cabin came into view as my feet pounded against the snow. I was waiting. Waiting for the snow to slip out from under me, waiting to feel the weight of Mable’s fallen body pull me down, waiting for the snow to crash into my legs. It felt like a dream. I just kept running as the sounds of each of my friends faded from my ears. I just ran. And ran. And ran. Until we were at the door. I ripped the door open, and pulled Mable in as hard as I could before slamming it shut behind her. She collapsed to the ground as the wave smashed into the side of the cabin, completely blocking out the light from outside. A black blanket replaced the sun as the snow showered feet above the ceiling. “What the fuck!” She screamed, wailing into her lap. I panted and gasped for breath, as I fell to the floor by the door. “Why didn’t you stop! Why did you leave them! What the fuck is wrong with you!?” She screamed at me. She stood up and started hitting me, but I didn’t try to defend myself. “What’s wrong with you, you fucking psycho!? I hate you!” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I still don’t know why I didn’t stop. Perhaps I knew it was pointless. Or maybe, I’m just a coward. I don’t know. She cried for a long time, and I was forced to listen to it all. It broke my heart. Her soft sobs were the only noise in the cabin. “It’s not your fault,” she finally said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I know that.” I didn’t say anything back. Would could I say? “I’m sorry for yelling at you like it was.” “It’s okay,” I said. “And I’m sorry for hitting you,” she said. “It’s okay.” We sat in silence for a while. I can’t say how long, since I haven’t seen the outside to tell time since we got in here. All I know is it was long enough for me to get off the floor and sit on the bed. “So now what do we do?” she asked. I looked at her, and she was scared. Her eyes were wide, and she stared at me, hoping I’d be able to tell her something to make her feel better. But all I said was, “I don’t know.” “Well there has to be something we can do! A radio or something we can use to call for help!” She jumped up and began rummaging through drawer after drawer, desperately looking for a beacon of hope. She pulled the drawers out, and dumped their contents on the floor, hoping for something. But there was nothing. “Help me look!” she yelled at me. I got up and joined in her search, lifting mattresses, opening cupboards, looking in chests. But there was nothing. “No there has to be something! There has to be!” she yelled out. She continued to tear through all the contents of the cabin, before throwing a drawer on the ground in frustration and dropping onto a bed opposite of me. “I’m sorry,” I said. She cried as she crawled under the blankets. The room was incredibly cold. My teeth clattered violently in my mouth, making them feel like they were going to fall out. I walked over to the fireplace, loaded it with tinder, and struck a match to light it. The fire blossomed to life and I sat in front of it. After a while, Mable shuffled over, wrapped in her blankets and plopped onto the floor beside me. We sat in front of the fire, trying to get warm, until we heard a sizzling coming from above the flames. We both saw the first drop of water roll down the back of the chimney before a mound of wet slush dropped onto the pile of wood, snuffing the life out of the fire. I stared at the dark fireplace, unable to react to our promise of doom. She stared, too. Probably because her tears had frozen in her cheeks and could no longer squeeze out of her eyes. She shivered more violently than before, so I grabbed all the loose blankets off the beds and wrapped them around her. “What about you?” She asked. “It’s alright,” I said. “No, it’s not,” she said. “Come here.” She lifted the blankets enough for me to squeeze next to her, and I wrapped it around myself. We sat there, staring at the soaked wood that was once our fire. She leaned her head against my shoulder, her pillow of curls pressed against my cheek. It was nice. Well, all things considered. The temperature in the room continued to drop as time rolled on, and my stomach began to growl. I ignored it for the most part. But it kept growling, louder and louder. When I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer she said, “I’m hungry.” “Me too.” I stood up to look through the mess of useless items on the floor. The only thing that could constitute as food was a lone can of vegetable stew. I returned to Mable to relay the good news. We sat at the table and opened the can, picking at the cold chunks of celery and carrots. “Mmm, gourmet,” she said. “Only the best,” I replied. She laughed for the first time in forever and looked up at me. “I hope we’re not here for long. I can’t be stuck with a dork like you forever,” she said. “You know what, I was just thinking the same thing,” I replied. “Whatever,” she laughed. We ate the rest of the soup, and returned to our beds. I shivered without a blanket, and she shivered with all of them. “You know,” I said, sitting up in the bed. “It would probably be less miserably cold if we huddled together under those blankets.” “Yeah, maybe,” she said. “Yeah,” I said. I laid back down, tucking my hands between my thighs to try and preserve the little heat left in them. “Fine, come over here,” she said. Normally, I’m not one to rush into someone’s bed at a reluctant offer, but this was an exception. I leaped out of my bed and crawled into hers, our bodies finally experiencing an extended period of warmth for the first time all day. We laid face to face, for the most part. It was more face, to hair. My arms wrapped around her puffy jacket, and I held her close to my body. Her shivering eased, but never truly went away. I closed my eyes, and began to doze off. Until a noise shot me awake. It was a sharp, faint noise, but unmistakable. I looked towards the lone window, facing the summit. A long crack had started from the top of the window, and was about halfway down it. “What was that?” She asked. “Nothing,” I said. “No I heard that, it wasn’t nothing.” She pushed herself from me and looked up to see the crack. “Please tell me that was there before.” The wood groaned under the pressure of the snow, and the crack grew slightly longer. She jumped out of the bed and ran to the window, tracing her finger against the crack. “It’s all the way inside,” she said. Her voice was tired. The bubbly warmness of it had chilled into a cold acceptance. “It’s okay, we’re going to be okay.” “No. I don’t think so,” she said, still staring at the crack. She looked at me, and this time, it was me that was crying. I’d run so fast from my friends, and for what? I abandoned all of them, only to end up here. Waiting for the crack to cover the window, and be swallowed by the same wave that had swallowed them. I guess I deserve it. She walked back over to the bed, crawled back under the covers, and looked at me. “It’s okay,” she said, placing a frozen hand on my cheek. “It’s okay.” And I cried. And cried. I cried until my throat burned, and my eyes had completely dried. Even then, I still cried. And all she said was, “It’s okay.” We both fell asleep there, holding each other. I woke up some time later to the groan of the cabin. Mable was still asleep, so I slowly slipped out of the bed and walked over to the window. The crack had grown and splintered tremendously during the time we had slept. I knew it wouldn’t hold up much longer, so I walked over to my bed, and retrieved the journal I had put under it when we first arrived at the cabin. And now, here we are. In the time it’s taken me to write this, the crack has spread across the entire window. There isn’t much time left. I’m sorry everyone. I think I’m going to get back in bed with Mable now. When it breaks I don’t want her to be alone. -Trenton Briggs, January 4th, 1992.