And buzzes.
And buzzes.
The real world, crashing back in. Right on schedule.
He shakes his head, then turns it off. “I’ll deal with these later.”
He stares at the laptop, keeps hitting the email refresh. He thrums his fingers on the coffee table.
Ten minutes of nerve-wracking silence pass. Silence where we’re both aware that the generator could cough, sputter, and die at any moment when the last drops of diesel run dry.
Ten minutes of watching Gregory refresh his inbox like a man possessed while I stand there uselessly, internally composing obituaries for our rescue attempt.
Here lies Sorrel’s hope of ever leaving this mountain. Cause of death: insufficient fuel.
Don’t be so dramatic.
Hedidsay Marcel would coordinate with them if we can’t get through to Mountain Rescue.
Still, it would be nice to actuallyknowthey’re on the way.
And finally, mercifully, a response comes.
Mountain Rescue.
Subject line:RE: Emergency Extraction Request.
Gregory clicks it open and reads it aloud: “Earliest pickup is tomorrow, December 30th, approximately 5 PM, weather dependent.”
Tomorrow.
Not today.
We have one more day.
Relief crashes through me so hard I have to grip the coffee table.
One more day.
That’s all I get.
One more day with him before everything goes back to being impossible.
“Good,” I manage. “That’s good.”
He’s already pulling up WhatsApp on the laptop and typing rapidly to Marcel. I catch a glimpse of the message before he sends it:
Extraction confirmed. Tomorrow Dec 30, ~5 PM. Coordinates attached. Arrange ground transport from helicopter LZ to Aspen airport. Will need two passenger accommodations. Allocate 100K for Mountain Rescue.
He hits send, then immediately starts scrolling through the flood of other emails that downloaded while we waited.
His expression gets grimmer with each one he opens.
“Gregory?” I venture. “I thought you were going to read those later?”
“The board,” he says without looking up. “They’re voting January 6th. To remove me.”
“Can they do that?”
