This Crual Place, Beyond the Blizzard (English Version)

Chapter 1

"Do you think we're dead?"

I gave Eleanor a perplexed look.

"I can see your breath. And we're talking right now, so..."

"No, no," she muttered, shivering in the keening wind, "not here. No sense in asking that here.. I mean out there."

I stared out past the dark sea, reaching to the horizon and likely further still than I could ever conceive of.

They say hell is hot. As I sit on the ramshackle heights we fight every day to maintain, the cold clawing at my skin, I truly wish it was.

My mother used to say,

"As long as you tried."

Those five words hammered strength into my psyche. They once gave meaning in battling hardships and misery.

Now? That's a dangerous epithet. You're free to try if so inclined. Just know that none of us will even try to save you when your belly is sliced open and your guts slurped by the creatures that dog this place.

We've had our fill of brazen souls out here. They serve to be torn apart in our place – I suppose it's something to be grateful for. The braver you are, the quicker you'll learn: bravery is as insubstantial as death in this place.

I should backtrack.

I'm an extremophile. Always have been. After the first time that adrenaline rush flooded my veins I was hooked.

Water sports, base jumping, spelunking, anything you can name it's likely under my belt.

The one activity I've found myself coming back to is mountaineering. Ever since my dad took me up Mt. Snowdon, there's been an inscrutable urge to summit something higher. Something steeper, and harsher.

This leads me to my most recent trip: summiting Monte Rosa's tallest peak, the Dufourspitze. My climbing partner and good friend Rob climbed it in 2018. He shared plans of a second summit, so I took him up on the offer.

I say 'climbing partner', but with my skill level I really mean 'guide'. Rob's expertise blows mine out of the water.

Nothing much of interest happened on the drive. Long, boring, standard overall. When we arrived, the parking lot serving as our starting point was empty and quiet. Dead still.

There was an air of unease lingering around us. Around me, at least – if Rob felt it, he didn't show it. But it was there, and I should've taken it as a warning. That's retrospection for you.

Looking up at Monte Rosa made everything seem so insignificant. Its monster of a rock face stood mighty and gazed out across the landscape. Ants beholden to a molehill in its dominance. God help any who climbs it.

Instead, we planned around the Marinelli couloir, a steep and snow-laden gulley.

We tripled checked our mandatory gear. Ice picks, crampons, ropes, etcetera. All present. Clear and cold mornings were forecast for the ensuing week – perfect climbing conditions. Rob's meticulous planning was impressive, to say the least. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little envious.

The mountain hut alone was a four hour climb, though the terrain was forgiving. Hard packed snow crackled below my crampons. A reassuring sound.

Inside was cozy. The walls were insulated well, and the wood stove was stocked with more than enough firewood. Yet, even as the fire roared, a chill crawled up my back. Just like the parking lot, we were alone, and a nagging intuition in the back of my mind said that may not be coincidental.

"Sure you're ready for tomorrow, mate?" Rob said, glancing over at me from the counter.

"Why- I mean, yeah. Yup. I'm in good hands, coming with you."

"Look, once we're up into the couloir, we aren't turning back, so there's no shame in having second thoughts. "

"No, it's not that, it's... I mean, yeah, I could come back another time. But who knows how long I'd have to wait? Life's hectic, you know? Might be years passed till I can try again."

"Just making sure. Nerves are a dangerous beast up there. Long as you listen to me, you'll be fine, but remember: don't panic. If you're feeling anxious, remind yourself that getting upset won't help your situation."

Heat from the waning coals coddled my body. Only embers flickered by the time I began to nod off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

We set off at 8am after having oatmeal and berries. The first few hours ended up being a tough yomp along the snowfield skirting round toward the couloir. Azure sky gazed down through wispy high cirrus.

We were about a mile from the gulley when light snowfall started up. It wasn't hugely surprising, being on a mountain and all. But the sky remained clear. If anything, it'd grown clearer over the past hour, and still the snow fell regardless. It was such a bizarre sight I worried I might be getting altitude sickness.

As icy pinpricks pelted my skin, the reality of the situation dawned on me. Visibility was dropping by the minute, and within ten I could scarcely see Rob twenty feet ahead.

And then he was gone.

I don't mean his silhouette bled away into the whiteout. I mean even his footprints were entirely covered over. I called out to him in a panic, cupping my hands together in a futile attempt to pierce the howling gale.

Hoping to catch sight of Rob I plodded forward another hundred or so yards.

Nothing.

My next actions I still ruminate over today, forcing me to curse my own cowardice. Even if I was the one who'd disappeared, I didn't know that at the time. Without Rob to guide me, I thought I was surely going to die.

So, I turned back.

Following the compass, I made a steady descent, hoping to get back to the hut faster than we'd come up. The fresh dusting of snow made frantic steps a danger and I slipped several times.

After an hour, my view was unchanged. Pure whiteness. In my retreat I'd somehow failed to notice a crucial detail.

I wasn't going downhill.

It seemed like I was in a flat snowfield but when I turned a full 360 to get my bearings, I understood I was actually facing a gentle incline.

A fresh wave of terror crashed down in my mind. I glanced down at the compass, and to my horror, saw its needle replaced by a listless, spinning blur.

I tried my best. Mom would've been proud. But the cold wore me down, the snow merciless as it pelted me. My footsteps grew closer and closer together until there were no footsteps at all.

I crouched on one knee. I wasn't shivering anymore. Well, I did feel pretty warm. Hot, actually. I went to unzip my coat when a stark patch of lime caught my attention. An abandoned tent, long left to endure the elements. It looked old. My dulling mind didn't catch the oddity – that it wasn't already buried by snow. Our tent was in Rob's pack, and with him out of the picture this was my only chance at survival.

There were a few small tears in the canvas, but the tent sufficed in its primary purpose.

Still, I had no means of warming myself up. Bundled tight in my sleeping bag, I felt the weight of exhaustion settle, and no sooner did my eyelids droop and my eyes roll back.