McDowell

"Winds picked up and snow and haze decreased visibility as he began his descent. He pressed on. After an hour, he stumbled onto Woolf a few feet from where he had left him. “Get up,” Hiram yelled over the howling wind. “Help me. In the name of God,” Woolf pleaded. Hiram gripped Woolf’s parka to help him stand, but Hiram was too weak to lift, and Woolf fell back. “Rescue,” Woolf moaned, drifting off into semi-consciousness. Rescue from base camp was impossible until the weather improved. And they were in the dead zone, too high for helicopters. Hiram freed Woolf’s remaining oxygen supply and attached it to his own pack. “Don’t leave me, Hiram.” Woolf coughed. Hiram backed away and started down. Climbing ropes aided him for a few hundred yards. Near a rock crevice familiar to him, he stumbled on the half-buried lifeless body of a face down climber. A candy bar and water were in the inner jacket pocket. Near the corpse’s outstretched arm, a glint of silver stopped Hiram. From hard snow and the ice-solid fabric of a frozen glove-hand, he freed a silver crucifix that he pocketed for identification and to send to family. He plodded ahead. The storm abated and he felt the muted exhilaration at knowing he would not die.