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."

"I'm not staying here," she said. "If I'm going to die, I'll die in daylight."

The actual climb up the crevasse wall was not so bad, once Sarah got used to the way she had to kick her boots with the crampons, and how hard she had to swing the axe to make it bite into the ice. It took her only seven or eight minutes to cover the distance, and clamber onto the surface.

The surface looked exactly the same as before. The same dim sunlight, the same gray horizon that blended with the ground. The same gray, featureless world.

She helped Evans up. His cut was bleeding again, and his mask was red, frozen stiff against his face.

"Shit it's cold," he said. "Which way, do you think?"

Sarah was looking at the sun. It was low on the horizon, but was it sinking, or rising? And which direction did the sun indicate, anyway, when you were at the South Pole? She frowned: She couldn't work it out, and she didn't dare make a mistake.

"We'll follow the tracks," she said at last. She took off her crampons and started walking.

She had to admit, Peter was right about one thing: It was much colder here on the surface. After half an hour, the wind came up, blowing strongly; they had to lean into it as they trudged forward. Worse, the snow began to blow across the ground beneath their feet. Which meant- "We're losing the tracks," Evans said.

"I know."

"They're getting blown away."

"I know. know." Sometimes he was such a baby. What did he expect her to do about the wind?

"What do we do?" he said.

"I don't know, know, Peter. I've never been lost in Antarctica before." Peter. I've never been lost in Antarctica before."

"Well, me neither."

They trudged onward.

"But it was your idea to come up here."

"Peter. Pull yourself together."

"Pull myself together? It's fucking freezing, Sarah. I can't feel my nose or my ears or my fingers or my toes or-"

"Peter." She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Shut up!" "Shut up!"

He was silent. Through slots in his facemask, he stared out at her. His eyelashes were white with ice.

"I can't feel my nose either," Sarah said. "We have to keep a grip."

She looked around, turning a full circle, trying to conceal her own growing desperation. The wind was blowing more snow now. It was becoming harder to see. The world was flatter and grayer, with almost no sense of depth. If this weather continued, they would soon not be able to see the ground well enough to avoid the crevasses.

Then they would have to stop where they were.

In the middle of nowhere.

He said, "You're beautiful when you're angry, you know that?"

"Peter, for Christ's sake."

"Well, you are."

She started walking, looking down at the ground, trying to see the tread marks. "Come on, Peter." Perhaps the tracks would return soon to the road. If they did, the road would be easier to follow in a storm. And safer for walking.

"I think I'm falling in love, Sarah."

"Peter..."

"I had to tell you. This may be my last chance." He started coughing again.

"Save your breath, Peter."

"Fucking freezing."

They stumbled on, no longer speaking. The wind howled. Sarah's parka was pressed flat against her body. It became harder and harder to move forward. But she pressed on. She did not know how much longer she continued in that way before she raised a hand, and stopped. Evans must not have been able to see her, because he walked into her back, grunted, and stopped.

They had to put their heads together and shout to hear each other above the wind.