Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain by Jonathan Bloom (freenovel24 .TXT) 📕

took no less than four men to life the boulder up an inch so Huggins could pull his foot out from under. The simple act of moving his foot must have set off a new wave of pain because Huggins increased his scream to eardrum-damaging levels.

And still the Lhotse Face remained silent. Junk decided the Western Ridge was their only chance. Huggins was to stay back with all of the Sherpa, with the exception of Ang Kikuli. The remainder of the expedition would ascend to the Western Ridge. They would place their final camp at the shoulder of the ridge, down-climb to continue the acclimatization process, and then return. From there, Junk, Oldhusband, Twist, and Ang Kikuli would make for the summit. They were getting closer to the prize, and the excitement was setting in, muffling the pain wracking their depleted bodies.

After a night of fitful sleep, Hoyt’s team was now tackling the Northern Ridge at 10 a.m. on September 1st. The weather had cleared and the summit was now in view. It was only hundreds of feet away now instead of thousands. They moved as quickly as they could. But all of this time, of course, the air was getting thinner. It is along the Northern Ridge that the climber enters the “death zone” – the altitude at which the human body begins to deteriorate rapidly. No one can take up permanent residence there. The acclimatization process of moving up and down the mountain stops, and speed becomes of the essence.

Hoyt looked at the route laying ahead of them. Three large steps stood between them and the summit. The climbing would be quite technical and would require the team to exert more effort. Hoyt was becoming fearful they may run out of oxygen tanks. If they were willing to venture off the ridge slightly, they could perhaps avoid the steps and instead follow the massive couloir scarring the Northern Face. But the “Great Couloir” as it would come to be known was a mystery near the top. It may present a challenge dwarfing the steps of the Northern Ridge. In the end, with input from the sardar and Zeigler, Hoyt decided to try the Great Couloir. There was a 100% chance of difficulty if they stayed on course and a 50% chance if they tried their hand at the Northern Face.

By all accounts – Hoyt’s, Junk’s, and the British military’s - the group walked off the ridge and onto the Northern Face at 11:05 a.m. According to Hoyt’s notes, they had not hiked twenty feet when they saw a massive fireball rise up from the Western Ridge on the far side of the North Face, followed a few seconds later by its accompanying, deafening explosion…

It was 11 a.m. on the Western Ridge. “The world is now in view” Twist wrote from their final camp. “Before, we could only see a small slice of the surrounding mountains. Now we can see over Lhotse into Tibet, we can see the entirety of the Northern Face, and behind us we can see the familiar landscape of Nepal. Of most interest to me is that Fumu. It seems to be smoking more than it was when we passed it on the approach. We see small explosions and flecks of bright orange amid the grey smoke. Active bugger. It looks mean and enormous. I would not be surprised if someday someone judged it taller than the mountain we are now on.”

The wind on the ridge was impossible. It felt strong enough to send the men airborne, hurtling them toward the Northern Face. They were making very slow progress. As planned, the Sherpa and Huggins, nursing his broken foot, had stayed behind at the camp on the Western Cwm. The remainder of Junk’s team had ascended to the Western Ridge, camped out on the shoulder marking the start of the ridge, only about one hundred feet back, and now, Junk, McSorley, Twist, Oldhusband, and Ang Kikuli were hiking along its razor edge, averaging only about four steps per minute. Junk walked far in front. McSorley, Oldhusband, and Twist walked in a group about fifty feet back, all attached to a rope. Ang Kikuli took up the rear, feeling an obligation to keep an eye on the foreigners. They were known to push themselves far beyond their capabilities and “hit a wall” quite suddenly. And at 11:05, that is what happened. In an interview about the events on the Western Ridge many years later, Ang Kikuli wrote the following.

“Oldhusband went down on two knees. The rope went taut, so the others stopped. Junk also turned and watched from further up the ridge. Oldhusband turned to look down the ridge at me. I was more than willing to help him. ‘Are you okay?’ I yelled over the wind. But I did not expect his response. ‘Carry me!’ he yelled back between gasps. ‘Carry me! On your back!’ Like most Sherpa, I am a man of patience. But this white-eyes had passed my limit. ‘No’ was all I could say. He said he must get to the top. That England must get to the top. That if he did not continue, his Queen was that much less likely to get her prize. Not only was I to carry him, but I needed to beat Junk to the top. No one planned on having the American take the lead, and it was an egg in the face of England. ‘Carry me!’ he exclaimed once more. ‘For England.’ I apologized and refused. It was right about then we heard the noise.”

There is no disagreement among the various parties about what happened next. A buzzing noise was heard from the south. Everyone looked up. They saw something spinning toward them through space. It spun on a vertical plane, like a circular saw but much, much larger. As it spun, smoke escaped from a single point on its perimeter, leaving a spiraling black trail through the air,