Rules of Betrayal

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“Did you hear that?”

The climber dug his ice ax into the snow and cocked his head, listening.

“What?” asked his partner, perched a few feet below on the near-vertical face.

“A scream.” The climber squinted, trying to locate the shrill sound hiding inside the untiring wind. His name was Claude Brunner. He was twenty-two years old and considered France’s finest alpinist. Suddenly he caught the high-pitched wail again. It seemed to come from far away, and for a moment he was certain that it was approaching. “There!”

“A scream?” asked Castillo, a Spaniard ten years his senior. “You mean like a person shouting?”

“Yes,” said Brunner. “But not a man. Something else. Something bigger.”

“Bigger? Up here?” Castillo shook his head, and chunks of snow fell from his beard. “I don’t hear anything. You’re tired and imagining things.”

The wind calmed and Brunner listened intently. This time he heard nothing but the pounding of his heart. Still, the sound stayed with him, and he felt a stab of fear between his shoulder blades.

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