Beschrijving
The headlamp beam catches something in the darkness. A shape. Human. Barely. Lincoln Hall is lying in the snow at twenty-eight thousand feet, eyes open but unseeing, skin the color of marble. His jacket is unzipped despite the forty-below cold. One glove is missing. He's been here for twelve hours. The Sherpas who find him at dawn lean close, checking for breath, for a pulse, for any sign of life. There is none. They radio down to base camp. Lincoln Hall is dead. His family is notified. Obituaries are drafted. The climbing world mourns another loss to Everest's Death Zone.