The Pass (Wattys 2019)

Chapter Nineteen

Peter hated having to use the bathroom in the middle of the night while camping.

He held it as long as he could, as he always did, but alas, nature called. He was on the far end of the tent, too, away from the flap. He'd have to climb over everyone else, stumble out into the dark, windy night, pee, stumble back, and climb back over his friends, just as they'd gotten settled once again. And then, he'd have to spend time getting warm, again. Because that pocket of heat in his bedding would go away the second he got up.

But God, did he have to pee. He felt like someone was sitting on his bladder. Like it was a balloon one false move away from popping.

He couldn't decide whether or not pissing himself in the tent would earn the ire of his hiking partners more than waking them up to go outside to pee would.

Finally, he sat up and sighed, pulling on his coat. Fine, bladder: have it your way. I hope you're happy!

He pulled on his boots and began to climb over his sleeping friends. They groaned, and he was pretty sure that one of them cursed at him as he climbed, but it didn't matter; he was a man on a mission, and that mission was to not wet himself in front of everyone.

A harsh wind hit Peter like a ton of bricks the second he got outside. It was dark, and even colder than it had been, before. He certainly wasn't looking forward to pulling down his pants in that weather.

Look on the bright side, Peter thought to himself as he rushed to the designated "toilet tree". At least you don't have to do the other kind of business while you're out here.

Finally, he reached the tree.

He hesitated, then pulled down his pants part of the way and began to urinate on the tree, squeezing it out as quickly as possible.

Hurry, he thought to himself. Hurryhurryhurryhurry-

He saw something out of the corner of his eye.

Peter frowned, looking over his shoulder.

He thought he was seeing things, at first: the mind could do that at times like that. But, the more he stared, the more he realized that he wasn't seeing things. At least, he wasn't seeing things that weren't there.

They were lights. Bright, orange lights, like stars. Or maybe flairs, up in the sky above his head. It made everyone around him glow orange, cast long, dreary shadows around the snowscape around him.

He finished what he was doing, pulled his pants up, and turned around so he could look up at them. What were those? Not stars: they were too close. Not flairs: flairs fell from the sky after a few seconds. He couldn't think of any other explanations for it.

And then, he remembered the photographs from the last expedition. The final photo, taken with a broken camera. One of lights. Lights that, according to locals, were bright orange.

They're back!

He ran for the tent.

***

Nika had never slept well in the mountains. How could she? Beyond the bitter cold and the hard ground, she'd always suffered from an excess of energy while on expeditions. Her fellow mountaineers wanted nothing more than to try and get some sleep after a long day of backpacking? And who could blame them? Nika, however, wanted to keep going. Wait until she got back to Sverdlovsk - or whatever town was closest to the end of the expedition - to try and get a good night's sleep.

That night, though, she'd managed to fall asleep. At least, she was asleep, until Peter decided that all of them needed to wake up.

"Guys, you need to see this," Peter said as he poked his head into the tent after he went to the bathroom, that night.