Zero Percenters by Scott T Grusky

Author:Scott T Grusky [Grusky, Scott T]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780965119047
Publisher: Furthest Press
Published: 2019-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Two

October 28, 2024

Nido de Cóndores, Aconcagua, Argentina

After dinner, Anja and Gunnar fell asleep promptly again—in spite of the fact that they were in a flimsy tent, perched on a ledge at Plaza Canadá with the wind howling. The skies remained clear and the waning crescent moon emitted scant light. Even though it wasn’t a full moon, I could have sworn I heard the occasional cries of Kora-Illé.

Midway through the night, I checked the weather report and I was dismayed to learn that the forecast had worsened considerably. The arrival of viento blanco had been pushed forward. Instead of having four more days of relative safety on the mountain, it now looked like we only had two.

I debated within my system how best to advise Anja and Gunnar. I knew they wanted a successful summit—so did I, more than ever—but we had to remain rational and be prepared to give up the goal, if prudence so dictated. The best approach seemed to be to report the options straightforwardly.

With the first sign of dawn, I began preparing a breakfast of potato pancakes, dried mango slices, and chai tea. As I did, I could hear Anja and Gunnar stirring in their tent. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was only a few feet away and all that separated us was a thin layer of nylon.

“I feel like a completely new person,” said Anja with a giggle. “Maybe we should stay in here a bit longer.”

“Oh?” said Gunnar. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“How about something along these lines?” she replied coyly.

The ensuing sounds of gentle kissing and sighing left little to my imagination. I had every intention of getting up and walking away, as I understood they required privacy. At that very moment, however, a dreadful howl reverberated through the camp.

Suddenly, an Argentine cougar—Puma concolor cabrerae—leapt through the air just inches in front of my face and slashed its way into the tent, using its razor-sharp claws. The puma batted Gunnar like a mouse, ejecting him onto the rocky ledge. Then it pounced on top of him and prepared to crush his throat with its enormous jaws.

My operating system instantly performed millions of calculations and settled on a course of action that puzzled me, but which I had no time to further assess. I raced over to the crepuscular cat and jammed an index finger into each of its eyes with all the might I could muster. It squealed in agony and released its stranglehold on Gunnar’s throat.

I had hoped my action would permanently disable the puma’s vision, but we were not so lucky. A few quick blinks restored its eyes sufficiently to locate my position and fling me twenty yards away with a backside swat of its paw. The sheer strength of this ambush predator—aptly nicknamed the “ghost of the Andes”—seemed to defy physics.

Every fiber of its two-hundred-pound frame bristled in anticipation as it readied for its next move. Fortunately, Gunnar was a step ahead of the puma. He took

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