"It has to be lower."
"Okay. How much lower?"
"About a foot."
"Okay." She lowered it a foot. "How's that?"
"Good, now swing it."
She did. She heard him grunting, but each time the hook swung back into view.
"I can't do it, Sarah."
"Yes you can. Keep trying."
"I can't. My fingers are too cold."
"Keep trying," she said. "Here it is again."
"I can't, Sarah, I can't...Hey!"
"What?"
"I almost got it."
Looking down, she saw the hook spinning when it came back into view. He'd touched it.
"Once more," she said. "You'll do it, Peter."
"I'm trying, it's just I have so little--I got it, Sarah. I got it! "
She gave a long sigh of relief.
He was coughing in the darkness. She waited.
"Okay," he said. "I got it hooked on my jacket."
"Where?"
"Right on the front. Just on my chest."
She was visualizing that if the hook ripped free, it would tear right into his chin. "No, Peter. Hook it on the armpit."
"I can't, unless you pull me out a couple of feet."
"Okay. Say when."
He coughed. "Listen, Sarah. Are you strong enough to pull me out?"
She had avoided thinking about that. She just assumed that somehow she could. Of course she didn't know how hard he was wedged in, but..."Yes," she said. "I can do it."
"Are you sure? I weigh a hundred and sixty." He coughed again. "Maybe a little more. Maybe ten more."
"I've got you tied off on the steering wheel."
"Okay, but...don't drop me."
"I won't drop you, Peter."
There was a pause. "How much do you weigh?"
"Peter, you never ask a lady that question. Especially in LA."
"We're not in LA."
"I don't know how much I weigh," she said. Of course she knew exactly. She weighed a hundred and thirty-seven pounds. He weighed over thirty pounds more than that. "But I know I can pull you up," she said. "Are you ready?"
"Shit."
"Peter, are you ready or not?"
"Yeah. Go."
She drew the rope tight, then crouched down, planting her feet firmly on either side of the open door. She felt like a sumo wrestler at the start of a match. But she knew her legs were much stronger than her arms. This was the only way she could do it. She took a deep breath.
"Ready?" she said.
"I guess."
Sarah began to stand upright, her legs burning with effort. The rope stretched taut, then moved upward--slowly at first, just a few inches. But it was moving.
It was moving.
"Okay, stop. Stop!"
"What?"
"Stop!"
"Okay." She was in mid-crouch. "But I can't hold this for long."
"Don't hold it at all. Let it out. Slowly. About three feet."
She realized that she must have already pulled him part of the way out of the cleft. His voice sounded better, much less frightened, though he was coughing almost continuously.
"Peter?"
"Minute. I'm hooking it on my belt."
"Okay..."
"I can see up now," he said. "I can see the tread. The tread is about six feet above my head."
"Okay."
"But when you pull me up, the rope's going to rub on the edge of the tread."
"It'll be okay," she said.
"And I'll be hanging right over the, uh..."
"I won't let you go, Peter."
He coughed for a while. She waited. He said, "Tell me when you're ready."
"I'm ready."
"Then let's get this over with," he said, "before I get scared."
There was only one bad moment. She had pulled him up about four feet, and he came free of the cleft, and she suddenly took the full weight of his body. It shocked her; the rope slid three feet down. He howled.
"Sar-ah!"
She gripped the rope, stopped it. "Sorry."
"Fuck!"
"Sorry." She adjusted to the added weight, started pulling again. She was groaning with the effort but it was not long before she saw his hand appear above the tread, and he gripped it, and began to haul himself over. Then two hands, and his head appeared.
That shocked her, too. His face was covered in thick blood, his hair matted red. But he was smiling.
"Keep pulling, sister."
"I am, Peter. I am."
Only after he finally had scrambled into the cab did Sarah sink to the floor. Her legs began to shake violently. Her body trembled all over. Evans, lying on his side, coughing and wheezing beside her, hardly noticed. Eventually the trembling passed. She found the first-aid kit and began to clean his face up.
"It's only a superficial cut," she said, "but you'll need stitches."
"If we ever get out of here..."
"We'll get out, all right."
"I'm glad you're confident." He looked out the window at the ice above. "You done much ice climbing?"
She shook her head. "But I've done plenty of rock climbing. How different can it be?"
"More slippery? And what happens when we get up there?" he said.
"I don't know."
"We have no idea where to go."
"We'll follow the guy's snowtracks."
"If they're still there. If they haven't blown away. And you know it's at least seven or eight miles to Weddell."
"Peter," she said.
"If a storm comes up, maybe we're better off down here."