Most of all, she’d spent the last seventeen days trying to forget the man who’d told her to be safe.
She’d almost managed to put Orion behind her, scrape from her mind the way he stood there, looking healthy and solid, unbroken. A lie—she knew it. But it stirred up memories that only wandered her dreams.
She blamed the altitude for the way his laughter rode the wind at night. The eternal sun kept her from full sleep, twining her instead into the memory of fighting him for the basketball, watching the way his body leaned out in his jump shot, his form toned and capable.
She’d even found herself leaning into the rich, dark moment when he’d walked her back to her tent that last night, one of many glorious, amazing, soul-nourishing evenings with Orion Starr. His hand finding hers, a soft squeeze, his gaze lingering.
Wow, she’d loved him.
One more memory she had to put behind her.
They crossed the ridge, and an hour later she was breathing hard, the air searing her lungs through her face mask, her body working against a sweat despite the -30 chill.
“Jenny!”
The voice rose from ahead of her, and she looked up to see that one of the men—Dixon, the handsome Samoan frat boy—was waving at them from the peak.
She liked the men’s group—what little she knew of them. She’d joined them occasionally during a break, and they sometimes ate dinner together. A group of friends from the University of Oregon, they’d played football together years ago and now got together once a year to climb.
Only one of them hadn’t made it to the summit day, a guy named Mike who was developing what Kit thought might be altitude sickness. He’d woken up with a headache, nausea, and slurred speech. She had asked one of the coleaders she brought in, a twenty-one-year-old college student named Chris, to hike with him down the mountain. That left her other coleader, a seasoned climber who went by Boyd, to rope in with the guys. He wore his hair in dreadlocks, sported a long scraggly beard, and looked like he lived on the mountain full-time along with the rangers at Basin Camp.
Jenny waved back to Dixon. He was pointing and she looked over to see a puff of snow rise from the base of Huntington. Another spectacular avalanche. She’d been listening to the mountains heave and groan around her for two weeks, seracs and buttresses plummeting down ice fields into the valley below. Now, seeing the cloud rise from Huntington made her realize . . . God had been watching out for them on this trip.
No one was going to die.
Maybe, in fact, he’d even forgiven her.
Not that she expected him to—she hadn’t even asked. It felt too great a request, really.
She wasn’t the only one to blame, but good men had died.
And those who came home bore horrible wounds, in their bodies and souls.
No, she didn’t deserve forgiveness.
She just wanted, for a fraction of a moment, to be free.
To breathe in the great breath of grace.
Jenny dug her spike into the snow, following Kit’s footsteps, every breath fire in her lungs as she fought for the final three hundred feet. Kit stood at the top, along with the four frat brothers, grinning at her.
When she arrived, Kit high-fived her. Then, Jenny turned to greet Sasha.
She was openly weeping, the tears freezing on her cheeks.
Aria joined them, collapsing into a heap. They fell together, laughing. The top wasn’t remarkably wide, so they huddled up and Kit took their picture. Then they joined the guys and took another photo.
Jenny sat at the top a long while, surveying the 360-degree view—Mount Hunter and Mount Huntington to the south, Mount Foraker to the west, and all of the Alaskan Range spread out in jagged, rugged brilliance, snowcapped, the sheer granite walls rising to meet the horizon.
If only she could stay here forever.
“We need to get moving,” Kit said.
Yes. Clouds had gathered below the peak, the sky above turning leaden, and as she got up, the sweat drying on her body, a shiver whipped through her at the brutal lash of the wind. She noticed the peak of Huntington had disappeared into a layer of dense clouds. And over Foraker, a lenticular cloud had formed.
She’d taken bare supplies on her summit push—a stove pot, a sleeping bag, a tent, shovel, and food—just in case they had to brave a night on the peak, but that was the last thing she wanted. And, the ice climber in her had added a couple quick additions she probably wouldn’t need—a long piece of webbing with tech—a number of carabiners, ice screws, an ascender, a figure eight rappeler and a couple snow pros, pickets that could anchor her into the ice.
The guys had already started down. Kit roped up with the women and they started down the ridge. “Most accidents happen on the way down, so watch your footing, and anchor in to the fixed line when we get to the pass.”
The wind started to lift off snow from Pig Hill, sweeping it down into a plateau called the Football Field. Overhead, the clouds moved in to shroud the peak.
Jenny had purposely chosen an ice axe instead of a ski pole in case she’d had to self-arrest, but now she wished for the balance of the ski pole as she tried to slow her steps, keep from moving too quickly. Kit had placed pickets along the path on ascent, and now Jenny could barely make out the orange flag attached to the wands, the white whipping over her goggles. What she would give for some chemical hand warmers.
One foot ahead of the other, keep looking forward.
The temperature dropped as they crossed the Football Field, and save for the line connecting them, she would have lost Kit. A tug behind her slowed her down and she turned, the snow blinding her. “Sasha!”
The wind cut off her words.
Jenny tugged on her rope to stop Kit and headed back to Sasha.
Sasha had fallen into the snow and was bending over, breathing hard. Aria stood next to her, shouting as Jenny came up to her.
“I think she’s getting altitude sickness!”
Right about then, Sasha threw up.
Jenny knelt next to her, fighting the rise of panic.
If she was getting AMS, then it wouldn’t be long before she developed pulmonary edema or even cerebral edema.
But she’d be better as soon as they got to a lower altitude.
Sasha leaned up. “I’m fine,” she said, not caring that spittle froze into her face mask. “I’m just tired.”
Kit came up and leaned over them. “If we can get her back to High Camp, we can send her down the NPS’s rescue line in Rescue Gully.”
“She’ll be fine,” Jenny said, not sure of her words. Please. “Can you walk, Sasha?”
She nodded and Jenny and Aria helped her up. Hooked their hands around her arms.
“You need to stay apart from each other, in case you fall,” Kit said.
“She needs help!” Aria said, and clearly wasn’t moving away from Sasha.
Kit’s mouth tightened. “I won’t have time to arrest if you fall. We need to keep a longer running length.”
“I’ll take the coil,” Jenny said. Kit considered her a moment. “I can do it,” Jenny said.
Kit unclipped and handed her the coil of rope. Jenny slid it over her shoulder in a kiwi coil, tied it off, and clipped it into her locking biner on her harness.
Kit gave her work a glance, then nodded. “Watch your steps.” Kit moved out ahead of them.
They fought their way across the Football Field, one agonizing step at a time, finally reaching the notch at Denali Pass. Kit waited for them, clipping into the NPS fixed rope that led down the pass.