The Yeti: A Novel

by Rick Chesler

  “Hitchens, this is Furst.” Ian’s voice sounded as though someone had his hands wrapped around his throat. “Where in the bloody hell are you, son?”

  Zack puffed a few breaths of oxygen then removed his mask. “At the summit. “Kneeling next to a picture of you and Marvin Combs.”

  Silence. A long silence, as Zack held the walkie to his ear and listened, waiting for some sort of response.

  Finally Ian rasped, “I had Ruiz leave those pictures up there for you. I’m sorry, mate. Sorry we deceived you. Marvin was only trying to help you the way I helped him. We never dreamed it would come to this.”

  Zack hesitated, slowly lowered the radio to his lips, now staring up in fear at the coming storm.

  “But it did.”

  * * *

  “But it did.”

  These were the last words Hitchens uttered before the connection went dead. The last words Ian heard before he clutched at his chest, the pain finally too much to bear.

  Like a lifeless gelatinous substance, Ian slid from his chair.

  The nausea struck him just as he struck the ground and he vomited onto Aasif’s boots. Ian couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Was suddenly overcome by weakness, by some insufferable heat. By a strange coldness in each of his extremities.

  Bloody hell, Ian thought, as Aasif and Patty turned him on his side, as Aasif tore open Ian’s parka and shirt, as Patty choked back tears and assured him again and again that everything would be all right.

  I can’t bloody well believe it, Ian mused, wishing only that he could see the sky. The fucking mountain’s going to kill me after all.

  * * *

  The radio fell from Zack’s hand, and he twisted his neck. Tuned his ears to the horrendous shriek, the pained howl that seemed to emanate from just below.

  He still couldn’t move his right hand. He managed to cover it with his glove, but still couldn’t wriggle his fingers.

  “It’s coming,” Tashi said.

  Zack rose to his feet, his gaze shifting to Francesca.

  “We must hurry,” she said.

  Zack turned to find Dustin standing at the northern edge, his glare fixed on the Tibetan Plateau. Dustin slowly rotated his head and directed his gaze toward the others but said nothing. “You must leave it,” Francesca shouted at Dustin. “It is our only chance to get down alive.” Zack was utterly confused. And for once it wasn’t due to the lack of oxygen.

  From behind his mask, Zack shouted, “What? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Dustin said, turning to face him. “There’s no time for questions, Zack. We have to descend from the north side.”

  “The north?” But the Tibetan side was closed. Which meant no fixed ropes, no radio support. Nothing but snow and ice, crevasses, avalanches, ferocious winds and thin air. Zack shook his head, his mind churning with the movement. “We can’t. We’ll all die.”

  Another shriek, another howl. A hint now of that objectionable smell.

  Francesca stepped toward Zack. “We will die here. We have no other options.”

  Zack glanced at Tashi, but the Sherpa remained silent behind his oxygen mask, his naked eyes squinting against the blinding rays of the sun.

  “Tashi and I are going down the south side as planned.” Zack moved toward the edge.

  Francesca grabbed hold of him, just as he had grabbed hold of her in Kathmandu. “You cannot. It is coming for us. And it will not stop until each of us is dead.”

  Zack pulled his arm back, trying to comprehend. “It? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Francesca turned to Dustin, her voice peculiarly insistent.

  “Show him what is in your rucksack.” She lifted her ice ax in what Zack perceived to be a threatening manner. “And do it now.”

  * * *

  Ian lay on his back, retching into a mask. Between hacks he tried to suck in a few breaths of oxygen. Barely, as though his ears were emerged in water, he heard Patty radioing for a rescue, begging for a helicopter and to hell with the fucking storm.

  And then it was Aasif, saying this and that and something about nitroglycerin, about how it’s been ineffective, about how they needed to evacuate Ian and now.

  Fucking doctors, Ian thought. Bloody alarmists they all were. Just lay your fucking hands off me and let me die.

  Now Aasif was leaning over him, shouting, beating on his bloody chest.

  All this bloody fuss, Ian thought. For what?

  He glanced over at Patty, smiled briefly, or at least intended to smile, his face no doubt contorting into some bloody mask of horror. “No worries,” he muttered to her, before closing his eyes.

  So fucking tired, Ian thought, as he drifted into sleep. So dead fucking tired.

  * * *

  Before Zack could grasp what was happening, Dustin threw his rucksack down in the snow. Then he knelt before it, staring contemptuously up at Francesca all the while.

  “Open it,” she demanded.

  Open it he did. He lifted from it a large black non-porous bag, the kind of bag used for human corpses. Only whatever was in this bag, Zack knew, was far smaller than the body of any human being.

  Except maybe...

  Zack’s throat constricted; he struggled again for breaths.

  Except maybe that of an infant.

  PART IV

  The Monster

  Chapter 31

  Dustin knew he was running out of oxygen. Heard the shrieks and whistles rising up the Southeast Ridge and knew he was running out of time. There was no use in arguing; not here, not now. So he did just as Francesca said. Glaring at her from behind his glacier goggles, he tossed his rucksack down in front of him. Then slowly he lowered himself on one knee in the snow.

  “Open it,” she said again, her gloved fingers tightening around the handle of her ice ax.

  He needed her, Dustin told himself as an image of the gun stashed in his rucksack flashed in his mind. Needed her and Zack and Tashi. Because he’d never make it down the mountain alone. Especially not down the north side, with no fixed ropes or radio support. Not with that brutal storm closing in.

  And certainly not with that fucking monster on his tail.

  Dustin had successfully fled from the yeti once. Chances were it wouldn’t happen again.

  In December he’d been sprinting toward the mouth of the cave with the infant’s dead body in his arms when he heard the familiar whistle. He lowered his head and broke into the night just as the yeti’s rancid scent hit him full force in the face.

  Outside the cave at Kala Pattar, fear pulsed through Dustin as it never had before, not even in Sumatra. Shivering, he stood still, listening for the direction of the yeti’s cry.

  When the cry came from the south, Dustin turned to the north, forgoing all thought of Wangchuk. He scrambled through the darkness over the treacherous terrain of the Khumbu Glacier. By the time he reached Everest’s present-day Base Camp hours later, he could no longer run. Could no longer stand. He dropped behind some rocks, the infant’s corpse still in his hands, and hoped against hope that the male yeti had decided to chase Wangchuk or otherwise ended the hunt.

  If not, Dustin knew, he would never make it to sunup.

  * * *

  At dawn, Dustin awoke covered in fresh snow, the body of the dead infant still at his side. He opened the body bag he had covered the corpse with and looked inside. What startled him was how awfully human the young yeti looked. Its innocent visage reminded him of his daughters as infants, suckling at their mother’s breasts, and he was suddenly overcome with emotion, a poignant mixture of loneliness and regret.

  What’s done is done, he told himself.

  Dustin deduced that the male yeti he and Wangchuk had discovered in the forest was the father of this infant, the mate of the female Dustin had killed in the cave. He reasoned that he couldn’t travel back through the Khumbu with the corpse in his hands lest the yeti catch the carcass’s scent. He had to somehow stash it, bury it until he could retrieve it later.
>
  But where?

  That morning Dustin started up the Khumbu Icefall on his own. He’d decided to bury the carcass somewhere near Camp I, in a spot no one would come near for at least the next three months. Dustin had traveled with only Wangchuk to Macchermo for fear that a larger expedition would frighten the yeti away. Therefore, it stood to reason that a larger expedition following the monsoon season would be the best protection from the yeti when he returned to Everest to retrieve the infant’s body. Already a knowledgeable mountaineer, Dustin later did his research and joined on with Ian Furst’s Himalayan Skies expedition, hoping the mountain would already be crowded by the time they arrived.

  After burying the infant’s corpse at Camp I, Dustin headed back down through the icefall. He remained for two days at the abandoned Base Camp, then set off again for Gorak Shep, hoping to find Wangchuk. There, Dustin buried his gun, in case it would be needed upon his return to retrieve the carcass.

  For now, at least, he felt that the threat posed by the yeti was gone. The mountain beast was an elusive creature and its lair had been discovered. Surely the monster would move on.

  Dustin trekked for days south through the Khumbu, from Lobuche to Pheriche downward to Pangboche. It was in the forest outside that hamlet that he finally discovered Wangchuk, the Tibetan gravely injured, quietly dying in the snow.

  Dustin briefly knelt by the Tibetan’s side and wept. Then he gazed at the trail of blood leading out of the forest. When he heard the snap of a branch or twig, he nearly froze with fear. But with some effort he was moments later able to gather his bearings and run off, leaving Wangchuk where he found him.

  * * *

  Now on his knee on the summit of the world, Dustin unzipped the body bag once more. Even with his oxygen mask on, the smell overwhelmed him immediately. Still, he wrapped his gloved hands around the body and gently tugged it free of the bag.

  In spite of the fact that he feared for his life, he felt awed. In his hands he held concrete evidence of the world’s most notorious cryptid. This time there would be no dispute. This wasn’t a plaster cast that could be dismissed as a hoax. Wasn’t a fuzzy photograph that could be manipulated or at the very least interpreted dozens of ways. This time it wasn’t just Dustin’s word the skeptics would have to accept. This time he had fucking proof.

  “I’m a cryptozoologist,” he shouted to Zack over the ferocious winds crushing the summit. “This is the corpse of a yeti, an infant killed in an accident a few months ago.”

  The professor appeared to be slack-jawed behind his oxygen mask. He turned to Francesca, trying to read her eyes through her own mask.

  “It is true,” she said, lowering her mask. “I am sorry that I lied to you, Zack. I did not come to Nepal to cover the climbing season. I am here so that I can write a book on Dustin’s quest for the yeti.”

  “A book?” Zack was nonplussed.

  “You should be relieved,” Dustin shouted, anxious to end this impromptu conference and get the hell off the summit. “Now you know I’m not fucking her, Zack.” Dustin lifted his oxygen mask and smiled. “She’s all yours, buddy. All you have to do is make your move.”

  Zack remained silent.

  Dustin took a step toward him so that their faces were now only inches apart. “All yours,” Dustin repeated. “But first, we all have to work together to get down this damn mountain alive.”

  * * *

  Zack stood frozen on the summit, staring at the infant’s corpse. All of a sudden, Dustin’s excursions away from Camp I made sense. He flashed on the lama’s words at Tengboche.

  “Always remember, an insincere friend is more to be feared than a savage beast. A savage beast may wound your body, but an insincere friend will wound your heart and mind.”

  “We have to go now, Zack,” Francesca reminded him, tugging on his ravaged climbing suit.

  She was right. There was no time to think, no time to decide. The smell was growing worse, the shrieks more persistent and ever closer to the summit. They had to descend now if they were to have any chance to survive.

  Dustin returned the carcass to its body bag and replaced the entire thing in his rucksack. Then he placed the pack on his back.

  “You must leave it,” Francesca objected.

  Dustin shook his head. “No need. That monster’s not after his son’s body. This isn’t about sentiment for him. The yeti knew where his infant’s body was all along. He’s waited for me to come back to retrieve it. There’s only one thing the beast wants now.” He paused. “The son of bitch is out for revenge.”

  Zack straightened up, drew a deep breath of bottled oxygen. “Then let’s go.

  The four of them briskly but cautiously started down the north side of Everest into Tibet.

  “Keep your heads on straight,” Dustin shouted, as they navigated the narrow Summit Ridge. “Remember what Ian told us.”

  “And what is that?” Francesca asked, unable to mask her contempt.

  There was no hint of humor in Dustin’s voice. “That eighty percent of all fatalities on Everest happen during the descent.”

  Chapter 32

  Tashi Sherpa slowly followed his clients down the narrow Summit Ridge, listening carefully for the sounds of the kang-mi. The ropes they gripped were frayed, the result of fourteen months of exposure high on the mountain. Tashi knew one of the ropes could snap at any moment, send them all plummeting to their deaths.

  He’d descended the north side before, but only once. And never without fresh ropes or radio support. Never with the kang-mi trailing him through a coming storm.

  At least for the time being the cries of the beast had ceased. But Tashi didn’t believe the kang-mi had stopped following them. He knew now what he had suspected all along, that the creature had been tracking one or all of the Caucasians from the very first.

  Tashi planted his left foot and stopped. His eyes burned. They’d felt irritated and dry at first, as though dust had blown into them. But now his eyes ached as if they were full of sand. Even blinking became painful. He squinted against the daylight and pushed on.

  The team, led by the American Dustin Blaisdell, started down the Northeast Ridge. First along the decaying ledge to the Third Step, then on toward the perilous Second.

  When they reached the top of the Second Step, the Italian Francesca Corsi stopped a few feet from the edge. There was panic in her voice as she shouted, “I cannot make it down the Second Step.”

  Tashi waited as the Americans examined the thirty-foot vertical wall they’d have to descend. Here the famous Chinese ladder had stood for thirty-three years before being retired and replaced in 2008. The new ladder resembled the old. It appeared sturdy, yes, but no less daunting.

  “We have no choice,” Blaisdell shouted at the woman. “We take the ladder or die.” The American didn’t wait for a response. He took a few steps in the direction of the ledge, threw one foot over the side, and started down the wall on his own.

  Through his narrowed eyes, Tashi watched the Italian shake her head from side to side. “I am too exhausted,” she cried. “I will fall.”

  The other American Zack Hitchens took hold of her, shook her arms gently, spoke softly through his oxygen mask. “We can do this,” he said to her. “We’ve come this far. We can’t quit now.”

  Behind her glacier goggles Tashi could see tears travel down Francesca’s cheeks. The Sherpa stepped up to them with urgency. “We must to go now,” he pleaded. “The kang-mi, it is coming.”

  Zack Hitchens nodded to him, then turned back to the woman. “Besides that, we have to get out of the Death Zone before we run out of gas. Our oxygen tanks are low. We don’t have much time left.”

  “Go,” she told him. “Please, go. Let me stay here and rest. I will come down when I can.”

  Zack Hitchens shook his head. “No. If you stay, I’m staying. I can’t have your death on my conscious, Francesca. You can’t ask me to do that!”

  Tashi’s eyes were tearing now, but not from emotion. His eyel
ids felt as though they had swollen to twice their normal size. The pain grew in intensity every moment he stood idle.

  Through slits he watched the Italian woman survey the ladder. Finally she turned, nodded to the American, and started down the Second Step.

  Zack Hitchens moved to follow. As he placed his foot on the top rung of the ladder, he lifted his head and looked up at Tashi. Even behind the glacier goggles and oxygen mask, the Sherpa noticed the concerned look on the American’s face.

  It was the last thing Tashi would ever see.

  * * *

  With one foot on the ladder, Zack paused and glared up at Tashi. The Sherpa stood frozen, his unprotected eyes wet. He was clearly in serious pain.

  “I have lost my sight,” the sirdar said.

  Zack took in a breath. Snow blindness. The Sherpa had been exposed to the sun’s intense UV rays on the summit and now his world was shrouded in darkness. Tashi’s eyes would heal themselves in a few days most likely, but if he couldn’t make it down the mountain it wouldn’t matter. In twenty-fours the Sherpa would be dead.

  Zack climbed back onto the ridge and hurried toward the sirdar. “You know this mountain. You can make it down with my help.”

  Tashi shook his head. “I no can risk your life. You must to go–”

  Just then they heard the beast’s mighty cry, a sound one might expect to hear in a rainforest or jungle, a loud high-pitched shriek comprised of anger and pain.

  “Let’s go, Tashi,” Zack shouted, grabbing hold of the Sherpa, refusing to take no for an answer. “We need you. None of us have ever climbed the north side. We’ll never make it down without you. You can’t abandon your clients.”

  Zack guided Tashi as quickly and carefully as he could to the top of the Second Step. The Sherpa reluctantly turned his body, and Zack helped his right foot find the top rung of the ladder. Eyes closed, teeth clenched, Tashi finally started his descent.