Megs munched granola. “Four hours. Not bad.”
Mitch drank. “Not bad at all.”
But Dean stood there looking over at Lhotse. “Look at this view.”
The snow was such a contrast to the darkness that the shapes of neighboring peaks were easy to make out.
When they felt rested, they started up the Slabs, clipping carabiners to the fixed rope and taking each step carefully. Much of the snow had blown away here, leaving sections of rock with scant coverage and making their crampons slip. It was a bit like walking on a beach—at more than 27,000 feet altitude.
Step, inhale. Step, exhale.
This section was more challenging than Mitch had imagined, in part because of the limited snow coverage, but also because they were gaining altitude with every stride, the lack of oxygen a strain on mind and body. His quads, glutes, and hamstrings burned, his heart thudding in his chest. The cold gnawed at his fingers, toes, and the small amount of exposed skin on his face.
Step, inhale. Step, exhale.
They couldn’t see the true summit from here, just the South Summit, which was far below their ultimate goal. Still, Mitch kept looking up, the part of him that wasn’t occupied with the physical struggle in awe of the mountain. The Sherpa name for Mt. Everest was Chomolungma—Mother of the World.
It was a fitting name.
But right now, Mama was kicking their asses.
“It’s like I always say.” Dean trudged along behind Mitch, as out of breath as Mitch and Megs. “Stick with the pain… and the pain will stick with you.”
Megs burst into laughter, the sound still magical to Mitch after four years together. “Don’t you dare make me laugh!”
They took another break on the South Summit, catching their breath as well as they could, giving their muscles some calories and electrolytes, taking in a view that few people would ever see.
Mitch checked his watch, saw that it was just after 4:30 in the morning. “That was three hours. We’re making good time. How are your feet?”
Megs looked up at him, her mask concealing her expression. “What feet?”
Shit.
They decided Dean should lead them from there to the summit. Climbing Everest had been his dream. He set out at a moderate pace, and they quickly reached the bottom of the infamous Hillary Step, where the climb became vertical and technical.
Dean clipped into the fixed rope and, using a stem stance, made his way over the section of exposed rock, Megs following, Mitch taking up the rear.
That’s when it hit him.
They were doing it. They were going to summit Mt. Everest.
But the hard work wasn’t over. For the next forty-five minutes, they slogged over a steep, snow-covered ridge, fatigue setting in, the air desperately thin as they neared 29,000 feet in elevation.
Step, inhale, exhale. Step, inhale, exhale.
Mitch’s mind began to grow dull, strange dream-like thoughts drifting through his head. He had to work hard to focus on each step as they moved upward.
Step, inhale, exhale. Step, inhale, exhale.
And then they were there—at the top of the world.
They took off their masks and gaped at the unbelievable sight around them.
The summit itself was small compared to the rest of the mountain. Buddhist prayer flags, faded from the sun, fluttered in the breeze. To the east, the sun had begun to rise, making the snow glisten pink.
Adrenaline and elation pushed the dullness from Mitch’s mind. He had never imagined when he was a kid that he would climb Mt. Everest one day. But here he was, with the woman he loved and his best friend, watching the sunrise on the top of the world’s highest mountain.
Megs turned in a slow, careful circle. “My God, would you look at that?”
