manual labor and his fingers wouldn't be half-frozen while he pressed the needle
through.
Daniel had his own considerations. 'There's not time for that,' he said.
'But they can't stay open like this.'
'Plastics, Abe, plastics.' Daniel grinned his cockeyed grin. It was the first time in
many days Abe had seen anyone smile. Instinctively he smiled back.
Mystified, Abe watched Daniel open the top pocket of his pack and fish out a tube of
Super Glue. It struck him what was about to happen. 'That stuff's toxic,' Abe objected.
'Yeah? So's the Hill.' Daniel's grin widened. The splits in his lips beaded with blood.
With deft robotic efficiency, Daniel squeezed long strings of glue into the gashes on
each palm and pulled the flaps shut with careful fingertips. He let the glue set up,
holding his hands over the blue stove flame like a welder closing a seam, then flexed
his hands in fists to assess the patch job. It was a rock-climber's trick, though Abe had
never heard of people gluing more than a finger pad back in place.
For a moment, Abe considered tearing the bloody bandage off his own arm, pouring
Super Glue into the slit and continuing up with Daniel. But even at the thought, a chill
went through him and he realized that it was this from which Thomas had fled down
the mountain. It wasn't Daniel's natural authority up here that had driven Thomas
away, nor that this black-haired kamikaze was berserk for ascent. No, what had
scared Thomas off was the sudden recognition that he would become willing to die up
here, not for this mountain with its pure diamond light and not for his own glory and
benediction, but rather for Daniel, for the sake of freeing one soul from its cage. Daniel
had led them so high they were nearly out of air and yet he was still aimed at the sun
and they were still following. Abe wanted – desperately wanted – to stay with Daniel
and climb on. But it was time for him to flee.
'Good luck,' Abe said.
'See you down at Base,' Daniel said.
'Good-bye,' Abe said to Gus. She didn't even open her eyes to glare at him.
Shortly after Abe started down, Daniel sallied up, trailing a rainbow of three colorful
nine-millimeter ropes and bearing four more still coiled in his pack. Gus was belaying
him from inside the cave, paying out rope as Daniel climbed up. He was bearing
almost a thousand feet of rope, upward of eighty pounds. If there had been anyone
else to watch, it would have seemed a boast. Alone, the load was nothing more than
one man's calculation of himself.
Just before Abe lost sight of him, he saw that the Shoot opened wider and angled
back above the cave and that Daniel had quit front-pointing and was walking almost
upright on the icy slope. At the rate he was going, Daniel might just do what he'd said:
fix all the way to Five and still have time left over to build the camp and descend
before he ran out of steam. As usual in matters of this mountain, Daniel was proving
himself correct.
The expedition would have a definite advantage with Five set in place. It would give
them a high point from which to launch their all-out assault. Providing there were still
enough healthy, willing players down at ABC or Base, they could repopulate the
mountain all the way to 28,000 feet in a little less than a week of climbing. That would
leave just a thousand feet more to go. They still had a chance. The last Abe saw of
him, Daniel had come to a halt to pin one of his ropes to the wall with ice screws.
It had taken Abe four hard days to get from ABC to Four. Now, in less than nine
hours, he dropped a vertical mile and reached ABC in time for supper. Along the way,
every camp was deserted, not a climber in sight. Except for Daniel and Gus high
above, the mountain appeared to have been abandoned.
ABC was deserted, too, except for Nima and Chuldum, who had been instructed to
guard the camp. Abe couldn't comprehend what there was to guard against – the
wind, perhaps, or the beat of sunlight – but that was Jorgens for you. He ran a tight
ship when it was in drydock.
First thing next morning, Abe set off in his trail sneakers alone. The ten miles of trail
seemed to fly underfoot. That was his imagination at play. In fact what felt like an
effortless tumble into the lower valley was a struggle. His watch told him he was going
slower and slower. But the farther he descended, the richer the air became so he
didn't mind. After weeks on end of following the scant vertical tracery of their ascent,
this flat trail seemed blatant, a virtual highway. Abe found it hard to believe the trail
had once struck him as vague and confounding. The way was so clear down here, so
inevitable. His pack was empty, his spirits light, and he wanted to race pell-mell down
the rocky lane. It was frustrating to feel so invigorated and yet have such an unsteady
step. He lurched on. All around him, the world assembled itself with details that grew
sharper and more lustrous. A chorus of grouse gabbled on the perimeter of sunshine
and frost. Big sticks of glacier mud hung beside the trail like temple columns.
Insignificant rocks took on an almost sacramental distinctness beneath his Nikes. Part
of his awe was plain hunger and fatigue and the richer air, Abe knew. But there was
more than that to it. He had heard that monks wake in darkness so as to welcome the
order of day. Now, descending from the Kore's dark, slaughtering radiance, he
understood. These rocks, this birdsong, the blue sky: They were simple things, but
they were everything.
Base Camp sprang out at Abe with its candy-coloured domes and bustling industry.
He came to a surprised halt and stood still, weaving slightly, taking it all in. He had
forgotten how many tents were down here and how level the moraine was and what it
was like to hear water flowing loose in a stream.
There was laughter in the air, and an aroma of fresh-baked bread – that would be
from Carlos's solar oven – and even the background silence had a lush melody to it.
Roddy and Stump were rearranging what was left of the supply dump, and J.J. was
clowning for the Sherpas, walking around on his hands. From the boom box by the
mess tent, Pink Floyd – a high altitude mainstay – was weaving electric notes into the
carnival of sights and sounds and smells, and Abe moved stiffly, drawn by the music.
Suddenly he wanted to be among these people. He felt starved for their voices and
their touch and their company.
Kelly emerged from a tent swinging her waist-length mane – freshly washed, heavy
as white gold – and she was the first to catch sight of Abe. Her face lit with a smile and
she came toward him.
'Abe,' she greeted, and opened her arms to hug him. 'I am so glad to see you.' She
smelled like coconut shampoo and Ivory soap like the woman he had gotten used to
smelling in their shared tents on the mountains. They had been apart for less than a
week, but it felt like a season since he had seen her. She had missed him. He had
missed her. He had missed them all. It was good to be down. He was dizzied by how
good it felt.
'Kelly?' he rasped.
Her embrace had flesh to it, warmth and substance. She didn't pat him quickly on
the back and release him. She held him against her for a long, long minute.
In the span of that embrace, Abe was flooded with so many thoughts that they came
to him only as a babble. He wanted to sing his joy and cry at the same time.
'You look so good,' Kelly said.
