The Ascent by Ronald Malfi Page B

we can,” Chad said, pulling a cellophane pack of cigarettes from within his jacket. He shook some into his hands. “Who wants one?”
    Everyone except for Petras grumbled in agreement, and we held out our hands. Chad lit the smokes one by one with a silver Zippo.
    Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill my lungs. I was aware of a barely noticeable grin creeping across my face.
    “Might be a stupid question,” Shotsky said, sucking the life out of his own cigarette, “but did anyone think to bring, like, a gun? You know, for protection.”
    “From what?” Chad said.
    “Anything. Whatever’s out there.”
    “I got this,” Petras announced, producing a five-inch hunting knife with a pearl handle from his belt.
    “Jesus,” I said.
    Petras turned the knife over in his hands. “Yeah, could kill a bear with this thing.”
    “No bears where we’re going,” Andrew said, appearing beside the bus. He leaned against the grille, silhouetted by the headlights. The sun hadn’t risen yet. “Just people. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just us, boys.”
    “Fair enough,” said Chad. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”
    Andrew smiled. “Let’s roll.”
    We piled onto the bus and trundled along the dirt road for forty minutes before we reached the city. I had anticipated returning to Kathmandu, with all its intricate temples and bustling marketplaces, but this was a smaller city—a remote Buddhist village—situated at the foothills of a mountainous forest. The homes and shops lookedlike log cabins, void of any distinguishing markings. As the sun came up, I could see chickens and goats in the streets and young children pulling rickshaws through the mud.
    “Where the hell are we?” Curtis whispered in my ear.
    “Looks like purgatory.”
    “If this is purgatory, I’d hate to see hell.”
    The bus stopped outside a long, concrete building, pressed close to the ground and surrounded by rhododendrons.
    When the doors whooshed open, Andrew stood at the front of the bus. “Anyone want some Taco Bell?” He stared at the rest of us, imploring.
    We all just stared back.
    He broke out into a laugh. “Just kidding. Sit tight. They’ll load up the rest of our stuff.”
    Sure enough, more young boys stuffed crates and boxes into the cargo hold beneath the bus. Men in flowing maroon robes watched from doorways and porches, smoking elegant, long-stemmed pipes.
    Chad swooped down in the seat in front of me, beaming like a pair of headlights. “Listen, Timmy, I was all wired up the other night. No hard feelings, right?” He held out a hand.
    “Sure,” I said, gripping his hand, then dropping it like a wet rag.
    “Excellent, man.” Chad hopped up and sauntered toward the back of the bus.
    “The guy’s a blatant asshole,” Curtis said, staring straight ahead.
    “I wouldn’t have pegged him for the apologetic type.”
    “Despite what just transpired, I don’t think he is.” Curtis glanced over his shoulder, perhaps to check on Chad, then turned around. “I’d watch my back if I were you.”
    “Duly noted.” Which was when I happened to catch Shomas moving through a crowd of vendors in the cluttered marketplace. I noticed him in profile, but it wasn’t until he turned and glanced at our bus did I recognize him fully.
    “Jesus Christ.” I jabbed a finger at the window. To Curtis I said, “That’s the guy who broke into my cabin.”
    Curtis leaned across my lap and looked out the window. “Which one?”
    “Son of a bitch.” I shoved Curtis aside. He called after me, but I was already off the bus and sprinting across the street. I followed Shomas’s hulking shape through the crowd, his clothes the color of sawdust and easily lost in the confusion. He turned a corner behind one building—or at least I thought he did—and when I pursued him, turning that very same corner, I was alone. The land dipped into a gradual valley where yaks grazed in a field far below. I must have miscalculated;