Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan (13 page)

But who can worry about the weather now? After more than ten hours of climbing, I’m exhausted!

I was almost too tired to eat but forced myself to stay awake long enough to slurp down the hot beef stew Maura heated on
the mini stove. Afterward, I crawled into my tent and am struggling to keep awake long enough to finish this journal ent

WE HAD TO WEAR OXYGEN MASKS AFTER LEAVING CAMP 2.

This morning as we left Camp 2, we
reached 21,000 feet above sea level. Up this high, we would become dizzy and grow easily exhausted in the thin air.

Jiban said, “I want you both to put on your oxen masks and keep them on from now on. I would not want to have our first climp
up Chomolungma be our last.”

You didn’t need to tell me twice. I now knew how weird I could get without oxygen. I put on my mask.

Our next destination, Camp 3, is the most dangerous of all the camps. It’s halfway up the Lohtse Face, a steep 3,700–foothigh
wall of glacial ice. You have to pitch your tents on narrow icy ledges that are totally unprotected from the wind. If a storm
were to pop up, we’d have nowhere to go and would have to hunker down with nothing but hope to shield us.

Jiban was looking up at the sky. “I don’t like the looks of those clouds,” he said, pointing to a dark dusting of clouds off
in the distance.

“But We have to go on,” I urged. “We’re so close now.”

Jiban continued to examine the sky for a moment. Then he looked at me. Something in my face seemed to make him change his
mind. “Okay,” he said. “We can keep climbing. But we must tie ourselves to one another. If a storm does develop, I don’t want
any of us to get lost.”

Jiban pulled out a long coil of rope and three clips. We each attached one end of a clip to our waist and the other to the
rope. With about 20 feet of rope between each person, Jiban was in the front, then me, and finally, Maura.

“We’re gambling a lot on your hunch, Nick,” Maura commented as we started to climb again.

“Are you beginning to doubt me?” I asked.

“No,” she said with a smile. “I’m just making an observation.”

We were climbing for about twenty minutes, making pretty good progress, when the strangest thing happened.

Maura’s satellite phone started to ring. Even 40 feet away, Jiban heard it. We both gathered around Maura.

MAURA’S PHONE RANG!

She quickly removed her gloves and oxygen mask. She pulled the phone from her backpack. We were on the side of the world’s
highest mountain, and Maura was taking a phone call. Bizarre!

“Yes?” she said as she answered the phone. After a moment, her green eyes flashed with excitement. “Hello, Judge Pinkerton.”
Judge! I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Maura spoke into the phone. “Yes, ma’am, well, it’s a long story. Yes, he’s right
here, let me put him on.”

I pushed up my oxygen mask as I took the phone from Maura.

“Judge?” I said.

“Nick! Are you okay?” The connection was almost completely filled with static, but her voice was the best thing I’d heard
in days.

“Yes, we’re one. I—”

Our voices were overlapping from the bad connection. Judge spoke quickly as if she knew we might be cut off at any second.
“I finished my investigation and got your messages about your father still being missing. We’ve been able to triangulate your
location by zeroing in on Maura’s satellite phone. I know exactly where you are, and I’m sending assistance. Go back to Camp
2 and wait there. Did you hear me, Nick?”

“Yes, Judge,” I said, “but—”

“Nick? Did you hear me?” her words were almost drowned by static. “Nick, if—”

And then her voice was gone. I looked down at Maura’s satellite phone. There was no signal.

I gave the phone back to Maura and told her and Jiban what Judge had said. “She wants us to go back to Camp 2 She says help
is on the was.”

A STORM WAS COMING!

“All right,” Jiban said, looking up at the sky. “I cannot argue with that. The storm I feared is now most certainly on its
way. We must be very careful.”

And he was right.

About five minutes later, as we were heading back down to Camp 2, the storm hit. It was almost like I had blinked and, suddenly,
we were in the middle of a blizzard. I imagined that this was what it must be like to be lost in thick, dark smoke. At its
thickest, I couldn’t see more than a few inches in any direction.

Somehow, I got spun around, and the rope that connected us wrapped itself around my shins. I couldn’t walk. And yet Jiban
was still pulling on the line.

I unclipped myself from the rope for a second so that I could untangle myself—and then I fell.

The rope slithered out of my hands.

I called out, but I could barely hear my own voice.

I tried to retrace my steps but realized they were already covered in snow.

The wind screamed around me, and the snow felt like carpenter’s nails on the part of my face that wasn’t protected by my goggles
or oxygen mask. There hadn’t been time to put on my ski mask.

I was in serious trouble.

Find shelter! I screamed at myself.

But where?

There! There was a rock face that might protect me. I walked over to it—and through it. It hadn’t been a rock face, after
all, but an illusion created by the blowing snow.

I turned to go back and fell again.

This time, I skittered down the icy slope directly toward the edge of a cliff. I felt my oxygen mask tear off my face, and
it was gone.

I tried everything, but I couldn’t slow myself down—I was going to plummet over the side. And that would mean certain death—

My feet shot over the edge—

And a hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed my arm. I had been moving with such speed that my body swung out and back onto
the cliff.

I looked up at my savior.

I expected to see Jiban or Maura ….

But it was a man wearing a bright red down jacket and matching red snow pants. His face was nearly hidden under the red cap
and snow goggles he wore. But in an instant, I recognized him anyway.

It was my godfather! It was Uncle Benny!

I COULDN’T BELIEVE UNCLE BENNY WAS HERE!

In my shock, I decided the hypoxia must
be back and stronger than before.

What was Uncle Benny doing here on top of Mount Everest? Who would I see next? My third-grade teacher strolling down the mountainside?

I rubbed my eyes, trying to see if the vision would clear.

Uncle Benny let out a loud laugh. “Kid, you’re not dreaming!” he shouted over the howling wind. “It’s me standing with you
here at the top of the world.”

I glanced quickly around. More like dangling from the top of the world. We were on a narrow ledge that was covered with ice.
On one side, just behind me, was the cliff that had almost taken my life. On the other side, a rock outcropping about the
size of a minivan jutted into the air behind Uncle Benny.

I gaped at him. “Uncle Benny?”

“In the flesh,” he bellowed. “What the heck are you doing up here, kid?”

“I’m so glad to see you!” I cried. “I’m looking for Dad. Did he come to Everest with you?”

Uncle Benny nodded and said more quietly, “Yes.”

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Your dad wanted to come here to research his script.” Uncle Benny crouched down so he was closer to me. “I came along to
help. He figured you wouldn’t be home for another week or so. He didn’t want you to worry about him climbing up here, so he
decided not to tell you that he was going.”

That sounded really strange.

“Where is he?” I asked again.

Uncle Benny shook his head. “We almost reached the top. We were about 2,000 feet below the summit …”

“Right where George Mallory’s body was found.”

“What’s that?” Benny asked me.

I realized that I must have spoken out loud. I was still feeling a little dizzy, and the buzzing was back in my head. I tried
to focus all my attention on Uncle Benny. He continued, “When the storm kicked up, we decided we’d have to reach the summit
another day. We started to make our way down, and …” His voice trailed off.