At arm’s length, Remi touched the lighter’s flame to the brick; with a barely perceptible whoosh, it ignited.
Grinning broadly, Remi leapt up and hugged Sam. Together, they sat crouched around the brick and watched it burn. The heat was surprisingly intense. When the flames finally sputtered out, Sam checked his watch: “Six minutes. Not bad. Now we need as many as we can make but bigger-say, about the size of a filet mignon.”
“Did you have to use that analogy?”
“Sorry. The moment we get back to Kathmandu we’ll head for the nearest steakhouse.”
Buoyed by the success of their ignition test, they made rapid progress. By bedtime, they had nineteen bricks.
As the sun began to set, Sam finished the brazier by notching into its base three short legs, which he then attached to a double-thick aluminum bowl by crude flanges. As a final step, he cut a hole into the side of the cone.
“What’s that for?” asked Remi.
“Ventilation and fuel port. Once we get the first brick going, airflow and the shape of the cone will create a vortex of sorts. The heat will gush through the top of the cone and into the balloon.”
“That’s ingenious.”
“That’s a stove.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s an old-fashioned backpacking stove on steroids. They’ve been around for a century. At last my love of obscure knowledge pays off.”
“In spades. Let’s retreat to our bunker and try to rest up for the maiden-and final-flight of the
They slept fitfully for a total of two hours, kept awake by exhaustion, lack of food, and excitement. As soon as there was enough light to work by, they climbed out of the gondola and ate the last of their food.
Sam dismembered the remainder of the gondola save the last corner, which they pried free with the piton and knotted rope. Once the sawing was done, they had a pile of fuel that was as tall as Sam.
Having already chosen a spot on the plateau that was virtually free of ice, they carefully dragged the balloon to the launchpad. Onto the platform they stacked ballast rocks. In the center they placed the brazier, then secured it to the platform with sinew thongs.
“Let’s get cooking,” Remi said.
They used wads of paper and lichen as tinder, on top of which they placed a tripod of wicker chunks. Once they had a solid bed of coals, they continued to feed wicker into the brazier, and slowly flames began licking upward.
Remi placed her hand over the brazier’s flue. She jerked it back. “Hot!”
“Perfect. Now we wait. This is going to take a while.”
One hour turned into two. The balloon filled slowly, expanding around them like a miniature circus tent, as their fuel supply dwindled. Beneath the canopy the sunlight seemed ethereal, hazy. Sam realized they were fighting time and thermal physics, as the air cooled and seeped through the balloon’s skin.
Just before the third hour, the balloon, though still lying perpendicular to the ground, lifted and floated free. Whether reality or perception, they weren’t sure, but this seemed to be a watershed moment. Within forty minutes the balloon was standing upright, its exterior growing more taut by the minute.
“It’s working,” Remi murmured. “It’s really working.”
Sam nodded, said nothing, his eyes fixed on the craft.
Finally he said, “All aboard.”
Remi trotted to their supply pile, snatched up the engraved length of bamboo, slid it down the back of her jacket, then jogged back. She removed rocks one by one until she had room to kneel, then sit. The opposite side of the platform was now hovering a few inches off the ground.
Having already stuffed the emergency parachute pack with some essentials, and the duffel bag with their bricks and the last armload of wicker, Sam grabbed both, then knelt beside the platform.
“You ready?” he asked.
Remi didn’t blink an eye. “Let’s fly.”
36
The flames leapt up in the brazier’s interior, disappearing through the balloon’s mouth, until Sam and Remi were floating at knee height above the plateau.
“When I say so, push with everything you’ve got,” Sam said.
He stuffed the last two pieces of wicker into the brazier and watched, waited, eyes darting from the brazier to the balloon to the ground.
“Now!”
In unison, they coiled their legs and shoved hard.
They surged upward ten feet. Then descended just as rapidly.
“Get ready to push again!” Sam called.
Their feet struck the ice.
“Push!”
Again they shot upward and again they returned to earth, albeit more slowly.
“We’re getting there,” Sam said.
“We need a rhythm,” Remi replied. “Think, bouncing ball.”
So they began bouncing over the plateau, each time gaining a bit more altitude. To their left, the edge of the cliff loomed.
“Sam . . .” Remi warned.
“I know. Don’t look, just keep bouncing. Fly or swim!”
“Lovely!”
They shoved off once more. A gust of wind caught the balloon and shoved them down the plateau, their feet skipping over the ice. Remi’s leg slipped off the edge of the cliff, but she kept her cool, giving one last united shove with the other leg.
And then, abruptly, everything went silent save the wind whistling through the guylines.
They were airborne and climbing.
And heading southeast toward the slope.
Sam reached into the duffel and withdrew a pair of bricks. He fed them into the brazier. They heard a soft whoosh as the brick ignited. Flames shot from the flue. They began rising.
“Another,” Remi said.
Sam dropped a third brick into the brazier.
The pine trees were a few hundred yards away and closing fast. A gust of wind caught the balloon and spun it. Sam and Remi clutched at the guylines and tightened their legs around the platform. After three rotations, the platform steadied and went still again.
Looking over Remi’s shoulder, Sam gauged the distance to the slope.
“How close?” Remi asked.
“About two hundred yards. Ninety seconds, give or take.” He looked her in the eye. “It’s going to be razor thin. Go for broke?”
“Absolutely.”
Sam stuffed a fourth brick into the brazier.
They both looked over the side of the platform. The tops of the pine trees seemed impossibly close. Remi felt something snag at her foot, and she tipped sideways. Sam leaned forward, grabbed her arm.
