Chapter 8 — Mist Peak Rescue Team

"I don't feel cold anymore," Kieu Nhat Nam said, his voice unusually monotone, his eyes looking far into the opaque white space in front of him.

That sentence made Kieu Thanh Son turn around in surprise, and what he saw made his heart clench: Nam's lips were pale, his hands were no longer shaking - not because he had warmed up, but because his body had begun to stop reacting to the cold, a sign Son had read somewhere in an article about survival but never thought he would have to recognize it in real life.

"Nam, look at me." Son grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently. "Tell me, what time is it?"

Nam looked at him, blinking slowly, as if trying to search his mind for an answer that was no longer there. "I... I don't know."

"It's okay, it's okay." Son tried to keep his voice calm, even though inside he was panicking. This was the fifth hour they had sat huddled in the little rock alcove, and the sky had begun to darken—not because of sunset, which was only midafternoon, but because of the thick layer of clouds that completely blocked out the sunlight.

He pulled Nam closer to him, took off his own coat - even though it was already soaked with moisture - wrapping it around the teenager's shoulders. "Try to stay awake for me, Nam. Talk to me, tell me about your school."

"School... my school has a new soccer team..." Nam began to speak, his voice broken, but at least he spoke, and Son took that as a lifeline.

Bao Anh sat on the other side, observing that scene with increasing concern, but she was also fighting her own discomfort. Her heartbeat was no longer just fast — it began to become irregular, sometimes skipping a beat and then quickly making up for it, a feeling she was familiar with from previous examinations, but had never experienced in such cold and oxygen-deprived conditions.

She quietly opened the small cloth bag in front of her chest, with trembling hands, she took out a small blister pack of pills, swallowed one pill with the little sip of water left in the bottle. Son couldn't see — he was focused on Nam — but when she put the pill pack back, her hand hit the edge of the stone, making a small noise that made him turn around.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," Bao Anh replied quickly, hiding the cloth bag back inside his shirt. "It's just... a headache, bro. Take some painkillers."

Son looked at her for a moment, something in her eyes made him suspicious, but he didn't have time to inquire further - Nam had just trembled violently, and he had to go back to taking care of his nephew. Bao Anh looked after him, her heart heavy because of the lie, but she was not ready to let him know the truth, not now, when he had so many things to worry about.

Night falls faster than usual because of the thick layer of clouds, and the temperature continues to drop. Son estimated that, based on the feeling of cold cutting into his skin, it was probably below five degrees. He sat Nam in the middle, me and Bao Anh close to both sides, trying to make the most of the remaining body warmth of all three people - a technique he vaguely remembered reading about in a survival guidebook, although he never thought he would have to actually apply it.

"I'll be fine," he said, more to reassure himself than the other two. "Tomorrow morning the sky will clear and people will find me."

"What if no one finds it?" Nam asked, his voice was weak but the question was still sharp enough to penetrate Son's layer of fatigue.

He didn't answer right away. In his mind, the image of Nam's mother — his older sister — appeared, what her face would look like if he couldn't bring her son back safely. He had promised her that he would take good care of Nam. This was the first time he had gone away alone with him, without his parents, and now, sitting in the middle of this cold night, that promise weighed heavier than anything he had ever carried on his shoulders.

"People will find me," he repeated, his voice more certain than before, even though he didn't know whether that was truly true or not. "The rescue team here is very good. I heard they have a captain who has saved many people in much more difficult situations than this."

He didn't know that, in fact, it was just something he made up to reassure Nam, but coincidentally, it was closer to the truth than he thought.

Bao Anh, leaning his head on Son's shoulder, looked out at the darkness gradually covering their small stone alcove, feeling that his heartbeat was still not completely stable even though the medicine was somewhat effective. She thought about the conversation she had with the doctor, about the warnings she ignored because she didn't want to bother anyone, didn't want to be seen as weak, didn't want Son to worry so much that he canceled the trip he had been looking forward to for months.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, quiet enough for only her to hear.

"What did you say?" Son asked, not hearing clearly.

"Nothing." She held his hand tighter in the dark. "I was just thinking, when I get back, we should plan another trip — lighter, closer to home."

Son smiled softly, even though that smile was shaking because of the cold. "Okay. I promise. Next time we go to the beach."

After a while, Nam began to mumble endless sentences — mentioning the name of a classmate, talking about an upcoming test, fragmentary pieces of memory drifting out of his mouth without any order. Son realized it was a more worrying sign than the tremors — confusion was starting to take over his nephew's mind, a stage of hypothermia that he had only heard about but never witnessed firsthand.

"Nam, look at me, focus on my voice." Son grabbed his shoulders tightly, trying to keep him awake by constantly asking questions, forcing him to think and answer instead of letting his mind drift. "What is the name of your school's football team?"

"It's... Yellow Star..." Nam replied, slowly, but at least the answer made sense.

"Good, very good. Who is the captain?"

Just like that, Son kept asking, forcing Nam to keep his brain active, while Bao Anh used the remaining blanket to wrap around his legs, trying to keep the body part most susceptible to heat loss. She also realized her hands were starting to get numb, her fingers were harder to control, but she gritted her teeth not to show it, focusing all her remaining attention on Nam.

"I have to keep him talking," she whispered to Son. "Don't let him fall asleep."

"I know." Son squeezed Nam's hand tightly in his, clearly feeling the terrifying coldness of his nephew's fingers. "Nam, tell me more about the team. When is the next round?"

Nam mumbled something incoherent, but continued speaking, and Son considered it a small victory in the long night that lay before them. He looked at the watch on his wrist—six o'clock in the evening, the last light of the day had disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds, leaving behind a thick darkness broken only by the faint glow of the small flashlight he had brought along, which he had decided to turn on only briefly to save battery.

The three sat in silence after that, only the sound of the wind whistling through the rocks and the uncontrollable chattering of Nam's teeth. Somewhere far away, out of their hearing range, three rescue teams were trying to find ways to get closer, but in this moment, amidst the dense darkness and biting cold, three people huddled in a small rock hole with only each other, and the fragile belief that someone, somewhere, was still searching endlessly for them.

In the distance, a small beam of light flashed and then went out — maybe it was just an illusion of eyes tired from the strain of staring into the darkness for too long, or maybe, just maybe, the flashlight of someone getting closer step by step through the thick fog.

Bao Anh blinked and looked closely in that direction, but the light did not appear again. She wondered if she was imagining it because she was so desperate to see it, or if it was really the first sign that someone, somewhere out there, was searching tirelessly for them in the darkness and cold of this mountain.

She didn't say anything to Son about that ray of light, afraid that if she said it and it didn't come back, the hope that had just sparked in him would fade away, which would be even more painful than never having hoped. Instead, she just squeezed his hand tighter in the darkness, and sat there, her eyes still glued to the direction the light had disappeared, waiting for it to reappear, while the minutes passed slowly as if time itself was being held back by a thick fog in the middle of this cold mountain.