Chapter 49.
Mount Washington
Wyatt Jordan is part of the group that has been flown to the airport in Portland, Maine.
The Host has only told them—mid-flight—that they were on their way to a “rock-climbing expedition.”
Then he added: “And since you wouldn’t be here if you all weren’t thrill seekers, rest assured that you’re going to love it.”
Reg Drummond is part of this group.
As is Hannah Wagner.
So, too, is Ant Tipton.
Wyatt hates having anything at all to do with Tipton, but he is secretly glad to have Hannah along for this particular ride, as strained as things have remained between them. He still can’t help feeling he needs to look out for her as much as for himself.
Maybe even more.
A different emotion, frankly, than anything Wyatt has ever experienced. But then this girl is different, whether she’s ghosting him or not. Maybe things would change for the better over the next couple of days.
Maybe he could find a way to make things right.
Once they’ve boarded the bus waiting for them on the tarmac, he sits two seats away from Hannah and tries—once—to look at her.
She doesn’t look back.
Her face is calm in the way a person’s face is when they’re holding something in.
Wyatt keeps thinking about what she whispered in the ballroom.
It wasn’t private.
So he doesn’t push her. Not now.
Before they left, The Host told them that their eventual destination would be Mount Washington in New Hampshire, seventy miles or so away.
“You may or may not know that it is the highest peak in the northeastern United States,” The Host said, “and the most prominent mountain east of the Mississippi River. One you will be expected to scale today after a quite scenic hike from Pinkham Notch, New Hampshire, to get there,” he adds.
He’s not quite finished.
“This style of climb is known as ‘free solo’ for the uninitiated,” The Host concludes.
Boom, Wyatt thinks.
There it is.
Wyatt knows what the expression means. Free Solo, one of his favorite movies ever, was about Alex Honnold’s historic climb up the 3,200-foot face of El Capitan without a rope or safety gear, taking a dangerous route known as Freerider.
The movie had visually blown Wyatt and his buddies away. He can’t imagine Mount Washington could possibly be more dangerous or difficult than El Capitan. But he’s been conditioned, because they’ve all been, to assume nothing.
What he mostly remembers from Free Solo is that it was as close as he’d ever come in a movie theater to suffering from vertigo.
Wyatt gets a little dizzy even thinking about any climb similar to that one.
He had tried one more time to start a conversation with Hannah on the plane, saying, “Are we ever going to talk about what we’re not talking about?” Her answer had been a quick shake of her head.
So on the bus from Portland, Wyatt sat next to Gabrielle Fontaine, player #301, another athlete, who had retired after winning a gold medal for France in the 4 x 100 medley relay at the Summer Games in Paris.
“I know The Host talked about us loving what we are about to do,” Gabrielle Fontaine says to Wyatt. “But to me, it just sounds like one more of his lies.”
Once they have arrived at Pinkham Notch, their driver, dressed in black like one of The Host’s guards, wordlessly leads them for the next hour and a half to an area at the base of the mountain known as the Huntington Ravine.
“Is there just one route up the mountain?” Reg Drummond asks the driver.
“Do I look like a tour guide?” the man asks.
Then the man says, “This is the end of my trip.” He shrugs and points toward the sky. “And the beginning of yours.”
“I would rather climb the Eiffel Tower,” Gabrielle says.
The Host’s voice comes through a phone the driver sets on a rock.
“Welcome,” The Host says, cheerful enough to be insulting. “Today you climb.”
Reg looks up at the steep ravine walls.
“This isn’t Mount Washington,” Reg says. “This is a death slide.”
The Host pauses, pleased.
“Yes,” he says. “Now you’re paying attention.”
All of their heads are tilted back as far as they’ll go.
“We had considered other climbs, in other parts of the country, including one in Boulder, Colorado, called the Wind Tower,” The Host says. “But we considered this one to be more fair, and perhaps not quite as dangerous.”
“Are we supposed to thank you?” Gabrielle asks.
“Hopefully that attitude will prove useful in the free climb you are about to make to the summit,” The Host says.
“I assume you were joking about us making a free climb up this monster,” Ant Tipton says.
“No joke, Mr. Tipton,” The Host says. “And no ropes, no harnesses, no rappelling equipment. Your goal is simple. Reach the checkpoint above the headwall by sundown.”
Wyatt looks up at the headwall and feels his throat tighten. Loose rock. Unreliable holds. A fall that would not be cinematic.
Just final.
Tipton adjusts his backpack straps.
“Well,” Tipton says, “this is a stupid way to die.”
Wyatt can’t help himself. “So don’t.”
Tipton turns his head slowly toward him. Mildly amused.
“I’ll be going it alone,” Ant Tipton says.
“Your choice or ours?” Wyatt asks.
Tipton fixes him with a long look.
“You do not want to back talk me, boy,” Tipton says finally.
Reg steps half a pace closer without making it obvious. Protective. Measured.
Wyatt holds Tipton’s gaze anyway.
“Yeah,” Wyatt says, “I kind of do.”
Tipton’s mouth twitches.
“Fine,” Tipton says. “Stay behind me. You’ll live longer.”
The driver cuts short the exchange right before Reg Drummond steps between Wyatt and Tipton. He distributes folded maps—odd little topographic sheets with a thin line drawn up the ravine, hand-marked dots beside it.
Holds. Ledges. “Rest shelves.”
“What happens if we turn back?” Hannah asks, voice steady.
The Host answers like he’s been waiting for her.
“Turning back is always an option,” he says. “But it has consequences.”
Reg’s eyes narrow. “Define consequences.”
The Host doesn’t.
“What are these for?” Hannah asks. “We can see what’s in front of us. And above us.”
“Maps that show various natural holds, ledges, knobs, and imperfections that may aid you in your climbs,” The Host says. “And now, if there are no further questions or comments from the group . . .”
“I have another question,” Hannah says.
“Yes, Miss Wagner,” The Host replies.
“If we press the red button in the middle of a climb . . . how fast does rescue arrive?”
The Host’s voice turns thoughtful.
“I’m no mountain climber, I’ve never been much for heights, to be honest,” The Host says. “But there is one expression with which I’ve made myself familiar.”
“And what’s that?” Reg Drummond asks.
“There’s always a way down.”
Steven Noble