Free Buried Alive! by Gloria Skurzynski

the snow, couldn’t allow himself to feel his own terror. He tried to move his hands—one was encased in snow over his head, the other, his right, still covered his face. He pushed it away from his eyes, moving it a few inches. This was crazy. There was no way to know which direction was up.
    â€œHelp,” he whispered. The sound was muffled in his own ears. Opening his lids, he saw nothing but gray-white, felt nothing but deep cold. Which way was up? What had happened to Ashley? Think! He commanded himself. Remember.
    At a winter camp out for Eagle Scouts, he’d learned about how to survive an avalanche. Spit! That was it. In order to know which way was up, a person caught in an avalanche needed to spit and follow gravity. Pushing as much snow from his face as he could, Jack sucked against his tongue. When he let the saliva go, it dropped from his lips straight into the snow. OK, he told himself. Gravity says the earth is straight down. He pictured it in his mind, and realized that he was stretched out horizontally, as if he were flying over the earth like Superman. The air was above him. If he’d gone the way his instincts had told him, he would have tunneled himself straight ahead and smothered.
    With all his strength, Jack pushed his right hand as far above him as he could reach. Clawing with his left, he tried to kick his feet. Up. He had to get up. Once again, he drove his hand up as far as he could, wrenching his body toward the sky. The wall of snow could have buried him ten feet under. If it had, he would die here. No! Keep pushing! He’d already propelled past his air pocket and snow was filling his mouth, blinding his eyes. He made another air pocket, stopped, caught his breath. Fear seized him. He could die here. No, he told himself. The biggest part of survival is mental. Don’t panic—stay focused. Push, kick, move. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt his fingers break free, and then he felt a hard yank that practically pulled his arm out of its socket. He sucked in a huge gulp of frozen air.
    â€œJack!” he heard his sister scream. “Jack! Hold on!”
    Snow was clawed away from his head, and then Nicky clamped his hands under Jack’s armpits and jerked him free from his tomb. His legs buckled beneath him. Jack rolled onto his back and took three long swallows of air, sweet and knife-sharp in his lungs. He felt Ashley’s fingers on his face brushing the snow from his eyes.
    In the background he heard the dogs barking wildly.
    â€œAshley—”
    â€œI’m right here. Nicky pulled you free. We’re all OK.”
    â€œThe dogs—”
    â€œWe think Chaz got caught in the avalanche,” Nicky said. “Serves him right.”
    â€œNo—I mean the dogs and the loud barking and the gunshot. I should’ve remembered sooner. Sound triggers an avalanche. I should have made us move. Should have made us. Are you sure you guys are OK?” Jack croaked.
    â€œWe’re banged up, but man, we made it,” Nicky answered, brushing snow from his hair.
    â€œWhat about you, Jack?” Ashley asked. Her voice quavered.
    â€œI feel like I’ve been in a rock tumbler.” Gingerly, he moved to a sitting position, testing his limbs. Snow had been packed into every crevice, down his neck and into his boots. He was already freezing. “Whoa, my head is scrambled,” he moaned. Taking off his glove, he began pulling chunks of snow from his collar.
    â€œI did what you said, Jack. I tried to swim—but—” Ashley’s face suddenly contorted, and she began to cry great, heaving sobs. “I—didn’t—know where you were and—”
    â€œDon’t cry, Ashley,” Jack told her. “I’m serious. You’ll need the energy.”
    Every inch of Ashley was covered with white, as though she’d been rolled in dough. Her knit cap was gone, as well as one glove, but she was