by R Arundel
“This is the smiling man,” says Larry.
Sarah says, “That means we’re almost there.”
“Another hour tops,” agrees Larry.
The weather has improved. Visibility is clear. At various points Larry takes out his compass to make sure they are on the correct path. They are no longer roped up and there are no crevasses. The gradual downhill walk is invigorating. Matthew was at first worried that they lost the map, but Larry is navigating from his memory with no problem. As long as Larry is around, they are safe.
Matthew looks up at the deep blue sky. With the mountain range in the background, it looks like a post card. The pure white snow contrasting with the blue sky; the sunlight reflecting off the smooth ice formations.
They smell the cabin before they see it. It has the pleasant smell of firewood burning in a wood stove. They all want to get inside and warm up. They smile and quicken the pace.
The cabin is thirty by thirty square feet. It has a large door and two rectangular windows on either side. It is built well, solid timber construction, but a basic rustic cabin. They move closer and see all is not well. The cabin has been set on fire. The smell is the smoldering ash of the wood as it hangs sweet in the air. The structure still stands, but the interior is partly burned out.
Matthew enters the front door into one large room. Sarah comes in behind and begins looking at the burned books and scattered papers on the bookshelf. Someone was looking for something. The contents of the desk have been scattered. Larry takes his backpack off. He takes a long drink of water and begins to get some food out. He seems completely uninterested in the partially charred cabin and the disheveled contents.
Most of the contents of the room have been destroyed. Everything smells burned.
Matthew walks through the cabin and out the back door. There is a large generator and sophisticated telecommunications equipment. Matthew continues walking to a sled near a large rock of ice. Slumped over is a man. The man is sitting in the sled about to go. The hood of the heavy white parka he is wearing covers his entire head. Two neat little holes. Matthew pulls the parka hood back. Michael stares back at him, his piercing gaze no different than when he was living.
Michael was shot at close range, back of the head. Exit wounds through the forehead. No defensive wounds. He didn’t see it coming. Matthew knew Michael. He was intelligent, a mathematician before going into surgery. He was a bit of an egomaniac, and he had some impulsive tendencies. For all his failings, he was a fundamentally decent person.
Matthew is sad. Michael had clearly lost his way and paid with his life. Kevin was right. Michael was the puppet, not the puppet master. Near the end Michael had to know this was how he was going to end up. He saw and most likely worked closely with the mastermind.
Matthew looks around. There is nothing unusual. Michael’s backpack is lying on its side. It has been searched. Some of the contents lay scattered on the ground. Matthew empties the rest of the contents out. He examines each item carefully. He meticulously goes through each pocket and unzips all pouches. Matthew picks up a package and smiles. He examines the contents slowly. It first appears all is normal. A cardboard box labeled freeze-dried bean soup. He shakes the package; he can hear the beans.
Michael had G6PD deficiency. He didn’t have the enzyme that allows red blood cells to work efficiently. Michael kept this from many people. Matthew only found out by chance. At a conference they were out late at night. They stopped for some food, and by mistake Michael almost ordered a bean salad. Even in the drunken state they were in, Michael asked about the beans. The street vendor had no idea what fava beans were. It was a prepackaged salad. Michael carefully read the label. First ingredient: fava beans. They would trigger a fatal reaction. He had a jumbo hot dog instead.
Michael always brought his lunch to work, so he could be sure what he was eating. Michael would never bring freeze-dried beans on a climb. Matthew turns the package to read the ingredient label. This is the clue Michael left. The first ingredient: fava beans.
Matthew gently opens the package. The beans fall out. A small folded piece of paper is also inside. Matthew takes out the neatly handwritten document. The document puts the pieces of the puzzle together. It is painful to read, but he knows it is true.
There is a lot to digest; he will reread it many times later in private. Matthew is always bothered by the fact that someone seems to be just one step ahead. Always knows their next move. Now he has his answer. The truth is, Matthew has already pieced it together, repeatedly going over all the events beginning the night he was forced to do the transplant. Only one person could have done this Michael’s letter confirms what he already knows.
He puts the document in his backpack and looks inside the package. Circled on the inside of the box is a handwritten word:
This is obviously an important code word. It is not explained in the documents. He has a lot to think about. Matthew puts the box in his backpack. Matthew walks back to the others.
“The place was carefully searched, then torched,” says Sarah.
“Michael is out back. Dead.”
“So we were right, he was involved.” Sarah arranges the papers on the desk.
“Involved, but not the ringleader.”
“How many more people can this person kill? The team must realize that no one’s going to be left alive who can identify the boss,” says Sarah.
“At this stage the players have no options—they are in too deep. We need to get back as soon as possible.”
“Did you find anything?”
“No, I searched the body, but someone had already done it. There was nothing.”
Larry munches on an energy bar. “We need to rest. Tomorrow we descend. We need all our strength, and more importantly, we need our mental energy.”
“Agreed, there is nothing more that can be done today. We’ve earned some rest.”
They all pass the rest of the day relaxing. The cabin provides shelter and is warm. They strip down to their base layer of clothing and enjoy a peaceful day.
Matthew, Sarah, and Larry stand drinking tea and watch the sun set. It is an orange ball backlighting the other mountains in the Himalayas. Each silently takes in the beauty. When the sun finally sets, they wonder where the day has gone.
Larry lights a campfire. It is nice to get out in the night air. There is a real sense of euphoria. They made it. Larry brings out a little copper pot.
Sarah says, “Your backpack seems to be the magical purse. I don’t know what you’re going to pull out next.”
“Get ready for the best meal of your life,” says Larry, twirling the pot by the handle.
Sarah, “Unless there are waiters and a white tablecloth, I don’t think so.”
“Just wait.”
Larry has some vegetables and chicken in his backpack. The extremely cold temperatures have kept them fresh. He melts ice and puts the food into the pot. He cuts up the chicken into large chunks. He has a little packet of seasoning which he sprinkles into the pot. Larry adjusts the height of the pot over the fire so the pot cooks at a low, even heat.
“Storytime,” says Larry.
They sit for hours listening to Larry tell stories while the stew slow cooks. He is an experienced mountaineer and enjoys entertaining groups of hikers. It comes naturally to him. Larry tells countless stories of growing up in Texas and college life. The stories keep coming, one after the next, each more outrageous and funny. Matthew and Sarah laugh nonstop.
They forget everything else for the time. As the night grows around them, they feel an incredible bond. The moonless night sets the mood. They are coddled by the blackness. The fire crackling, the smell of the stew being cooked, the stars shimmering in the sky. Time seems to stop for them. It is only these three people. Larry tells his final story. They all stare into the fire.
“Get ready for your best meal ever.” Larry ladles out large servings of the stew.
Larry is true to his word. Matthew cannot remember a better mea
l. The chunks of chicken are savory and well-seasoned. The carrots and vegetables are soft and flavorful. They have been eating freeze-dried food for a long time.
“I have had many a fine meal in some of the best restaurants in the world,” says Sarah, “but this is the finest meal of my life.”
Sarah raises her glass of sparkling apple cider.
Matthew says, “Here, here. To the finest chef on the planet.”
Larry looks up, and with his glass in hand, makes a sweeping gesture to the stars. “No, the finest chef in the universe.”
Matthew laughs. “I stand corrected, to the finest chef in the universe . . . of all time . . . Larry.”
Sarah and Matthew cheer. They gobble down the chicken stew. When the pot is empty they all look in, hoping more stew will appear. After dinner they go into the cabin. Dessert is tea, raisins, and some dark chocolate. They play cards and drink tea well into the night.
Chapter Forty
The next morning Larry is up early. He looks out the window at Karakatura, thinking about the descent. Larry puts on his breathable pants and shirt over his base layer. He slides on his backpack and makes some adjustments to balance the weight on his back. He puts it carefully by the door. Then he cooks on the kitchen stove. It still works perfectly. Larry makes French toast with thick slices of bread. The cabin has an outdoor “cold area” filled with frozen bread. He gives them each some energy bark. Despite the festive mood of last night, Larry is very serious. Matthew is worried something has happened. Matthew is also anxious to get off the mountain.
“Anything wrong?” says Matthew.
“No, I always get this way before a descent.”
“How’s the weather?”
“Weather’s coming in, and we need to get out ahead of it. It can change at the drop of a hat.
Sarah takes a piece of French toast out of the pan. “So how do we get off this mountain?”
“The route down is not that difficult.” Larry points to a hill in the distance. “We climb that hill. That is where we worry about weather. It is snowy and we could get the misting we had earlier. It’s cold. After that, we cross the base of a steep ridge. Avalanche country. We want to get there before the sun warms the snow. We have to cross it quick because we don’t want the snow coming down on us. After that it’s a relatively easy hike back to town.”
“Any technical climbs?” says Sarah.
“No, this is just a test of endurance. It’s a long way back to get you to your extraction point. Just don’t get careless.”
“Do we need to rope up?”
“No, there are no crevasses to speak of.”
Matthew says, “We need to do one thing before we leave.”
They spend an hour gathering rocks and making a grave for Michael. The ground is too hard to dig.
Matthew says, “He was a good man.”
Sarah stares at him. “He was working for a sociopathic killer.”
Matthew says, “He made a mistake. Isn’t life about second chances? He won’t get one.”
Reading the notes he had found last night convinced Matthew that Michael was a good man. He knew what he had done would cost him his life, and he wanted to undo some of what he had set in motion if possible. Matthew would tell Michael’s wife and four children he died on the mountain. A climbing accident trying to retrieve the body of his friend George H. Brown. Michael died trying to help others. That is the truth.
They bury Michael beside a small jagged outcropping of ice and rock. They mark the grave with three large stones.
Larry says, “We need to leave now. Weather’s coming in.” He puts his altimeter in his pocket and looks far to the east. They can all see the dark clouds menacing, moving quickly toward them. Larry sets a brisk pace.
Sarah looks over to Matthew, and he smiles. Sarah smiles back. Her feet feel warm in her boots, but her face is very cold. There are no crevasses, so they can walk alongside each other. No need to walk single file as they did for much of the trip.
The miles pass with light conversation. They stop for water and put on their helmets.
Despite the blistering pace, they cannot outrun the weather.
Sarah says, “It’s so flat here.”
“We have a stretch of it—stay alert,” says Larry.
The mist returns and the snow falls heavily. The sky, which had initially been clear blue with a few clouds, is now monochromatic gray. It blends well with the landscape. They cannot make out the mountain range. It is not clear where the mountain ends and the sky starts.
Larry says, “Single file.”
He looks at his watch and keeps the pace fast. The snow picks up. The familiar howl of the wind starts. Larry does not let them sit for the break.
“Just drink a little water and then we go. Lean over, have a piece of chocolate.”
Larry gives them each a generous chunk of dark chocolate.
They keep walking and slowly realize they are on a gentle descent. At this point tiredness is a blanket covering Matthew’s head. He is not thinking; he does not even remember how he got to this point. He just wants to sit and rest. Get a little nap; even just close his eyes for ten minutes. Matthew looks at his watch. The temperature is minus five degrees Fahrenheit. Matthew realizes his face is numb. It feels like the transplanted face.
Slowly Sarah begins to lose feeling in her toes, then her feet. Larry pushes the pace. Visibility has decreased from thirty feet to two feet. Matthew has the urge to just sit in the snow and rest.
“We stop here. We’ll make a snow trench,” says Larry.
Matthew sits. “I was so worried when we lost the map that if something happened to you, Larry, we would be in big trouble without that map. Now I realize, even if we had the map, Sarah and I can’t get out of here.”
“If something happens just take this compass, and keep moving down and south.”
Matthew says, “I’ll just rest. You guys start.”
“No.” Larry pulls Matthew to his feet.
The three of them begin to collect snow. Larry picks an area with solid rock that has a little bit of a curve to make the snow wall. They begin to pack snow and create the wall. Larry uses his ax to cut ice blocks. Sarah and Matthew keep gathering snow. The wall slowly takes shape.
Matthew and Sarah move at a snail’s pace. Larry is a beehive of activity. He goes back and forth, building a wall of snow to protect them from the howling wind. At first it looks like nothing, just some snow. After an hour they are able to build a six-foot wall. It stops the wind so that Larry can start a fire.
Matthew is frozen. With the fire, feeling returns to his face. The fog lifts from his mind. As his hands warm up, they burn. This is a good sign; he has not lost any fingers to frostbite. They all fall into a deep sleep.
Larry gets them up after what seems like a very short time. In reality, they have been napping for three hours. In that time the snow has piled up all around them to about eight feet.
“We have to leave now. Any more delay and the snow will bury us.”
The wind and snow increase in fury. They just follow Larry’s lead. Visibility is near zero and they are not sure how Larry knows which way to go. Step after step the monotony builds. With the low visibility, it seems they are not making any progress, just step after step in the same place.
The conditions clear in the space of a few hours. The wind stops, the sky clears, and once again they are on a beautiful mountain. Peaceful, calm, with no hint of the fury unleashed such a short time before. Visibility is back to normal. It is still very cold, but the sun has come out. They can feel warm rays on their face.
Matthew leads the group, and they walk freely. Finally, they pitch a tent. They have a restful sleep before they begin again in the morning.
***
The next morning they get an early start. They want to avoid the sun melting the snow. It starts off with the usual energetic walk, but as time passes, the pace slows. They are all very tired. The entire climb is taking its collective t
oll. Matthew, Sarah, and Larry tire much more quickly than they did in the first few days of the climb.
“We’re almost off the mountain,” says Larry.
Larry is ill at ease. Matthew and Sarah can hear it in his voice. He keeps pushing them to move. They walk quickly for a few steps and then slow. They repeat this pattern, using the technique Larry had taught them at base camp for when they were too tired to continue but could not afford the time to rest.
The mountain is a beast. They feel its presence with every step, and sun seems to make the mountain radiant. They cross the base of a large slope and hear a sharp crack. Larry, Sarah, and Matthew look up. A massive sheet of snow is coming down. It looks like a white sheet flowing, almost like water. Although it is moving very quickly, it seems to be sliding in slow motion. They hear a low menacing hum, slowly increasing in intensity.
“Run,” says Larry.
They have already started sprinting to safety before Larry’s command. Matthew looks at the white sheet moving toward him. He knows he will not make it. He keeps moving, hoping he will not be buried. Matthew can see Sarah ahead of him; she is the fastest runner. Good, she will live. Matthew can see she will be well clear of the avalanche. As the snow closes in on him, he hears the noise. The slab of snow makes a deafeningly loud humming sounds as it moves closer. Matthew changes his course and moves slightly downhill to see if he can outrun the snow.
When the snow hits him, it is like a punch. The force of the snow knocks him off his feet. He tries to keep his hands in front of his face and stay upright. He does not lose consciousness. He is buried in an instant.
It is dark and it is silent. He can smell the snow—the snow that has brought him to his knees. Control your breathing, he thinks when he realizes he is hyperventilating. With great effort he lowers his hands to cover his mouth and nose. He is running out of air. Matthew feels himself fading. His hearing seems to decrease and then dim. His mind is fuzzy and then he just ceases.