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Chapter 1

Rosemary Chamberlain hadn’t showered in fifty-two days

She’d counted

Cli Mount Everest forced patience on those who didn’t have it But Roseuishableon the floor of a tent, perched on a shelf between the sky and the long drop, waiting for a break in the weather Counting

Twenty-one days since she’d last worn fewer than two pairs of socks, and thirty-seven since she’d seen her own naked body

Seventeen cracks in the sole of the cli boot Five points on the toe cleat that she kicked into the ice

She put her weight on it, paused, waiting to see if it would hold She counted the white clouds of her exhalation—two, three, four—and pushed hard to engage her quads They burned, but that didn’t matter Her left arm came up, synchronized, and drove the ice ax in

Above her, the orange blob that was her teauide, Indira, beckoned with one ar, but the wind took her words before they could reach Roseood placehted it, counted her breath, straightened her leg, swung her ax

Three team members ahead Four behind If she could just kno many feet remained between her and the summit, she would count the else

She’d written six thousand words yesterday Two thousand competent and chirpy for an article that would appear on a conservationist website in England, four thousand plodding and uninspired on the draft of the first significant piece of her book She needed to turn it in to her publisher as soon as she’d coazine article, with the serial rights already sold to a major American outdoor publication—but she knehat she’d written lacked the spark her editor was looking for, the inspiration that would turn Rosemary’s book into a bestseller

This , she’d taken a walk around the peri about their chances at ainst the bleak sky, which Indira had told her was a good sign

So

Rosemary preferred to count

Her teammate Anna had three children, four, six, and nine years old Her husband wanted a divorce Her husband didn’t understand why Anna couldn’t get a job at a bank and stay home with her family, but Rosemary did

Anna’s fas of her ax The mountain was her life

Rose trembled uncontrollably when she leaned into it She paused to rest and looked out at the alien landscape of snow and ice, bald rock, clear blue sky

She didn’t know if Everest was her life She only knew that she’d spentbehind to set off down the path that led her here

Rose a teahestwith Everest and then onward to Denali, Elbrus, Kili she had on the line to bring her to this moment

Her heart beat sixty-two times per minute She was thirty-nine years old, she had two hundred and six bones

She had one child, a daughter, who barely spoke to her

She had one e, to Winston, who’d released her when she asked him to

She had one hoe where she’d never lived Nohat she had was a bank account fat with pounds sterling and a pack strapped to her back containing nine freeze-dried y bars, and five days’ fuel left for her camp stove