The Ascent

Two brothers push themselves beyond their limits to reach the summit of Mt. McKinley in Alaska, but now the hard part - coming down.

 

                “Almost there!”

                Jimmy glances at the back of his brother’s bright, red parka, his black balaclava over his face making him look like a bandit.  Fitting, he thinks.   Jimmy attempts to shout something back, but the air is so thin, he waves instead.

                The route isn’t technical at this section, but physically grueling.  Four years of tree planting has chiseled Jimmy’s body from a soft, baby-faced nineteen year old into a tight, lean machine, yet his thighs  scream in pain from the burn of lactic acid in his muscles.   Clark is the better climber and more experienced and this is his second ascent of Mount McKinley, so Jimmy is content to follow his lead.  With each daunting step, Jimmy watches the faded yellow rope swing loosely between them.  The summit is only about fifty metres up now, but will take at least another thirty minutes of hard climbing to reach it.  At almost 6194 metre’s, they move in slow motion.

                Just one more.  Just one more.  His mind, foggy now, is focused on that single mantra.  His feet feel as if someone has slipped a thirty pound weight into each boot when he wasn’t looking.  His boot plops into the snow a foot ahead and he feels the ache from the crampon bars strapped tightly to the sole.  He stops, gasping for air that can’t soothe his sore lungs.  His brother coughs as if he is choking, then spits out something thick and yellow.    After several more determined steps, Jimmy passes by it.  He moves his arms to readjust his sixty pound pack.  The straps dig into his shoulders.  Even with the protection of six thick layers of clothing, his skin still feels chaffed.

                The rope between them grows taunt and he looks up.  Clark has quickened his pace.  Jimmy can see that his brother is eager to finish the last five steps that will bring him to the top.  He feels a surge of excitement and tries to keep up.

                “Ye-hah!”   Clark stands on the summit, both arms raised in triumph. 

                Jimmy’s wide smile opens fresh cracks in his lips, and he tastes salt from the thin line of clear mucus that steams from his nose.  With one last herculean effort, he pulls himself onto the summit.  “I can’t believe we did it!”  He flops down onto the snow.

                Clark sits down beside him and punches his arm.  “You did it, little bro!”

                Jimmy slips his arms free of the pack straps and sits up.  He flings an arm around Clark and hugs him.  “Just look at this view!”  Jimmy pushes up his goggles for a better look, his eyes shiny.

                “I told ya!  Now aren’t you glad you came?”

                “Oh yeah!” 

Clark stands up and dusts the snow from the back of his legs.  “Enjoy it while you can because we’re going to have to start down right away, or risk getting caught in the dark.”

                “Just let me take a few pictures.”  Jimmy removes the glove from his right hand and sets it on the snow.  The glove starts to move and Jimmy jumps to his feet as if to go after it.  Red faced and wide-eyed, he watches the glove slide down the slope and disappear.

                “S**t!  I can’t believe I did that!”

                 “Lucky for you, I brought extra gloves in my pack.”

                “Oh thank god!”  Jimmy reaches out his hand.

                “Take your pictures first.  I don’t want you loosing one of my gloves too.”

                “Fine.”  Jimmy unzips the top of his pack and pulls out his camera, the metal cold against his bare fingers.  

                Clark rummages through his pack and fingers the extra gloves balled up inside.  “You about done?”  

                Reluctantly, Jimmy puts his camera away. 

                Clark hands Jimmy one of the gloves, a black hand with red finger tips.  “Okay then.”  Clark stands up.  “Now for the hard part.”  He slings the pack over his shoulders.  “Going down.”  He hesitates, as if remembering something important.  “You got your beacon?”

                Jimmy slaps his chest.  “Yup, right here.”

                “Do you have it turned on?”

                 Jimmy feels relief that going down this first section seems much easier and faster than going up.  He’s in the lead now, and he knows that should he fall, Clark will have to support both of them, so he chooses his steps carefully.  He enters into a pocket of air that seems unusually warm, and he starts to sweat.  He wishes he could remove a layer of clothing but doesn’t dare, for fear of loosing something else.   “Warm, huh?” he calls over his shoulder.

                “Yeah.  I don’t like it.  Makes the snow unstable.  Let’s hurry and get out of this hot pocket.” 

                Jimmy nods and picks up the pace.  With his next step Jimmy hears a whoomp, then a loud crack, like a gun going off behind him.  But before he can turn around to look, the avalanche grabs him.  He feels like a carpet has been ripped out from under him.  Instantly the world starts to tumble by in a flurry of dark white. 

                Together , Jimmy and his brother are swept down the mountain until the rope connecting them catches on a jutting rock and snaps.  Clark tumbles off to the side, away from the rushing river of snow. 

Jimmy carries on down the mountain alone.  He suddenly remembers what the guidebook said and tries to swim.  But with no concept of up or down, and his limbs flinging about uncontrollably, it is hard to do.  He starts to scream but snow is forced into his mouth, choking him.  Then just as suddenly as it had started, the avalanche stops with Jimmy buried several feet below.  He knows that he has only three seconds to make an air pocket before the snow hardens like concrete.  He finds his right arm twisted behind his head, so he punches the snow with his elbow to create a small pocket near his mouth.  He must have hurt his arm in the fall because it is on fire with pain.  And then he can’t move - the hard snow hugs his body like a concrete mold.  He feels it squeeze his chest, like a vice grip, and he has only enough room for half a breath.  He rolls his eyes around but all he can see is darkness, a black void.  He hyperventilates but tries to calm himself by counting to ten. 

                Then he hears it.  A soft tapping at first.  Then louder, like something scraping.  When the snow breaks and bright light shines on his face, he is surprised to see a stranger. 

                “ It’s okay.  You’re almost out.”  The stranger keeps shoveling to free Jimmy’s body.  Finally he sets the shovel aside, and reaches down.  “Grab my hand.”

                Jimmy reaches for the stranger’s hand, and then stops when the beacon around his neck begins to beep.  “Where’s my brother?”

                The stranger grabs Jimmy’s hand and pulls him from his white concrete grave.  “I saw him running down the mountain after you.  His signal must be transmitting with yours.

                Jimmy touches the beeping device at his chest.  He can feel the pulse through his fingertips.                      “I’m Michael.  I’m set up at Camp Five,” he points behind him, “just over there.  I watched you slide down.”  Jimmy turns and sees the tent, glowing with warmth and light.   He shakes his limbs to test for injury and is surprised to find his body whole.

                “Come on.  Let’s get you warmed up in the tent.”

                The beep of the beacon grows quieter.  Jimmy hesitates, his eyes round.  “But Clark - he won’t find me.” 

                “It’s okay.  He saw where you landed.  Clark will find you.” 

                Michael drapes an arm around Jimmy and steers him toward the comforting light in the tent.   As Jimmy kneels at the door, he feels a sense of peace envelope his body.  The noise of the beacon has faded away.  He looks back once more before crawling inside.

                Clark straddles the mound of snow where he last saw a glimpse of his brother’s bright green jacket.  He shovels frantically, desperate to reach Jimmy before it is too late. The beep of his beacon grows shrill, the pulse fast.   “Jimmy!  I’m here! Hang on, I’m getting you out!”  He digs faster.  Snow swirls everywhere as he hurls it over his shoulder .   “I got you Jimmy!”

                 He sees the hand first, the black glove with red tips.

               T

Reviews

[Becky]

Oh. My. God.

That was brilliant.

I didn't get it at first, but now my mind is pretty much overwhelmed by the sheer subtlety of your message.

Especially the symbolism of the glove, which was just... painfully glorious.

coach cheryl pretty much sums it up. There really isn't any criticism I can offer. Really shocking, excellent write!

[Becky]

AHA! UPON RE-READING, I HAVE FOUND A GRAND TOTAL OF... one error.

You are human, after all, and not some story-writing machine! :P

"choking," not "chocking."

Yeah. That is all.... I'll go to bed now....

[coach cheryl]

Your story sure stands out- superb writing. The ending has an interesting twist- you sure fooled me.