IN THE FOLLOWING DAYS, Carlitos shared our conversation with some of the others. A few of the most practical, including the medical students, Roberto and Gustavo, as well as Fito, believed it was our only chance. Soon we gathered everyone inside the fuselage.

"We are starving," Roberto said simply. "Our bodies are consuming themselves. Unless we eat some protein soon, we will die, and the only protein here is in the bodies of our friends."

There was a heavy silence. Finally, someone spoke up. "What are you saying? That we eat the dead?"

"We don't know how long we will be trapped here," Roberto continued. "If we do not eat, we will die. It's that simple. If you want to see your families again, this is what you must do."

"But what will this do to our souls?" someone cried. "Could God forgive such a thing?"

"If you don't eat, you are choosing to die," Roberto answered back. "Would God forgive that?"

The discussion continued all afternoon. Many survivors refused to consider the idea of eating human flesh, but no one tried to talk the rest of us out of it. We realized we had reached a consensus. Now the awful logistics had to be faced. "How will this be done?" someone asked. "Who is brave enough to cut the flesh from a friend?" The fuselage was dark now, but after a long silence I recognized Roberto's voice.

"I will do it," he said.

Gustavo, whose guts and determination I had always admired, rose to his feet and said quietly, "I will help."

"But who will we cut first?" asked Fito. "How do we choose?"

We all glanced at Roberto.

"Gustavo and I will take care of that," he replied.

Fito got up. "I'll go with you," he said.

For a moment no one moved, then we all reached forward, joined hands, and pledged that if any of us died here, the rest would have permission to use his body for food. Roberto found some shards of glass, then he led his assistants out to the graves. I heard them speaking softly as they worked. When they came back, they had small pieces of flesh in their hands.

Gustavo offered me a piece and I took it. It was grayish white, as hard as wood and very cold. I reminded myself that this was no longer part of a human being, that the soul had already left this body. Still, I found myself slow to lift the meat to my lips. I avoided meeting anyone's gaze, but out of the corners of my eyes I saw the others around me. Some were sitting like me with the meat in their hands, summoning the strength to eat. Others were working their jaws grimly.

Finally, I slipped the flesh into my mouth. It had no taste. I chewed, once or twice, then forced myself to swallow. I felt no guilt. I understood the magnitude of the taboo we had just broken, but if I felt any strong emotion, it was resentment that fate had forced us to choose between this horror and the horror of certain death.

That night, for the first time since we'd crashed, I felt a small flicker of hope. There were no illusions now. We all knew our fight for survival would be uglier and more harrowing than we had imagined, but we had made a declaration to the mountain that we would not surrender. In a small, sad way, I had taken my first step back toward my father.