47

You push on through the lowering gloom of the Himalayan night, straining with every step. The infernal cold is back, and soon, it is as if you had never been warm at all.

Zhu sets a ferocious pace, eager to get as far as possible from the separatist encampment behind you. It is well past midnight when he calls a halt.

"We will stop here," he says, pointing to a small hollow in the rock face to the left. "I see no signs of pursuit. I think we are clear. We should try to get a few hours of sleep before morning." You and Zhu throw up the tent, a well-practiced routine by now. Briskly and wordlessly, you set up your bedrolls and settle in for a brief window of respite.

Next