Summary:
Malik is no fool; he always knew that someday, something would go wrong on that mountain. But he'd always hoped that when it did, it wouldn't be his best friend whose life hung in the balance. Now, with a climber stranded and a storm rolling in, the only hope left is a daring, near hopeless rescue attempt that will put six lives on the line and test their willpower and resolve past any limits they once had.
Notes:
This piece is completed and edited, but I'm posting it in three parts over three days, because it's about 26k words and I feel better with it in digestible chunks.
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't actually climb mountains. I occasionally climb stairs. Therefore, all climbing knowledge and Everest specific knowledge comes from my insatiable love of documentaries and articles, and obsessive research. I aimed for the best of accuracy, but there will probably still be mistakes here and there.
Enjoy!
"Because it is there."
George Mallory (1886-1924), in answer to the question 'Why do you want to climb Mt. Everest ?'.
When people thought of climbing Everest, they probably imagined desolation. A harsh slab of rock, some tents, freeze dried food, that sort of thing. Malik knew better.
Base camp had its own culture, its own social hierarchy, and if he had to describe it, it would be less of a 'camp' and more of a small village. Each expedition had its own staging area, but there was also a massive mess tent, where the Sherpas created three hot meals a day for the climbers. You could buy nearly anything you needed here; crampons, ropes, whatever you may have left behind accidentally. You could probably come in jeans and a t-shirt and outfit yourself completely at base camp with the overpriced on site gear, if you wanted.
And most surprisingly for the novices on the mountain, it was loud. After four years of coming to base camp and helping to manage the expedition for Seven Summits Adventure Guides, Malik was used to the various noises of camp. Crampons crunched on the ice as teams prepared to move up to camp one for acclimatization, the bells on the yaks signaled the arrived of new teams, and people yelled into their radios as if yelling would somehow help the person on the other end hear them better (hint: it didn't).
And right now, that noise was mainly coming from the Italian expedition that had arrived two days before.
It wasn't anything unusual, and really, people put up with more shit from the Italians than they might from any of the other expeditions. That was mainly because the Italians brought the most trusted doctor with high elevation experience; Leonardo was not only a doctor, but an experienced climber as well. Climbers were more willing to listen to a doctor who had five of the ten tallest mountains in the world under his belt, after all.
But Leonardo came as a package deal with his boyfriend, Ezio, the guide for the company that ran the Italian expedition, Summit Heroes of Italy. Ezio was young, brash, and overconfident at times- and right now, he was having a party with his clients.
Malik could tell which of the climbers reaching base camp had never been there before; they all looked appalled at the booming music and laughter coming from the main tent of the Italian expedition. The people who were returning climbers didn't bat an eye.
"Are they really having a party?" Kadar asked, stopping next to where Malik stood by their tent. Speaking of new climbers…
"Ezio Auditore. Guide for Summit Heroes of Italy," Malik explained, tipping his bottled water toward the green, red, and white tent. "He tends to try and turn his section of base camp into a frat party."
"Doesn't he take this seriously? He's a guide," Kadar said, and Malik gave him a sharp look.
"I would hold your tongue before you say things like that at this camp," he said, looking back at the Italian camp. "Ezio lost his father and older brother on K2 four years ago. He is cocky, but he is an excellent climber. He has no illusions about the climb itself being a party."
"Oh," Kadar said, having the sense to look sheepish about what he'd said. Granted, throwing a party at base camp could seem insensitive to the seriousness of the climb ahead- but if anyone knew how serious things could get, it was Ezio. In his own words, he always threw a party before a climb because 'if I am going to die on that mountain, I want the last few nights to be good ones with happy memories'.
"You still have time to change your mind," Malik pointed out, and it was Kadar's turn to glare at him.
"I'm not going home, Malik. I want to do this."
"But with Altaïr?"
"Dude, he works for your company, wouldn't you want me to go with him?"
"You seem to think he is infallible."
"He's summited Everest four times. I'd say that's a pretty good track record."
Malik sneered. "Everest is not the only thing on his 'track record'," he said, his hand twitching as he resisted the urge to reach over to where his left arm used to be. Kadar stared at him for a few long moments, and then shook his head.
"You're never going to stop holding that over his head, are you?"
"I do not 'hold it over his head'. He knows I don't blame him for what happened," Malik insisted. "He's a decent enough guide. I just don't trust the two of you together. You feed his ego."
Kadar rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless," he muttered. "You would rather have me with the other American expedition? Or the British?"
"At least Miles and Hastings tend to stick to the rules."
Kadar shook his head. "You know, for calling him your best friend, you have surprisingly little faith in him," he said, and then he turned and headed for the mess tent. Malik scoffed and took another long drink of his water.
He couldn't help it that he only wanted his little brother climbing with the absolute best guide. And while Altaïr was, without a doubt, an excellent climber, whether or not he was the best guide was still up for debate, at least for Malik.
Leah and Jackson strode past toward the main tent, both on their overly expensive cell phones; while they weren't the stereotypical rich person paying to just hit the summit and call themselves explorers, they certainly weren't motivated by love of the struggle of climbing. No, Jackson and Leah were a young couple with a lot of money to burn and a bucket list five miles long; they were decent enough climbers, but they were the kind that expected all the research to be done for them. They would need their hands held for a good amount of the climb. Altaïr would have his hands full.
If it were up to Malik, he never would have taken them on. Unfortunately, Lucy saw it as a great boost to their business, since Jackson and Leah both ran incredibly popular travel blogs, and were paying triple the normal fee in order to be the only ones in the summit group this year. Kadar was allowed in at the last minute, since he was family and interested in being a future guide for the company himself.
Malik sighed and started to follow them; it was time for the on site orientation, and since he was the high camp manager this year, he figured he'd better be there for it.
Altaïr was waiting in the main tent with maps pinned to the board that stood against one canvas wall, and he smiled when he saw Malik. "What, not going to the party?"
"I do believe you're the one who insists alcohol inhibits proper acclimatization," Malik pointed out, stepping over to the desk to look over Lucy's shoulder at the weather reports she had pulled up. "How is that window looking?"
"Holding steady for now," she said, pulling up a satellite feed. "Hastings, Miles, and Auditore are going to make their summit bid before this system comes in. The Koreans, Serbs, Russians, and Chinese are going to wait till after it passes."
"And what do you want to do?"
Lucy sighed, leaning back in her chair. "The Chinese brought a huge group this year. If we try to summit in the same window as them, we could run into a traffic jam up there. It'll be tight, though, especially if that storm moves faster than expected."
"Desmond and Shaun won't mind working out a rope system up there between our Sherpas and theirs," Altaïr pointed out, marking another tricky spot on the map pinned to the board. "Ezio is easy to work with, too. I think we should go for the first window."
Malik stood and walked over to Altaïr, standing close enough that Jackson, Leah, and Kadar, who were talking amongst themselves, wouldn't overhear. "Can they acclimatize and climb fast enough to make that window? They're not the same skill level as the groups you've led before," he asked, and Altaïr paused in thought.
"I think so. Especially with the Sherpas we have this year," he said. Malik wasn't so convinced, but Altaïr was the one who would have to deal with it directly if they weren't up to the task.
"Speaking of that…Malik, Lhakpa had to leave base camp. He injured his ankle on the icefall," Lucy said, and Malik sighed.
"So we only have Chensum and Pemba?" he asked, looking back at Altaïr. "You still think you can make that first window?"
Altaïr didn't even hesitate. "Yes," he said, stepping back from the map, and Malik narrowed his eyes.
"You're taking my little brother up there, you know," he said, and Altaïr's shoulders slumped the slightest bit as he turned to face Malik.
"I'll bring Kadar down that mountain safely. You have my word, whether or not that means much to you these days," he said, and before Malik could respond, he called their clients' attention to start the orientation.
Malik tried to convince himself that he shouldn't feel like a jerk, but he couldn't quite manage it.
"Alright, sit down and listen. This stuff is actually important," Altaïr said, and Jackson, Leah, and Kadar dropped into the folding chairs they had set up. Malik wasn't as worried about Kadar; he'd come to help at base camp before, and had heard this speech before.
The first twenty minutes were spent going over acclimatization again- that they would climb to camp one, spend the night, then come back and rest, then climb up to camp two and do the same, coming back to base camp for a few days after. It was a quick way to boost the amount of red blood cells in the body, to make sure their bodies were ready for the limited oxygen at the higher camps.
"I'm going to have time limits getting up to camp one, two, and three. If you don't make the cutoff, Lucy and I will have a serious discussion about your future on the expedition," Altaïr explained.
"You would send us home without letting us try for the summit?" Jackson asked, and Altaïr nodded.
"Damn right I would. You're not paying me to get you to that summit. You're paying me to make sure you leave this mountain alive. Otherwise the only thing written on that blog will be an obituary," he said. "And if me, Lucy, or Malik tell you it's time to turn around, then you do it."
"The turn around time is 2pm," Malik added, crossing his arms. "If you're on the way up to the summit and it hits 2pm, you turn around. I don't care if you're ten feet from the summit. Descending in the dark isn't an option."
"And if you don't turn around, I'll order the Sherpa to go back to camp without you. It's not their job to die with you," Altaïr added. "They have families to go back to. Your moment of glory is secondary to that."
Jackson and Leah didn't look happy with the speech, but they didn't outright object; Malik had the feeling that was the best they could ask for, considering the egos in the room. "Alright," Altaïr said, the downright serious tone dropped with that part over with. "Tomorrow we start acclimating. We'll climb up to camp one, stay the night, and then descend back here for two days. Everyone be geared up and ready to start climbing at 3:30. Eat a good breakfast, because the Khumbu Ice Fall is no fuckin' joke. A member of the French expedition fell into a crevasse three days ago, and he's lucky he landed on a ledge and they could pull him out with just a broken pelvis. Most of the time, if you fall off one of the ladders, there won't be a body to send home."
It was a morbid pep talk, but it was par for the course up here, and none of them seemed fazed by it. Jackson and Leah had heard all the horror stories by now, surely; if you went down in the wrong place on Everest, there was no rescue. There often wasn't even a body retrieval. There was a letter sent home, and that was about it.
"And I highly suggest that if you visit the festivities at the Italian camp, you politely turn down whatever alcoholic beverages they might offer you. If you have a headache tomorrow, I'm going to assume it's altitude sickness first, and hangover second. If you get sat out of climbing because of a hangover headache, you're the only one to blame."
With that, the meeting came to an end. Malik watched the three climbers leave, and then turned back to Altaïr.
"Think we'll have trouble with them?"
Altaïr paused, gold eyes thoughtful. "I think they could be a problem on summit day. They're the type to get summit fever. They might not listen to reason if things move too slowly."
"I suppose we'll find out," Malik said. "I'm going to the Italian camp to see if I can't find Ezio, Shaun, and Desmond to work things out. You coming?"
Altaïr nodded, and the two of them left the relative warmth of the tent, following the sound of music to where the majority of the activity was. The inside of the tent was crowded with climbers, some sitting around flimsy tables on folding chairs, and it was in one corner of the tent that they found Ezio, Leonardo, Shaun, Desmond, and Rebecca all relaxing with some cheap beer.
"You're bad role models," Malik pointed out with a smirk as he and Altaïr sat down at the end of the table. Ezio grinned.
"We've done our time, my friend. We've earned the privilege," he pointed out. "Why so few climbers this year? You only have two, si?"
"Two trust fund bloggers. They bought up all the extra spots so they wouldn't have to share with anyone else," Altaïr said with a low laugh. "Kadar is coming too, though, so I won't have to deal with them alone."
"Kadar is finally going for the summit this year? And here I thought Malik would keep him pinned down at base camp till he's fifty," Desmond teased, and Malik shot him a scowl.
"I do not keep him pinned down. I simply wanted him to have the proper experience before he tried," he said. "And we're not here to discuss clients, anyway. We've all decided to try and summit in the two weeks before the storm front rolls in, so I wanted to arrange who will be setting up the fixed ropes where."
"We already have four Sherpas at camp three. They're just waiting for the word to set the highest summit ropes," Shaun said with a shrug, taking a swig of his beer.
"Desmond, don't you have three guys up there too?" Rebecca asked, and Desmond nodded.
"Yeah, I have three of mine at camp three. I know you guys are short on help this year, so Shaun's guys and mine will take care of the ropes from the Balcony up to the Hillary Step."
"And I can have mine work with yours to set the ropes from the South Col to the Balcony," Ezio said, clapping a hand down on Altaïr's shoulder. "We must be fast. I do not want to wait until after the storm has passed and have to summit with the other teams."
"I agree with that," Altaïr said. "Too many fucking climbers this year."
"Happens every year," Shaun muttered with a shrug. "Did you see the French team this afternoon? The guide was teaching two of the climbers how to use crampons. On fucking Everest, and they don't know how to use a pair of crampons."
Malik shuddered. "Definitely don't want to try and make summit on the same day as them," he said, and then he caught sight of something odd- a strange, small camera that was affixed to the front of Desmond's climbing helmet, sitting on the table with his gloves. "What is that?"
"Desmond's gonna be a TV star!" Rebecca said, and Shaun rolled his eyes.
"Hardly. Desmond has a deal with some blokes filming a daredevil series. They're doing a show about Everest and wanted some action footage," he explained, and Desmond nodded.
"They've got some people here at base camp, going through the footage as it comes in, writing up material, that kind of stuff. I'm just supposed to do like I always do."
"Just what we need. More clueless adrenaline junkies trying to summit," Altair pointed out, and Desmond laughed.
"Who knows, maybe I'll film a really gruesome fall or something. That might make them change their mind."
Shaun chuckled. "You'd think watching a whole episode of 'the Desmond show' would make anyone change their mind about coming near here," he teased, earning a playful shove from Desmond.
The rest of the conversation fell into casual chat, now that the business was out of the way. It was normal, comforting; Desmond's banter with Shaun, which could easily seem to be bickering if you didn't know that they always interacted like that, Rebecca talking about new gizmos she'd invented to try on the vertical climbs, and Ezio proposing to Leonardo- and getting cheerfully turned down, yet again. (Malik was pretty sure Ezio had proposed to him three times a year or so for the past three years, but he never seemed bothered by getting turned down; perhaps because he knew as well as anyone else that it was inevitable, and Leonardo was just waiting for the 'right time'. And since Ezio had no sense of when the 'right time' was, he was just going to try as often as possible.)
It was all normal until a beer got slammed down on the table, and the one open chair got taken by a climber that none of them seemed to recognize. The man grinned toothily, pulling off his hat to reveal a shaved head, his gloves following after.
"So, you're the top dogs here," he said, and Malik saw Altaïr's eyes narrow the slightest bit- he was already irritated with the guy, and Malik couldn't blame him.
"Wouldn't say so. The Sherpas are the real top dogs around here," Desmond pointed out, and the man laughed loudly.
"Sherpas are a crutch. But you guys know all about crutches. Sucking on your baby bottles the whole time you're up there," he said, and Malik could feel the tension at the table dial up way past eleven.
He was one of those guys, the ones who believed it wasn't a legitimate summit climb unless you did it without supplemental oxygen. And while yes, it was possible, it multiplied the risk by a ridiculous amount; it was a very rare person indeed who could summit Everest without oxygen and not suffer any ill effects. Malik had seen many people try it, and most gave up not far past camp four.
"I prefer to have all my mental faculties intact when I've got lives I'm responsible for," Shaun said, shoulders stiff and chin tilted up. "Can't have myself stumbling around like a fool when I'm meant to lead a group. If you want to lose half your brain cells from lack of oxygen, though, more power to you."
"I'll be passing all of you on summit day. You and your glorified mountain tours," the man said, unfazed by the angry expressions aimed his way. "I'll be climbing the mountain the real way, nobody carrying my bag, no air tank making it easy."
Rebecca laughed. "If you think having oxygen makes it easy to climb this mountain, you've obviously never climbed it before."
"I've climbed enough to know that the Everest tours are a joke. I don't need to go above 8000 meters to know that," the man snapped, standing up and grabbing his things. "I'll see you on summit day. Or at least, you'll see the back of me when I pass you on the way to the summit."
He turned and walked away, and Shaun shook his head. "He's a right gobshite, isn't he?"
"Who is he?" Malik asked, and Rebecca snorted.
"Robert de Sablé. He's not with any of the expeditions," she explained. "And as far as I know, he hasn't climbed above 8000 meters without oxygen before, so Everest is gonna be one hell of a wake up call."
"He'll either turn around before the Hillary Step or he'll get himself killed," Altaïr muttered, the mood soured by the unwanted company.
"Indeed. You do not conquer this mountain with a prideful attitude; she allows you to summit, and you graciously accept, and plead for her continued mercy on the descent," Ezio said, his usual flowery descriptions earning a snort from Rebecca.
Though both he and Altaïr were right; Everest was not a place to start experimenting, or to go in with blatant overconfidence.
That was a good way to turn yourself into a new colorful landmark on the climbing route.
Everest has always been a magnet for kooks, publicity seekers, hopeless romantics and others with a shaky hold on reality. ― Jon Krakauer
Desmond leaned back in his beat up folding chair and watched as Shaun gently inspected the wrist of one of his climbers; she'd fallen and landed on it hard during the climb from camp one to camp two, and while she was insisting it felt fine to continue, he wasn't the type to take their word for it when so much was at stake.
Lots of people warned clients of Shaun's company that Rebecca was hired on specifically to balance how much of an asshole Shaun was. Desmond had known Shaun long enough to know better; Shaun was an asshole, yes, but it was more like…the prickly outside of a hedgehog. You kind of got used to it after a while, really.
And he wasn't that bad once you got to know him. Case in point; he was obviously genuinely concerned for the climber, his movements gentle as he studied her wrist for anything worse than swelling.
"Well, I won't call off your climb, but I want you to see Leonardo when we go back to base camp before the summit push," he finally said, and the climber nodded and sighed with relief. It was a fair bargain.
She thanked him and walked away to join the rest of her group, and Shaun sighed and took a deep breath before catching sight of Desmond. "Don't you have anything better to do than sunbathe?" he asked, and Desmond grinned.
"I'm acclimating."
"I don't recall reading anything about lounging in shorts and a tank top at camp two being suitable acclimatization procedure."
"It'll catch on."
Shaun chuckled and shook his head, then plopped down in the chair next to Desmond, looking at his group of climbers. "I have at least two I'm going to have to cut. My boss won't be happy."
Desmond shrugged. "He'd be less happy typing up a 'sorry your dad died' letter to their kids if they drop in the death zone."
"Suppose so, but he won't see it that way."
"Yeah, well, you're here and he's not. It's your call, and frankly, I'd trust your judgment over his any day," Desmond pointed out. "You and Rebecca splitting the group again this year?"
Shaun nodded. "Yeah. She's leaving camp with the faster climbers probably around ten, and I'll follow up an hour later with the slower group. Don't want to hold any of the faster climbers up on the ropes."
"I'll plan to leave with mine around 10:30, then. I've got a pretty solid group this year, they've all summited at least one of the seven."
"Lucky."
"Hey, it'll just make you look forward to our winter climb even more, right?" Desmond asked, and Shaun laughed.
"I can't believe you talked me into that," he said, leaning back in the chair. "A winter ascent of Nanga Parbat. It's absolutely mental."
Desmond smirked. "Yeah, but nobody will be saying we're glorified babysitters if we get our names in the record books."
Shaun raised an eyebrow at Desmond, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him. "Desmond, if you're so concerned with what others are saying about us, why are you even working here every year instead of doing your own climbs?"
Desmond had to bite back the first response he thought of- because you're here every year. Yeah, that would go over well; a few days before the summit push, being all 'hey, by the way, I sort of like you as more than a friend'.
"Desmond?" Shaun said, giving Desmond an odd look, and Desmond scrambled to not look like he was pining. He went with his second choice of answer, hopefully before Shaun had a chance to ask why he was suddenly acting strange.
"I like helping people get to the summit, you know? This is like, the pinnacle of some people's entire lives. It's really cool to be a part of that," he finally said, immediately trying to move the focus off himself. "What about you? You're not exactly a…people person."
"Nothing so noble as you," Shaun said, looking away with a slight frown. "I'm good at it. And the universities aren't exactly begging me to sign on once they see my record. No one wants a history professor with a bad habit of harassing large corporations. This is…paying the bills, at least."
"You'd probably have more luck in the states. Some universities would love having a corporate rebel on staff."
"Maybe. Didn't really want it to come to that, but hopping the Atlantic might be the best option, at this point."
Desmond smirked. "You could stay with me. I'll take any excuse to evict the stoner of a roommate I've got right now," he offered, and Shaun gave him an incredulous look.
"You honestly think we could live in the same space permanently and not slaughter each other? Really, Desmond, and here you were actually sounding intelligent for a few minutes."
Desmond's grin widened. "I won't force you to drink our 'rubbish Yankee coffee'. And I'll try to remember not to drink out of the carton."
"You're…really selling it, there. Sounds like five star worthy accommodations."
"Says the guy who spends months of every year living in a tent."
"At least my tent isn't held together with duct tape."
"It's one corner! It's not like it's falling apart."
They both fell silent, Shaun actually looking amused over the whole thing. Desmond shook his head and chuckled, leaning his head back again to look up at the sky. "I'm serious, though. If you ever feel the need to try your luck in California, you know my door is always open."
"I'll keep it in mind," Shaun said softly, and the silence that came after wasn't awkward or uncomfortable; just the casual silence of a quiet camp and a wide-open sky, where there were more stars than Desmond could ever hope to count.
The end of the ridge and the end of the world... then nothing but that clear, empty air. There was nowhere else to climb. I was standing on the top of the world. — Stacy Allison, first American woman to summit Everest
Summit day was always the roughest.
At 26,300 feet, nothing was easy. The simplest tasks became a test of endurance and focus, and the cold seemed to seep straight through to the bone. Altaïr's team had gotten here at almost four in the afternoon, and technically, they were supposed to rest a while and then be ready for the summit push at midnight.
Rest didn't come easy this high, even with bottled oxygen. Even the most experienced of climbers started to suffer once they crossed over into the 'death zone', anywhere above 8000 meters. It was called the death zone for a damn good reason- humans weren't meant to live at this altitude. Here, your body was literally dying, and the challenge was to get to the summit and then back down to the relative safety of camp three before death won the tug of war.
Altaïr was trying to get some sleep in the tent he shared with Malik, which they also shared with the radio equipment that would keep Malik in touch with the team during the summit attempt. They would be in touch with Lucy too, of course, but Malik would be ready with hot tea and fresh oxygen when they stumbled back into camp four tomorrow.
He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was waking up to Malik talking with Lucy over the radio.
"How's that storm looking, over?" Malik asked, and Altaïr lifted his head, adjusting his oxygen mask so it set more comfortably on his face. Malik had his off for the moment, so Lucy could hear him better.
"It's sped up a little. Looks like it'll get here tomorrow evening," Lucy said. "But as long as you guys stick to the two o'clock turnaround, you should be fine, over."
That wouldn't be a problem. Altaïr had always been dead set against descending from the summit after dark, let alone with rookie climbers; he hadn't missed a two o'clock turn around in any of his groups yet, and he didn't plan to start this year. He looked at his watch, and nearly groaned when he saw that it was nearly eleven. He needed to start putting his gear on.
At base camp, he could get into all his gear in fifteen minutes. Up here, it took a good 45 minutes.
There was a good amount of activity outside; it looked like Shaun's group was doing final checks before they got started, and Altaïr could see a line of headlamps up the path to the Balcony. His group would be the last to leave camp, but he wasn't worried; Jackson and Leah would have held up the faster groups anyway, and he was still confident they could make the turnaround times.
Robert's tent was off to the side, zipped up tight; knowing him, he'd probably gotten an early start heading up the mountain so he could brag about beating them all to the summit.
"Altaïr," Malik said, coming out of the tent, bundled up tight in his jacket and gloves. "You watch out for Kadar up there."
Altaïr smirked. "You know I will. I'll bring your brother back safe from the summit, don't worry."
Malik looked like he wanted to say more, but then Kadar showed up with his infectious optimism, and really, no one had the right to be that cheerful at this altitude.
It wasn't long before Jackson, Leah, and the Sherpas showed up, and after a final equipment check, Altaïr led the way out of the camp and toward the Balcony.
This was one of the most peaceful parts of the climb. It was a steep hill, and Altaïr would have preferred more snow on the ground so his crampons wouldn't slip on the exposed rock, but the view was worth it; even in the partial moonlight, he could see the nearby peaks of Lhotse and Makalu. It was incredibly quiet, which meant the other summit groups weren't having any trouble further ahead- any trouble would have brought on plenty of chatter on the radio.
It wasn't until they hit the South Summit that Jackson and Leah started slowing down drastically, and Altaïr started to worry. Obviously the elevation was hitting them hard; Kadar was struggling too, but nowhere near to that extent.
Altaïr kept one eye on his watch and the other on the path ahead, getting updates on conditions from the other groups as they came down from the summit; by the time they got up the Hillary Step, he was sure they could get to the summit before the cut off time.
And he was right; at just before two, he climbed up the last few steps to the summit, where prayer flags and mementos left by other climbers marked the high point. Kadar was the first to follow, his energy renewed from being quite literally on top of the world.
"How's it feel, Kadar?" he asked, and Kadar was actually speechless for a few long moments. That was a first.
"This is unreal," he finally said, breathless with both exhaustion and sheer happiness. "Just think, Altaïr…of all the people in the world, I'm standing higher than any of them."
"You sure are," Altaïr said, looking out at the view. It was one he never tired of; they were above the peaks of all the surrounding mountains, looking down on them as if they were three feet tall, when in fact they were thousands of meters tall. A layer of clouds hid some from view, but the visibility wasn't bad, considering the storm about to come in.
Jackson, Leah, and the Sherpas finally joined them on the summit, and Altaïr radioed it in, getting a 'congratulations' from Malik and Lucy and a limit of ten minutes to enjoy the sights. Altaïr made sure plenty of pictures got taken, Jackson and Leah left pictures of their parents, Kadar left a picture of himself and Malik, and the Sherpas attached more prayer flags before Altaïr told them it was time to head back down.
Mission accomplished. Well, half of it, anyway. Now he just had to get them all down safely. They were still on schedule to beat the storm, so long as the descent went well.
Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory. - Ed Viesturs
Altaïr knew that it had been too smooth of a climb, apart from the slow pace. As it turned out, though, when the whole thing came crumbling down, it wasn't even one of his own climbers that tipped the first domino.
When they arrived at the Hillary Step, Altaïr sent one of the Sherpas first, followed by Jackson and Leah, then the other Sherpa; he needed to keep either himself or the Sherpas close by the three younger climbers, because they were completely exhausted. They were far too prone to make mistakes right now.
He spotted someone coming up to the bottom of the Step just as his Sherpa was reaching the base of it, and it took a moment before he realized who it was- the lack of an oxygen mask gave it away. It was Robert de Sablé, just coming up to the Hillary Step. Altaïr had thought he'd already left the night before, but it looked like he hadn't even left camp four yet when Altaïr's group set off. Altaïr cursed and checked his watch, then got out his radio.
"Pemba, tell Robert that it's nearly 2:30. He needs to descend, right away. Even if he summits he won't make it back before the storm, over," he said, and he saw Pemba approach the lone climber- only to get weakly pushed away.
Anyone who was willing to push someone else on the edge of a cliff wasn't in their right state of mind, asshole or not.
"Pemba, I take that back. Keep your distance, he's obviously not right in the head, over," he said, watching as his Sherpa backed away, retreating to where Jackson and Leah were resting as they waited.
"Should I just wait…?" Kadar asked, watching as Robert fumbled with the fixed ropes.
"Yeah. I'll try to reason with him when he gets up here, but I want you to steer clear. No telling how he'll react."
Unfortunately, they didn't have long to wait before something went wrong. Altaïr didn't have a very good view of what was going on down below, but he could see well enough to know that Robert had messed up somewhere along the way- he was only a fourth of the way up, and the ropes were a mess, caught on his gear.
Altaïr knew the guy wasn't at all coherent when he actually unclipped from the fixed ropes to fix the tangle, only his feet and one hand keeping him on the wall.
"Shit," Altaïr snapped, dread settling low in his stomach. Then, he spotted Kadar hooking himself onto the fixed ropes and leaning back to start down the cliff. "Kadar, get back up here!"
"I can help him! I see what's wrong," Kadar insisted, starting to descend to the snared climber, not seeing the danger in his own altitude induced stupor.
"You're going to get yourself killed!"
"I c-can fix it! Thirty seconds, s'all," he said, and Altaïr cursed again, Malik's demand over the radio for a status update going ignored as he quickly clipped on the rope and wrapped it around his left arm to follow Kadar down.
He went as quickly as he could, his lungs screaming at him for the effort- but that was easily forgotten when he heard a cry of surprise from below and felt a solid yank on the rope around his arm. Kadar had nearly reached Robert- but unfortunately, Robert's grip on the rock had slipped, and he'd grabbed onto the closest thing he could reach. In this case, that was Kadar's leg.
The scrape of crampons against bare rock sent a harsh shock wave from Altaïr's toes straight to his skull as he very nearly slid the rest of the way down in his rush to reach Kadar; he heard another yell, felt another yank on the rope wrapped around his left arm, and he knew that the pitons wouldn't hold the weight of three people. Once the ropes went, the clips holding them onto it would mean jack shit.
"Hold on!" Kadar screamed at Robert below him, his voice muffled by both the oxygen mask and the wind buffeting the exposed rock of the cliff. Altaïr felt another small tug on the rope, this time from above- the piton was shifting. It wouldn't stay embedded for much longer, not even with him holding the rope taut with one arm and holding tight to a jagged groove in the wall with the other hand.
There was a damn good reason why climbers didn't put all their weight on these ropes.
He did the only thing he could think of left to do, the only thing that would save Kadar and Robert from falling down thousands of feet to the rocks below; he shifted both feet on the rocks, moving his right leg to brace between two shallow outcroppings in the cliff face and shifting the other out enough to turn his body as much away from the wall of rock as he could manage. In so many stiff, icy layers of clothing, it was as much a strain as trying to turn around in a vat of molasses.
"Kadar, grab onto me!" he screamed over the wind and the frantic noises from Robert below. Kadar looked up, eyes wide and terrified behind the tinted goggles, but he was smart enough and still clear enough in his thoughts to realize what Altaïr was doing.
The rope wouldn't hold any longer; Altaïr would have to hold up the weight of both of them. Robert was still fighting the tangle of rope, arms still locked around Kadar's leg like a lifeline, and kicking out with his crampons to try and get his feet back on the rocks; but he was panicked and groggy with the delirium of high altitude sickness.
Kadar grabbed onto Altaïr's arm just as a sharp ping signaled the piton snapping out of the crack in the rock it had been hammered into. The rope jerked, and all three climbers were thrown off balance as the majority of their weight was suddenly their own to manage again- or, in Altaïr's case, his own weight plus that of two others.
But in the death zone, it was an agonizing burden to simply hold your own weight up, and even with four summits of Everest under his belt, Altaïr was no exception. He managed to hold on for only a few seconds before his grip started to falter, and one panicked thrash from Robert was enough to destroy any balance he had.
He felt his hand slipping on the jagged rock, tried to brace his leg to get a better grip with his arm, and found his arm too weak to hold on. Vertigo took over his senses as he fell back from the cliff, there was a sickening snap somewhere below him, and the next thing he felt was a terrifying moment of weightlessness and then the impact of his back against rock and snow.
He didn't have any time to judge his situation. He felt himself sliding, heard the other climbers yelling, and with the hand that wasn't still locked tightly around Kadar's wrist he desperately grabbed for a handhold. There was something very wrong, a vicious pain in his right leg that shouldn't be there, but his only focus was stopping their slide. There were very few precious feet before the drop off, after all.
His hand caught on the edge of an exposed rock slab, and he thanked any deity that happened to be listening for the lack of snowfall in the past few days; that edge would usually be covered in inches of snow. He gritted his teeth as Kadar's weight yanked at his arm again, but this time he held firm.
Robert didn't.
He heard the slide of cloth against rock and snow, and then a scream of terror that abruptly cut into silence. Probably smacked into something on the way down the rock face; if he was lucky, he was killed or unconscious relatively soon into the fall. It was a long way down to consider his impending status of 'smear of flesh on the rocks'.
It was the least of Altaïr's worries at the moment, he hated to admit. The pain in his right leg had become blinding, not the ache of an overworked or pulled muscle- no, this was a fiery, nauseating pain that made even the smallest shift seem like the worst agony. He could do no more than concentrate on keeping his grip on both the rocks and Kadar's wrist solid, until he heard the sound of Kadar shifting below, and the thunk of an ice pick being slammed through the snow.
It felt like forever, waiting for Kadar to move up past him to their waiting team, none of whom were stupid enough to try and edge down the start of the slope to get to them. Kadar reached more solid ground and then turned, helping Altaïr crawl up to the same mostly level ground.
Every move was like crushing his right leg in a vice below the knee. He dragged it behind him, a ragged sob tearing from his throat as he managed to sit up and lean back heavily against the bare rocks of the base of the Hillary Step.
"He's gone. He fell. I couldn't even…" Kadar said, his voice weak and shaky, his eyes glued to the drop off that had almost been their own instrument of death. Altaïr tried to take in a few deep breaths, his mind racing as his own situation set in, unbeknownst to Kadar.
He was at the bottom of the Hillary Step on Mt. Everest.
His right leg was, without a doubt, broken. Useless.
And a storm was rolling in.
He was completely fucked.
"Kadar," he said, surprised at the roughness of his own voice as he looked up at the younger climber and the two Sherpas who were waiting for their next orders. "K-Kadar, you and the Sherpas get Jackson and L-Leah back to camp four. As quickly as possible. Don't let them stop to rest."
Kadar's gaze finally snapped away from the ledge, eyes focusing on Altaïr with an equal mix of confusion and fear. "What? What are you talking about? You can't possibly get to Robert, he-"
"My leg is broken," Altaïr interrupted, trying not to let any of his own fear seep into his words. Yes, he was well aware that he was going to die on this mountain tonight, but Kadar didn't need the weight of Altaïr's dread on his mind right now.
He was going to have a hard enough time as it was.
"It's….no. No, it can't be," Kadar said, his voice desperate as he moved to kneel next to the injured man. "No. Maybe it's just sprained. Can you put any weight on it? The Sherpas, they could-"
"No. It's definitely broken, and Jackson and Leah are t-too weak. You're nearly at your limit. The Sherpas will need all their energy to get you three down to camp; you'll never make it with a dead weight."
"No!" Kadar yelled, a sob cracking the word in two. "We can't leave you here! You'll die, Altaïr!"
Altaïr actually managed a chuckle at that, though it was strained with obvious pain. "You said you understood the rules. You told Malik you were ready to be left up here, if you were too badly injured to make it down. It's n-not just you that applies to," he said, stopping to take a slow, shaky breath. "I'm not special. I'm not going to make it down the mountain, Kadar. It's out of my hands now. Out of yours, too."
He could see the grim looks on the Sherpas' faces, the devastated exhaustion from Jackson and Leah; all of them knew what this meant. Though Jackson and Leah probably weren't able to fully grasp it at the moment- the full impact of it would probably hit them at camp three, back in the safety of breathable levels of oxygen.
"I c-can't, I…I can't leave you h-here, Altaïr, please," Kadar managed, tears tracking down his cheeks and almost immediately slowing and icing over, even under the oversized goggles. His gloved hands were clenched on the fabric of Altaïr's sleeve. "Please, you have to try!"
"Kadar."
"Please!"
Altaïr swallowed hard. It was strange, how he was more upset by Kadar's desperate pleading than by the reality of his situation. "Get Jackson and Leah to camp. Quickly, or they won't make it," he said, pausing and clenching his jaw at a sudden spike in the pain as he barely shifted. "I'll radio Malik and base camp and let them know what the situation is."
Kadar sobbed again, but finally nodded. He leaned forward and grabbed Altaïr in a tight hug, his breathing harsh in his mask and his whole body trembling- whether from fear or from the cold, he didn't know.
Altaïr tried not to think as Kadar stood up and stumbled away. Tried not to let himself realize that this would be the last time he ever saw Kadar. The last time he ever saw anyone, for that matter. No one else was coming down from the summit, and everyone was either at camp or headed in that direction to escape the coming storm.
There was only one thing left to do- break the news to his best friend.
He couldn't put it off. As soon as Kadar said anything on the radio, everyone would know something had happened. Altaïr wanted to try and explain the situation without causing more panic, or giving false hope. He fumbled for his radio, taking one more deep breath against the pain before he squeezed the button.
"Altaïr to base camp and Malik, come in."
There was a pause filled with static, and then Lucy's voice. "This is base camp, we hear you, over."
"Malik here. What's your situation? Over," a second voice said, sounding tired and irritated- a welcome moment of normalcy. Altaïr could easily picture the grumpy look on his face, sitting in his tent at camp four, bundled up in layers upon layers next to the radio.
"There's been…a problem. Kadar and the Sherpas are bringing Jackson and Leah back to camp four. With all luck they'll make decent t-time and get to you in about three hours, over."
There was a heavy pause, just as Altaïr was expecting- then, Malik's voice again.
"Altaïr, you had better not mean 'they' as in 'without you'. What the hell happened, over?"
Altaïr let out a shaky sigh. Here goes.
"Robert was on the Hillary Step moving toward the summit. Pretty much delirious, nearly fell off the cliff. Kadar and I tried to reach him to get him secured, but, uh…he'd loosened the pitons trying to untangle from the ropes. Took all three of us d-down to the base of the step. I tried to arrest the fall, but only Kadar held on."
He took a few breaths. It was difficult to form a full sentence this high on the mountain, let alone explain what had been a completely fucked up situation.
"You're not staying up there to look for Robert, are you?" Lucy asked, and Altaïr would have laughed at the incredulous tone, if he'd had the energy.
"God, no. He's gone off the side," he explained, hesitating for one precious moment longer before dropping the other shoe. "I broke my right leg just below the knee trying to keep us on the Step. I'm…unable to proceed down to camp. Jackson and Leah and Kadar need both Sherpas to get down before the storm, they can't even consider a dead weight."
The pause this time was longer. Altaïr knew that every guide and climber on the south face was on this frequency, and they all knew exactly what that meant.
Rescue efforts up this high just…didn't happen. Climbers could barely get themselves down, let alone someone who can't manage to stand on their own two feet.
"So…you're telling me that you're at the bottom of the Hillary Step- with a broken leg," Malik finally said, his voice oddly flat. Altaïr didn't even bother to answer. He didn't need to.
"I don't have any Sherpas who are high enough on the mountain to get to you before dark, Altaïr," Lucy's voice cut in, her words halting and unsteady.
"I know. I'm not expecting a rescue," Altaïr said, curling his fingers and toes to make sure he could still feel them. Even curling his toes on his right leg tore a cry of pain from his chest, luckily after he'd let up on the button on his radio. He didn't need them hearing that.
"How much oxygen do you have left?" Malik said, his words still oddly steady, as if he wasn't letting himself put two and two together. Altaïr thought for a few moments, counting in his head.
"Almost three hours. Maybe," he guessed, obviously not putting too much thought into the answer. What did it matter? The oxygen was just delaying the inevitable, at this point.
"Lucy, what's the ETA on that storm, over?" Malik asked, and that got Altaïr's attention, because like hell would he let Malik pull some damned suicide mission trying to save him. He tensed, his hand clutching the radio a little tighter, but Lucy was way ahead of him.
"Malik, the storm will get here in about three hours, and he has less than three hours of oxygen left. It would take you at least six to reach him, in ideal conditions, and- oh, yeah, you have one arm, if you forgot about that. Don't even think about trying something stupid, over," she said, some of the shakiness gone from her voice as she slipped back into her element as the company manager.
"Base camp and Malik, this is Shaun Hastings of British Mountaineering Adventures, do you read, over?" a familiar voice piped up, the distinctive British accent obvious even through the muffling effect of an oxygen mask.
"I read you, Shaun, but I'm sure you can tell this is not a good time, over," Lucy snapped.
"Sorry to be a bother," Shaun continued. "However, I'm on return from the summit, about ten minutes out from where my team has extra oxygen stashed on the Balcony. I can be back at the base of the Hillary Step in, oh…about two and a half hours, give or take, with fresh oxygen for our stranded friend, over."
Altaïr felt like his heart stopped for a moment there. This was Shaun Hastings, snarky British bastard and guide for a rival company, and it sounded like…he was offering to assist in a completely hopeless rescue.
This was insane. He had to be hallucinating.
"We're about to have white out conditions. And you've been climbing for close to 12 hours already," Malik pointed out, though he sounded taken aback by what he was hearing, just as much as Altaïr. "You do know what you're saying, right?"
"Offering to cart some oxygen up to hopefully tide him over till you get your inevitable little rescue party going, yeah, I'm fully aware," Shaun replied, and Altaïr could hear the weary smirk in his voice. "God knows no force on this mountain is going to stop you, so I may as well pitch in."
"No. There is no rescue party. There is no rescue at the Hillary Step during a storm," Lucy said, her voice now making the full transition from shaky to frantic. Radio etiquette was quickly being left in the dust on all sides of the conversation once again. "Malik, you're staying put. Shaun, you're coming back down to camp four, immediately. Do you understand me?"
Shaun's laugh in reply was breathless. "Did I miss the part where you bought BMA and became my boss? Last I checked, you're base camp manager for Seven Summits Adventure Guides, Miss Stillman."
"Guys, she's right," Altaïr broke in, because the more they talked, the more he realized that they just might be reckless enough to actually attempt a suicidal rescue. He couldn't bear the thought of more bodies on this mountain than his own, frozen to the rock in an attempt to get him down. "There's only two of you, one already exhausted from summiting. It would take t-ten Sherpas in good weather to even move someone ten feet up here."
"Make that three," a new voice crackled to life over the radio, one that Altaïr immediately recognized. "You really think I'm gonna let Shaun go have a summit slumber party with my favorite cousin without crashing it? Hell no. I've been resting at camp four for a while, I can be ready to go in fifteen minutes."
Desmond. Of course- while Desmond would never admit it, the idea of Shaun taking a suicidal trip up the mountain was probably tearing him apart. Despite the constant bickering, the two were inseparable- everyone on the mountain was tired of the two dancing around the fact that they both wanted to screw the other's brains out, neither willing to be the first to admit it, or maybe both of them honestly oblivious.
"Guys, no. Desmond, you are on my payroll, and I'm ordering you to stay put at camp," Lucy said.
"Uh huh. I'll tell you what; you come right up here and stop me. I'll even send down a Sherpa to help you with the Lhotse Face," Desmond pointed out, knowing full well that even if Lucy were equipped and ready to climb, it would take a full day to ascend to camp four, assuming no pit stops.
Altaïr felt real fear rising in him again; fear at the thought of Malik, Desmond, and Shaun stubbornly walking out into the storm just to die. "Malik, this is insane. Even if you got here, you c-can't carry me, and I can't walk. We both knew this could happen, don't do anything stupid," he begged, hoping they would come to their senses.
"You trying to hold yourself and two people on that rock face was stupid too, Altaïr. But like hell am I letting you save my brother's life and then sit there to die," Malik said, the first hints of heated emotion coloring his voice. "Shaun will be there before your oxygen runs out, and he should have enough to last you until we get there. Right Hastings?"
"Right you are. Picking up the extras momentarily; I'm sending my team on to camp with their Sherpas and I'll be turning right round."
"Malik, stop this right now! Three people can't make this kind of rescue, not even in perfect weather!"
"Then maybe four can. I'll see you at the Step, boss man," another female voice piped up- Rebecca, Shaun's assistant guide with the British team. She had barely finished her words when another new voice joined in.
"Perhaps five would be a better number?" Ezio added with his trademark Italian accent. "Summit Heroes of Italy wouldn't be heroes at all if we left a good man stranded at the top of a mountain, si?"
"I can't believe this. We're going to lose six of our best guides on this mountain tonight, all because you guys want to try and be big damn heroes," Lucy said, and Altaïr was tempted to agree with her.
But at the same time…their determination was tugging at him, giving him the slightest bit of hope where he'd had none since the moment his leg snapped. He knew how idiotic it was, that the chances of a successful night rescue during a storm a mere hour short of the summit of the tallest peak in the world were abysmal at best, but…
They were going to risk everything just to give him a chance at survival.
And he couldn't even try to convince himself that he wouldn't do the same, were it Malik staring death in the face on this peak.
"Alright. Here's the plan," Malik said, completely ignoring Lucy. "We'll meet by the Seven Summits tents in fifteen minutes. Bring as much extra oxygen as you can safely carry and any extra doses of Dex. You all know how risky this is; I'm not going to ask anyone to put their life on the line for this, but if you show up, I'll assume you're prepared to do whatever it takes."
"We totally need a cool code name for this," Rebecca said, her voice inappropriately cheerful given the situation.
"Operation Stranded Eagle?" Desmond said, and there was another long pause- while Altaïr rolled his eyes.
When Malik spoke again, it was with a solid, unshakeable conviction. "Operation Stranded Eagle starts in fifteen minutes; let's get our friend off that damn summit. Malik over and out."