Ice Shock(88)

I crawl out of the crevasse. Every movement of my wounded leg against the ice is pure agony. But I manage to ignore it. I keep crawling on my belly until I’m far enough away from the edge. Then I turn onto my back, sit up, and pull on the slack rope that now dangles into the crevasse.

There’s something at the end of the rope.

I hear a faint rattling sound as some object scrapes the ice on its way up. I pull even faster, threading rope through my hands. Until I’m holding every inch of rope.

There, tied to the end of the rope, is the Bracelet of Itzamna.





43


There were twenty-four climbers known to be on the slopes of El Pico de Orizaba when the earthquake hit. Twenty-five if you include Simon Madison.

Twenty of us made it off the mountain alive. Including me and Ixchel.

They found only three bodies. My dad’s was the first. He was at the bottom of an ice crevasse, his neck broken. They sent a climber down after him, attached to a winch, and pulled his body up. Two other bodies were found a day later, buried deep under the snow. Their jackets had avalanche-detection systems. They were both high-school students from Mexico.

They still haven’t found the third high-school kid. I’ve overheard comments about waiting until the snow melts, in spring.

There was no sign of Madison. No one saw him come down the mountain; no one saw him alive again on the glacier. He simply vanished into the clouds of snow.

If my dad hadn’t cut himself free, I’d have fallen with him. Maybe the fall would have killed me, maybe not.

Someone asks how I’m feeling.

I don’t feel anything.

It’s as though everything poured out of me on the mountain. I’m emptied, exhausted, numb.

At least no one wants to tell me how to feel. We’re all in the same boat. Sixteen-year-old boys hug each other and cry for their lost friends.

Dark words are spoken about how the weather conditions had looked dangerous. Everyone’s wise after the event. No one’s sorry for the lost snowboarder. The avalanche, they figure, may not have been his fault, but he sure made it worse.

I’m staying at a fancy hospital for a few days to recuperate. Montoyo arrived with Benicio, only hours after the rescue operation. Tomorrow, Mom will be here.

Ixchel was one of the first to be found. As soon as Madison cut her rope, she ran off the glacier, toward the hut. She was caught by the edge of the avalanche that hit the hut, but wasn’t buried too deep. Like me, she was able to dig her way out. By the time she surfaced, some of the high-school kids were on the surface of the snow. One of their party radioed for help. Ixchel called Montoyo.

I suppose I should feel something more than relief at seeing Ixchel. But that’s just the problem.


I feel nothing.

It’s as if the air around me has been sucked away, replaced with dead space. Between me and everyone else, there’s this vacuum. When I try to talk, everything gets swallowed up. It comes out monotone, monochrome.

I hardly notice when Montoyo comes to see me. I’m lying on my bed in a hospital in Veracruz. During the avalanche, my leg wound opened up. It bled pretty badly. They had to stitch and bandage it all over again. Susannah has been sitting with me ever since they brought me down from the mountain. She says very little, but strokes my hair and tells me that I’m very brave.

Brave? What does that even mean?

Montoyo asks for time alone with me. He won’t let me lie on the bed just staring into space.

“Sit up, now. You can do that much.”

I can’t meet his eyes. He stares at me for a long time, and then pats my back and sighs.

“This is gonna be a tough time for you, Josh. Believe me, I know.”

I turn slowly to face him. “What do you know?”

“You’re in pain. That’s something we all go through.”

I shake my head slowly. “This is something different.”

Montoyo nods. “This is shock. And it, too, will pass.” He pauses. “What you need to understand, Josh, is that your father’s fate is something beyond you. It’s out of your hands.”

I gaze at Montoyo. “He didn’t even know me. Did Ixchel tell you? He sacrificed his life for me. Even though he couldn’t remember I was his son.”

“He sacrificed himself because it was the only thing to do. He knew the hazards of the mountain. Most importantly, he knew you, even if he couldn’t remember. You can be sure that knowing you were his son made that choice much easier. A father doesn’t think twice about a decision like that.”

“I want to cry … ,” I say in a low voice. “But I can’t anymore. Why?”

“You spilled a lot of blood and tears on that mountain. It’s enough. Don’t cry too much for the dead—they see it. And it hurts them.”