“John! John! Pick up John! it’s Ryan! I'm stuck above camp four!” The radio crackles with no response. “John! I can't see more than two feet! I can't find camp!” The radio crackles with a little more life.
“Ryan! Get yourself down! This storm is real bad, we all turned around hours ago.” The radio blows out with a loud crackle and shuts off. It comes back on with a sputter, “Head down now! it's only getting worse.” The radio crackles one last time and shuts down for good. 
One step at a time, I hope I'm going the right way. I lose my thought as the wind knocks me off my feet. I tumble down a slope screaming. My knee smashes on a slab of ice and feels like fire. My throat burns as I yell louder and start to cough up blood. I roll and slide helplessly down to a stop, pawing at the blood red snow covering my face. My clothes are packed with snow and ice, freezing me to the bone. I lay there like a block of ice, unable to move.
This snow is deep, one step and I sink to my waist. I push forward, the snow gives out. Falling down through the snow, I can't stop myself. I break through the bottom and tumble downward. The air rushes past me, and I think of the one thing my first guide had ever told me.
“Know when to turn around,” his voice in my head. I had so many chances to go down. I thought I was being strong to push on, but really, the others were strong to turn back.
Hitting the ground with a thud, my body freezes up. I'm blacking out, I close my eyes. Then slowly they open again, alive.