Free Danger Guys on Ice by Tony Abbott Page B

—I couldn’t. My mouth was full of snow, and I was buried headfirst in a deep drift, a mess of skis and poles and arms and legs.
    â€œI’m smushed!” I cried, yanking my head out.
    But, as Zeek would say, that was the good news.
    The bad news was—no Zeek.
    His skis were resting on the snow close by, but he wasn’t in them.
    I pulled myself together, stood up in my skis on a little mound of snow, and looked all around. There wasn’t anyone in sight. “Zeekie!” I yelled.
    â€œMaa-rrrrmmmf!” came the answer.
    I looked down. There was a little pink mouth sticking out between my skis.
    â€œMaa-rrrrmmmf!” it said again.
    â€œZeek!” I stepped off the mound and started digging around the mouth. A minute later Zeek burst out of the snow.
    â€œWha-wha-what happened?” he cried.
    â€œWe fell,” I said. “About fifty feet. From there.” I pointed up at the lift. “I knew it would break, I just knew it!”
    â€œHey!” Zeek shouted. “My skis!”
    I whirled around. His skis were starting to slide across the snow down toward the lodge.
    â€œI’ll get them,” I cried. I dug my poles deep into the snow. I leaped forward. My style was terrific.
    Umph! My skis didn’t move. I fell on my face.
    â€œSki, Noodle! Ski!” Zeek yelled.
    I tugged and tugged at my legs. They didn’t budge. It was like I was glued to the snow.
    Meanwhile Zeek’s skis were zooming downhill as though an invisible skier was wearing them. They were really flying.
    I tried to lift my legs again. “Aren’t skis supposed to slide ?” Finally, one ski pulled loose. Big clumps of snow were stuck to the bottom.
    â€œYou need to wax them up,” said Zeek in a kind of flat voice. “See mine?” He pointed to his skis, just vanishing over a distant ridge. “Mine are waxed great.”
    â€œOh,” I said. “I guess my dad did say something about wax , but I thought he said snacks , so I grabbed an ice cream bar.” I laughed a little.
    Zeek didn’t think it was too funny.
    Then I had an idea. “Hey, since my skis don’t slide too well, maybe we can make a signal.”
    I took off my skis and formed an X in the snow with them. “This way, anybody looking for us will see them. My dad will be so proud I used his skis.”
    â€œYeah,” said Zeek, still staring at the spot where his own skis had disappeared. “That’s the main thing. Come on, let’s go.”
    I took a step. SLUP! My right foot, with just a sock on it, plunged deep into the snow.
    â€œMy boot got untied in the fall,” I said, shivering. Zeek rolled his eyes while I pulled the boot from the snow, stuck my wet foot back in, and retied the laces.
    We slowly started down the mountain, but we stopped at the top of a high ridge.
    I looked over it. “The good news is, we can see the lodge.”
    Zeek nodded. “The bad news is, we can’t get there from here.”
    He was right. Just below the ridge a deep chasm ran like a gash across the mountain. It was total ice all the way down, and so deep we couldn’t see the bottom.
    â€œI guess the snow buried the sign,” Zeek said.
    â€œWhat sign?”
    â€œThe one that says ‘Pit of Death—This Way.’”
    â€œVery funny,” I said. “Let’s hit the trail.”
    Zeek looked around and frowned. “What trail?”
    I smiled. “The one you’re going to make and I’m going to follow.”
    â€œOh,” he said. “That trail.”
    We started back up around the ravine. It took us a long time, plowing through the deep snow. An icy wind bit into our faces.
    â€œIt’s getting colder,” Zeek said.
    â€œAt least it’s not snowing.”
    That instant, a tiny snowflake fluttered down and landed on the tip of my nose.
    â€œNever mind,” I said.
    Two minutes later we were in the fiercest