Whiteout: 3 (Base Camp)

Day 3 of NanoWriMo, 5,884 words in! Keep in mind this will be rough and will be edited down at a later date. Let me know what you think!!

3. Base Camp

     We should have brought oxygen. The thought was what woke me, the light was secondary. The cave was blurry, but I was still alive. Through the tiny crack in the wall I could see the sun beginning to rise over the valley. For a moment I thought there was warmth too, but as I began to move my limbs were nothing but pain. The freezing cold seeped back into them and I could feel the mountain again.

     James had curled up next to the ashes of our dead fire. A swift kick in the ribs woke him. “What the hell man?!” Was followed closely by a slew of cursing as the cold crept into his body as well. We had both survived the night. Surprising as it was, I didn’t feel very thankful at the time. I remembered the howling from the night before and the chill in my spine sent shivers through my freezing body.

     We dined on protein bars and melted snow. In the mountains, it was a bounty fit for kings. With rolled sleeping bags on our backs we advanced into the growing sunlight. The glare was almost unbearable. In the early morning light every scrap of water on the mountain becomes a reflector, sending bright spikes flying in all directions.

     “Something tells me we’re not that far from base camp.” I said, my vision beginning to clear.

     “How can you know that? We could have been walking in circles all night!” James pulled out his map angrily and pointed to a location far off from where we had actually managed to go. “We could be all the way over here!”

     “So much anger first thing in the morning. Here, have a drink.” I said pulling a flask from my right pocket. I always kept it there in case of celebration. Surviving a blizzard on the lower slopes of the mountain seemed like the perfect occasion.

     “Now isn’t the time for drinking! We’ve still got who knows how many miles to go!”

     I just chuckled and took a swig, motioning to the top of the cave we had camped in. Directly above it was a small pile of stones, topped with a set of colorful prayer flags, running in strings to different stakes in the ground. “Well at least we know why it didn’t come for us last night.” Sometimes luck has a funny way of working itself out.

     “That’s…”

     “Yup, we made it after all. Must’ve been closer than we thought. Now let’s have a look, something tells me our ‘werewolf’ has had a long night. It will be resting now. Perfect time to get the lay of the land.” I had never been to base camp. Something about the massive nature of the mountain had always managed to keep me away. The idea of being so powerless was an unattractive one.

     Base camp is usually nothing more than a smattering of bright yellow camping tents, but in the off season it is barren. When we crested the hill there were only three tents, torn to shreds, and covered by a thin blanket of fresh, white snow. We only found them from the poles sticking out of the ground. If it hadn’t been for that we could have continued to walk in circles for the rest of the day. The sun beat down heavy on the camp and gave it a much cheerier feeling than I would have expected.

     “Come on, check the tents for anything useful.”

     “Like what? Blood stains? You heard Lopsang there’s nothing here but death!”

     “Little moody today James. Everything alright?”

     “I’m at the base of the world’s tallest mountain and I just spent the night in a cave hiding from a monster that even you couldn’t identify! No I’m not all fucking right!”

     “Not what you expected? I can have you on the next flight home. I told you this wasn’t always going to be glamorous. Sometimes it’s bringing the head of a chupacabra to the town sheriff, other times it’s rooting around in the blood and snow to figure what we’re looking for. Either shape up or wait in the cave. I have no use for dead weight.”

     Maybe I was a little bit harsh on him at times, but that was the way the game had to be. It’s a little cheesy to say it, but mistakes get people killed. To have a partner or an apprentice is to put a piece of your life in their hands. Had it been Everest that we were below I might have been a bit more lenient, but this was not a normal mountain. The air at base camp was thinner, the cold harsher, and the creatures that hunted on its slopes more dangerous than anything else in this world.

     “I’m sorry. You’re right.” James may have been quick to anger sometimes, but he always found his way back. I think that’s part of the reason I brought him with me. In a way he kept me on-guard by questioning my reasoning. Whenever I went alone it was usually just dumb luck that got me out alive. There was no room for dumb luck anymore.

     In the snow were trails of frozen blood, leading from the tents and deeper into the mountains. There was hardly anything left of the scene. The snow had covered the ground and the Sherpas had taken the rest back to the grave site. “What could have done this?”

     “Could have been a great many things. I could see how they would think it was a werewolf, but parts of it are all wrong. If it had been we would be seeing a lot more blood, and they would have found more of the bodies. Werewolves don’t hunt for food, only for sport.” Something about their affliction slows their metabolism to a rate similar to permanent hibernation. They could go years without eating if they wanted to. It’s how most of the beasts that I end up tracking stay off of the world’s radar.

     Just as I thought I was going to find nothing a yellow flower caught my eye. Just outside the remains of one of the tents, a small yellow flower poked out of the new snow. “James, over here.” Beneath the powder lay a small ring of similar flowers, woven into a wreath of sorts.

     “What is it?”

     “It’s a Yellow Cobra Lily.” I said, picking up the flower gingerly. “A ring of them is supposed to ward off the spirits of the mountain and keep climbers safe.” Ancient superstitions in my experience always seem to have some level of truth to them. I can’t count the number of times that chalk in front of a door has saved my life, and I’ll never leave home without garlic. That would be Latvia all over again…

     “Look. Just below the flowers.” Some of the buds and petals had been trampled pretty badly. In the center was a paw print, larger than the average dog, but small enough to mean we were going to have an easier day.

     “Well hallelujah!”

     “What is it?”

     “We’re not hunting a werewolf, we’re hunting a pack of wargs!”