The Ascent(27)

Chapter 7


1



SATURDAY MORNING I GOT UP A FEW HOURS

before the sun had time to rise. Knowing I would not see another shower for several weeks, I languished beneath the lukewarm spray of my shower until the water grew cold. Then I climbed out and toweled myself off while staring at my blotchy reflection in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door. I was in good physical condition, yet my eyes quickly found the one haunting flaw on my body: the ragged, brutal, puckered scar running along my left leg from just above the ankle to just below the knee.

Momentarily I was overcome by claustrophobia, thinking back to how I’d almost died in that cavern beneath the earth, my shinbone jutting through a serpentine tear in my flesh. And with the claustrophobia came vertigo; I scrambled for the toilet, where I closed the lid and dropped on top of it, catching my breath.

But it wasn’t all about the claustrophobia. It wasn’t all about the memory of the caves. It was the drinking too. The withdrawal. And in a way it was Hannah …

She hadn’t returned to me since my arrival in Nepal, which comforted me to some extent, making me think I was probably doingsomething right. And now, so many thousands of miles away from home, her haunting my apartment seemed nothing more than a dream, something my overactive and whiskey-pickled mind had conjured up. On the morning of the first day of our climb, Hannah was nothing more than a sad memory.

Back in the room, I dressed quickly in fresh clothes and a lightweight anorak. My bags were piled by the door, along with the gear Andrew had delivered to my room—a walkie-talkie; a miner’s helmet with the flashlight affixed to the front; a pickax; several blue vinyl flags, the kind one might see hanging above a used car lot; and a steel canteen with my name engraved on it.

I dragged my stuff out to the cabin porch just as a low rumbling could be heard over the horizon. Moments later, twin headlamps pierced the darkness. The bus shuddered into the clearing between the cabins, coughing gouts of black smoke from its exhaust pipe. I entertained serious doubts that it would be able to transport us a mile down the road let alone into the city, what with its rust-peeling shell and four tires that were practically running on the rims.

“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” someone called off to my right. I looked and saw Chad strutting toward me, a backpack slung over one shoulder. “We should get a bottle of champagne to christen her.”

“No chance it’s got seat belts, huh?” I replied.

Chad snorted. “What’s a seat belt?”

The bus doors shushed open, and dark-skinned teenage boys spilled out. They chattered to each other in a language I didn’t understand and quickly surrounded Chad like aliens deciding whether or not they should beam him aboard the mother ship.

“Hey, guys,” Chad said as they quickly relieved him of his backpack. They carried it to the bus. “Jesus, I feel like Arnold Schwarzenegger among a bunch of hobbits. Look at these people.”

At the next cabin, Petras appeared on the porch. Bundled in a winter coat and thick gloves, he looked twice as large as usual. Heraised a hand in my direction, then disappeared back into his cabin, only to return moments later dragging a duffel bag by its straps.

After all our gear was systematically loaded onto the bus, we gathered outside the main lodge in anticipation of Andrew’s arrival.

“Let’s smoke ‘em while we can,” Chad said, pulling a cellophane pack of cigarettes from within his jacket. He shook some into his hands. “Who wants one?”

Everyone except for Petras grumbled in agreement, and we held out our hands. Chad lit the smokes one by one with a silver Zippo.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill my lungs. I was aware of a barely noticeable grin creeping across my face.

“Might be a stupid question,” Shotsky said, sucking the life out of his own cigarette, “but did anyone think to bring, like, a gun? You know, for protection.”

“From what?” Chad said.

“Anything. Whatever’s out there.”

“I got this,” Petras announced, producing a five-inch hunting knife with a pearl handle from his belt.

“Jesus,” I said.

Petras turned the knife over in his hands. “Yeah, could kill a bear with this thing.”

“No bears where we’re going,” Andrew said, appearing beside the bus. He leaned against the grille, silhouetted by the headlights. The sun hadn’t risen yet. “Just people. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just us, boys.”

“Fair enough,” said Chad. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Andrew smiled. “Let’s roll.”

We piled onto the bus and trundled along the dirt road for forty minutes before we reached the city. I had anticipated returning to Kathmandu, with all its intricate temples and bustling marketplaces, but this was a smaller city—a remote Buddhist village—situated at the foothills of a mountainous forest. The homes and shops lookedlike log cabins, void of any distinguishing markings. As the sun came up, I could see chickens and goats in the streets and young children pulling rickshaws through the mud.

“Where the hell are we?” Curtis whispered in my ear.

“Looks like purgatory.”

“If this is purgatory, I’d hate to see hell.”

The bus stopped outside a long, concrete building, pressed close to the ground and surrounded by rhododendrons.