The Yeti: A Novel

by Rick Chesler

  Ian nodded and coughed into his fist. “Right then. Have a seat, Hitchens.”

  Chapter 21

  Zack took the seat across from Ian and let his eyes loll over the expedition leader. The living legend looked far more worn than he had when the pair first met at Rum Doodle in Kathmandu.

  He should, Zack thought. That was a lifetime ago.

  But in reality, he knew, it was less than two months, and again, he decided to forgo all mirrors until all this nonsense was done.

  “Feeling better, mate?” Ian’s voice was merely an echo of what it was in Thamel.

  “Much.”

  That was partly the truth. Zack’s body was as ravaged as a human body could get, his arms and legs just four great lengths of pain. His lungs felt as though they’d been punctured and stuffed with ash, and he knew they may never function the same. His throat burned as though filled with flames, his head pounded like a jackhammer. And his gut was but a temporary weigh station, like a quaint New England inn where food and drink could rest, before it was inevitably vomited back up.

  “Dr. Kapoor said you were fairly close to death,” Ian said. “If not for Blaisdell’s quick thinking you would never have survived.”

  Zack nodded but didn’t speak.

  “You’ve more than proven yourself, Hitchens. But I think maybe it’s time you threw in the towel. Forgo the summit push.”

  “Now?” Zack felt confused. “But I’m so close.”

  “Close?” Ian sat forward in his chair. “Hitchens, you’re at Base Camp at seventeen thousand, six hundred feet. You’re no closer to the summit of Everest than you were when we first arrived here from Lukla.”

  Zack shook his head, his own voice little more than a rasp. “I don’t mean close to the top.”

  Ian shrugged, perplexed. “Then what do you mean, mate?”

  Zack didn’t answer, didn’t feel he had to. Didn’t feel he owed Ian Furst any explanation at all.

  “Look, Hitchens,” Ian said, leaning back, “I’ve already lost one young man on the mountain this year. I don’t want to lose two. Truth is, I don’t think you have enough leg in you. And I don’t want to see you die on this bloody mountain.”

  Zack felt resolute. “I’ve still got a job to do.”

  Ian narrowed his eyes. “Your wife’s ashes? Your wife’s bloody ashes, is that what this is all about? For hell’s sake, Hitchens, I told you, Tashi will take your wife’s remains to the bloody summit.”

  Zack’s mind wandered back to Tengboche.

  “There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth,” the high lama said. “Not going all the way. And not starting.”

  Zack said to Ian, “I think I’ve got to do it.”

  Ian threw up his hands. “Right then,” he said. “Suit yourself.”

  Zack gathered what energy he had and pushed himself out of his chair.

  “Just one thing, Hitchens,” Ian said, rising too. “Tell me you’re not one of those American nutters who thinks his dead wife is up in the clouds about to watch him climb a mountain. You’re not going to waste your few precious moments on the summit winking up at the heavens, I hope. Because if you are, tell me now and I’ll save my Sherpas and guides the bother. And I’ll save myself a whole lot of needless worry.”

  Zack dug his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor of the tent. “It’s just like you said, Ian. I’m doing this for myself.”

  * * *

  Dustin lifted his chin and sniffed at the air like a wild animal. Fear had crept up his neck as he thought he picked up its scent. But it turned out to be noting. Nothing at all. Just something foul burning in the Base Camp mess tent.

  The first time Dustin had experienced the creature’s smell for himself was in Machhermo at dusk, as he and Wangchuk searched the forest near where Ang Tendu said he’d been resting. All day they’d been searching for tufts of hair, for fecal samples, for something Dustin could study, hoping to ultimately gain enough cumulative proof that there could be no further dispute of the yeti’s existence. Both men were exhausted and about to return to the hamlet when the smell snuck up on them like a thief in the night.

  Wangchuk dry heaved. Dustin actually puked.

  “What the hell is that?” Dustin said to himself, even though he thought he knew. His pulse raced with nervous excitement.

  They waited, but nothing.

  Darkness saw them return to the village for rest. When they woke the next morning, their host told them that a yak had gone missing, all except for some of its blood. No tracks were left behind but it appeared as though the carcass had been dragged into the forest.

  Dustin and Wangchuk set out, searching in earnest. Once they reached the forest, however, the trail ended; it was as though the beast simply vanished at the northern tree line.

  Still, they headed into the forest. Found nothing for hours. Not a single print or tuft of hair, not a sign of scat or a drop of blood. Even Dustin, after twenty-some years, was finally ready to give up.

  But in a small clearing, Wangchuk spotted what appeared to be a shallow grave.

  The sun would soon be dropping from the sky, so they worked with haste, digging the topsoil as quickly as they could without making a horrendous mess.

  When Dustin’s hand hit skin, he knew he’d found it. The yak that had been taken from Machhermo the previous night had been described to Dustin down to the last detail. And this was it.

  On his haunches Dustin rested and devised a strategy. Whatever it was, the beast was intelligent. Far too intelligent to be captured by one of the digital motion-detection cameras he’d set up throughout the forest. Too intelligent to leave behind any significant trace of its existence in the past ninety years. If Dustin was going to collect any real evidence while in the Himalayas, he needed to take a bold approach. He and Wangchuk needed to stake out the clearing themselves.

  They spent that night in the forest, Dustin with his late generation night vision monocular glued to his right eye and his gun at the ready. Ever since Sumatra, he’d been armed.

  But the monster didn’t show that night.

  Or the next.

  On the third, Dustin insisted they smear themselves in yak dung to disguise their scents. After an hour of arguing and the promise of a bonus, Wangchuk grudgingly slathered himself in bovine excrement.

  And so they staked out the clearing that night covered in shit.

  Dustin cackled as he thought about that night now.

  * * *

  The following day Zack stood among the others as they waited for Ian Furst to emerge from his tent. A nervous energy surrounded the climbers, and all things considered, they were in good spirits.

  The previous night they’d held a memorial service for their fallen comrade. This morning, at the insistence of Tashi, they’d held another puja ceremony. Now it appeared everyone was ready - even anxious - to climb.

  Tashi stood by Zack’s side. The head Sherpa had been in a much better mood since this morning’s blessing. Now he offered Zack a wide smile, the kind Zack remembered from the first days of their trek in the Khumbu.

  Zack finally couldn’t help but ask. “Tashi, what happened to all your teeth?”

  Tashi nodded solemnly. “Very, very bad fall,” he said. “Happen only couple months before you arrive.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zack said. In fact, now he felt bad that he’d asked. “You fell on this mountain?”

  Tashi shook his head, a serious look on his face. “On the front steps to my house. Happen when I very, very drunk on chaang.”

  When Zack looked up, Ian was standing before them, along with Patty the Base Camp manager and Dr. Kapoor. Ian’s tone was unusually quiet, as he didn’t want to attract attention from the other teams at Base Camp. As it was, no one else was in earshot.

  “Right then,” Ian said. “We just last night said goodbye to one of our mates, so I don’t need to remind you folks what’s at stake over these next several days.” He lowered his head and slightly raised hi
s voice. “But I will remind you all of a few simple rules that may save us all some grief.”

  As Ian spoke Zack watched the expressionless faces of the four other expedition members, their Sherpas and guides.

  “In a few days, each of you will reach the Death Zone,” Ian said. “As you all bloody well know, the Death Zone’s not just some clever moniker. None of you have acclimatized to the Death Zone for good reason - because none of you can. No human being can. That’s why it’s imperative that each of you spend as little time in the Death Zone as possible.

  “On summit day, you will leave Camp Four at the South Col sometime before midnight and reach the summit by noon, or turn back. No exceptions.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “I don’t have to tell you that it’ll be bloody cold high on the mountain. At the summit, you may face temperatures as low as minus forty degrees. As Aasif explained to you when you first arrived at Base Camp, the cold can cripple you in a good many ways, one of which is frostbite. Remember, there’s a different set of rules at high elevation. At sea level, you lose a glove, you buy a new pair. Up high on Everest, you lose a glove and can’t get to your backup pair straight away, you lose a hand.”

  Dr. Kapoor stepped forward and addressed the group. “Each of you need to be aware of the signs and symptoms and progressive stages of hypothermia, and how to treat it, whether mild or severe. Mild hypothermia starts with a sensation of chilliness and skin numbness; minor impairment of muscular functions; shivering. As it progresses, you’ll experience more obvious incoordination and weakness; stumbling; mild confusion and apathy. You may stumble or fall. Eventually, your incoordination will grow worse; your mind will feel sluggish; you’ll experience difficulties with speech and thought.

  “Once your hypothermia becomes severe, you’ll stop shivering. You’ll be unable to walk or stand. You’ll be incoherent, confused. Acting irrational. Eventually, your muscles will become rigid. Your pupils will dilate. Your heartbeat and respirations may appear to an outside observer to have ceased. In other words, to potential rescuers, you may well appear dead. Once you’ve lost consciousness, it’s really just a matter of time, especially here on the mountain. Ultimately, your heart will simply cease to beat.”

  Kapoor glanced over at Ian and continued. “Be sure to look for signs of hypothermia in your fellow climbers, because it’s unlikely they’ll recognize the signs in themselves. One clear sign that severe hypothermia has set in is if it appears one of your fellow climbers has completely forgotten about the cold. You may see someone’s climbing suit unzipped. You may see someone without their gloves or cap. A severely hypothermic individual can develop a sensation of extreme warmth, and may even begin to remove his clothes. If an individual is acting irrational, he or she may be hypothermic or hypoxic. Either way, you must notify the nearest Sherpa or guide, and call down to Base Camp immediately. Either way, that climber must be brought down the mountain quickly—but still safely--if he or she is to survive.”

  Ian stepped forward as Kapoor stepped aside. “Which brings us to snow blindness. You can’t bloody well climb down a mountain if you can’t see. And you can’t bloody well see if you expose your eyes to the sun at twenty-nine thousand feet. So wear your glacier goggles at all times. Never take them off. If you do, it won’t be long before your eyelids begin to swell. You’ll feel as though you’ve taken a handful of sand to the face. In hours you may be stricken completely blind. Oh, sure, your eyes will heal in a few days. But if you can’t get down the bloody mountain, a few days will be too late.”

  Ian and Kapoor went on to speak for another forty minutes. And as they did, Zack wondered what was going through Dustin and Francesca’s minds. He wondered if they were as strangely unafraid as he was. If, unlike him, they cared whether or not they came back down the mountain alive.

  * * *

  Going through Dustin’s mind was the fact that his and Wangchuk’s night covered in shit had paid off.

  It was nearing dawn that third night and Dustin was already preparing for a fourth when he and Wangchuk first heard rustling in the foliage. Dustin’s eyes widened even as he steeled himself for disappointment, for the sighting of a wayward teenage Sherpa, a large bird, or worse, a fucking bear.

  He fought off his pessimism, reasoning they hadn’t smelled that vile stench of the other night because he and Wangchuk were both dressed in a thick layer of dung. He kept the night vision monocular at his eye and watched breathlessly the surreal world of green it presented.

  Minutes after the rustling it seemed nothing would enter Dustin’s line of vision.

  But then a mass of low-hanging branches parted.

  A pair of large, human-like eyes glowed for an instant then disappeared behind a mess of long dark hair.

  Something emerged.

  Dustin pushed the panic aside and watched as the beast moved cautiously toward the grave. The creature was immense. At least ten feet tall by Dustin’s estimation, probably tipping the scale between eight hundred and a thousand pounds.

  Dustin managed a breath. The monster was male; no question of that. So sickly male that Dustin couldn’t help but recall some of the horrific stories he’d heard, tales of young Sherpa women being abducted, of mutilation and rape.

  In the brutally cold air, Dustin simultaneously sweat and shivered, as though he suffered some high fever.

  Meanwhile, the yeti carefully dug the yak’s grave, lifting the dirt with its bare hands and setting it down neatly beside the hole. It worked much like Dustin and Wangchuk had to discover it.

  When the beast lifted the yak’s carcass from the grave it did so gracefully.

  Then, to Dustin’s astonishment, the yeti went to work refilling the hole.

  Once the hole was refilled, the yeti grabbed hold of the yak’s legs and dragged it out into the open. It then hefted the carcass on its broad shoulders and disappeared into the trees.

  Dustin didn’t dare follow.

  Instead he and Wangchuk waited for dawn, then trailed the yeti’s tracks through the forest.

  * * *

  The next night, as Team One rested uneasily at Camp One, Zack enjoyed the best sleep he’d had in weeks. He dreamt that Nadia was waiting for him at the summit when he arrived. She hadn’t died in a terrible car accident; she’d been waiting for him at twenty-nine thousand thirty-five feet all along.

  She was glad he’d climbed. Proud that he gave up the chance to go home to keep his eye on Dustin and Francesca, who had conspired to save his life. She called him brave. Said she always knew he had it in him and that’s why she had to pull the ol’ “I-died-in-a-terrible-car-accident” charade.

  After several blissful hours on the summit, he and Nadia then descended Everest together in record time. They made love in a tent at Base Camp, then trekked all the way back to Lukla in a single day. There they boarded a single-engine craft to Kathmandu. At Tribhuvan Airport, as they waited in line to check their luggage, Nadia told him she wasn’t quite ready to return home.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because there is so much else to do.”

  That was good enough reason for Zack. He took out his wallet, removed Nadia’s picture, handed it to a ticket agent and asked to book two seats on the next flight to Kopanang.

  “Why Thailand?” Nadia asked him, as a bright big smile crossed her face.

  Zack turned to her. “Because it’s there, silly girl,” he said. “Why else?”

  PART III

  The Mission

  Chapter 22

  Four days later Zack awoke at Camp III on the Lhotse Face feeling oddly refreshed, having spent the bulk of the previous night on bottled oxygen. Today Team One would be making their play for the summit, while his team, Team Two, would be making their first foray on the South Col.

  Zack glanced at his watch. In fact, Team One should already be well on their way to the roof of the world, as they were scheduled to leave their camp at South Col sometime before midnight, so that they could summit by midday and be sa
fely back at camp before dark.

  Zack straightened his kata. He strapped on his crampons and exited his tent to find his new tentmate Tashi staring blankly up at the Southeast Ridge.

  Before he could say a word to the Sherpa, Zack heard Dustin’s booming voice call out.

  “Ready to rock and roll?”

  Zack gave a thumbs-up, turning just as Francesca came into view with Skinner, clinging to her shadow as usual

  “Then let’s do it,” Dustin said. “Let’s not keep the good lady waiting any longer than we have to.”

  Zack nodded then retreated into his tent to gather his equipment. He was glad to see Dustin in good spirits again. Zack’s friend seemed to be on an emotional rollercoaster ever since they’d started their assault on the summit four days before.

  For one thing, Dustin didn’t like that he had to continue bunking with Skinner, and he liked even less when Skinner berated him for wandering off again their first night at Camp I. In fact, Dustin and Skinner came pretty damned close to blows. Had Zack not intervened there was no question they’d have stayed at each other’s throats until one man - likely Dustin - was forced to descend.

  As it were, Skinner didn’t report the incident to Ian down at Base Camp and the next day the team spent a very quiet day trekking up the Western Cwm.

  This was followed by another quiet night at Advance Base Camp.

  Not until yesterday, when they started up the Lhotse Face, did the unbridled excitement Dustin displayed the first day on the Khumbu Icefall return.

  Now, as the sun lit up the sky, they continued their slow ascent via the single fixed line up the Lhotse Face.

  Zack actually felt pretty damn good. In fact, breathing in bottled gas for the first time while climbing, Zack wondered whether, when all this was done, he might not want to take a stab at the other six of the Seven Summits.