Free The Seeker by Karan Bajaj Page A

the last hour. Or had he taken another false turn? He looked around. Nothing was familiar. Should he go back up? Up where—to certain freezing death? No, the ice must still be fresh. He could cross the glacier.
    Max approached the glacier gingerly. He took one tentative step. His foot slid immediately. He threw himself to his side and grasped the crumbling ice for balance, stopping his fall. Slowly, he crouched back. If he’d taken another step on the glacier, he would have hurtled down the mountain into the frozen river below. God, this was serious. He could die. He took a few steps back from the glacier. Jesus H Christ. What would he do now? He was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Going up was foolish, going down was suicide. God, he was fucked.
    Focus. Focus. Focus. All he needed was a little traction. If he found a dry tree branch, he could wrap it around his shoe. Max walked a few hundred meters back up the mountain. Nothing. The bare trees were covered with snow, snow, and more snow. But if his tough, weathered Merrell hiking boots were skidding, even a dry branch wouldn’t work. He walked back to the glacier. How did the yogis live in the caves?
    Like machines their bodies were. They walked barefoot in snow while we used shoes imported from Russia
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    Max’s heart raced. He dare not even consider Viveka’s suggestion. It wasn’t just stupid, it was dangerous. But it was the only way out. He stood there in indecision. The hail started pelting him again.
    Shaking his head, Max removed his hiking boots and three layers of socks and toe warmers and put them in his empty backpack. He breathed deeply and began crossing the forty-foot glacier, taking small, light steps with his bare feet, reasoning that the lesser the force he exerted, the milder the reaction he’d get from the ice.
One step at a time. Don’t look at the river. Next step. One more.
    Last step. He walked off the glacier onto the path. Christ, he had done it, he had. But he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. Immediately, he grabbed the matches from his backpack. One by one, he struck the matches against the box, but they were too wet. Desperate, he struck them faster, two at a time. How long did he have before frostbite damaged his toes? Finally, he managed to get one to ignite. He looked for his diary in the upper zippered pocket of his backpack. With a cry, he remembered that Omkara had cast it aside that morning. He rummaged in his backpack for something, anything to light. Nothing.
    His passport.
    Max pulled it out from his inside shirt and tore off its unused pages. He put the dying match to a page. To his relief, it caught fire. He added more pages to the flames and thrust his wet, cold feet on top of the burning paper quickly. His toes burnt—and thawed. Wincing, he put all his layers of toe warmers and socks back on, wiggling his toes furiously and dancing on the ice until their movement returned to normal. He started walking down at a furious pace. Barely had he gone one hundred meters when he saw another glacier in his path.
    Max burst out laughing. He was done. He had neither dry matches nor more paper. He couldn’t pull the stunt with his naked feet again. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks. He put his head in his hands and sat down on the ice. He was about to be buried alive in the snow. Was he going to die here? Now? Hadn’t he been safe and warm in New York just a week ago? What a slow, pointless death.
    Keisha, I was so wrong, I’m sorry
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    Max’s high school girlfriend’s bright animated face rippled through the blurry whiteness. His heart rose up his throat, choking him. He had ruined her life. Was she even alive? Right now, he wanted just one more chance to find her or at least come clean to her family about everything that had happened between them so they wouldn’t blame her. Max put snow on his face to stop the tears.
Get a fucking grip.
He’d freeze to death like this. He couldn’t think of her now.
    Max looked in his backpack