1. Throw up
2. Eat charcoal
3. Dose with antibiotic pill
4. Journal
5.. Tincture of time
There was a point when I thought the hikers stole alcohol on the train and it was more methanol than ethanol.
Good calls, but the Streptocide antibiotics would only reliably be useful for treating streptoccal infection, chestiness, or as a 3-day course for cystitis, and they won't deal with this crisis fast enough, plus you'd need to risk washing them down with some more of the potentially poisoned water. It may have been too late to usefully induce vomiting by the time they realised the problem.
Here's what I'd do, and I'll write it from the perspective of Igor Dyatlov, to outline a theory I have over what happened.
I'd want to consume as much
fresh water as I could, and from a source I could trust, to attempt to neutralise and dilute the toxin, even more so if I suspected the water I'd drank, in the hope this increased motility flushed it past my stomach and small intestine, off to be excreted. That would be my only antidote.
With no campfire at 3000ft to melt snow, the stove without firewood (according to Sharavin and others) so it couldn't be set up on the floor to melt snow, and the contents of the flasks distrusted, I'd head down 1079 towards the inevitable meltwater stream there will be between 2 snowy peaks and drink as much as I could. So the ravine, not the forest, is the destination.
The whole group would go, rather than the most ill wait inside the tent for our return with supplies inside rinsed containers as there was no guarantee we'd make it back, and it would take 2 hours or more if we did, so everyone would march off following a leader down the mountain slope by torchlight.
My focus would be on dealing with this immediate life-threatening crisis rather than thinking ahead of how I'd face the cold afterwards, especially when I felt so feverish, and I would not intend to remain away from the tent so I wouldn't take wood cutting or snow digging tools with me, but by the time my group reached the foot of 1079 some may have become incapable of returning so I'd then be involved in a desperate, ill-equipped battle to survive where we were.
I'd climb a hardwood tree to snap branches and develop pressure marks around my ankles from gripping the trunk and branches, and one of my comrades would end up injuring herself in a fall which caused a large 'baton' bruise to her side when she connected with a lower branch.
Some may have entered into the next major stage of a lethal toxin, seizure, collapsing to the ground, unable to break their fall when they did so, so sustaining head and chest injuries as those areas absorbed impact while their mobile limbs rotated at the joints so offered less resistance. Nobody would have a single broken clavicle or wrist or palm injuries.
I'd light a fire, using the matches already in pockets to keep them dry, and this was achieveable as it was a still night, but I'd need to light many to dry out the kindling I'd find. The string in a pocket, which could be used to make a rope lighter to burn incandescently in any wind, and wouldn't blow out, would remain unused, because it wasn't windy.
I'd arrange two men, initially the worst affected and too weak to stand, to lay near the fire, to stop them developing hypothermia, but while I was climbing trees to snap branches or otherwise distracted, they convulsed, their uncontrolled limbs getting too near the flames or embers, and unable to retract themselves across 2 to 3 minutes, they sustained burns.
Once his seizure ended or he was pulled away from the fire one of them would bite into his hand due to the agony and pass out with the skin in his mouth, neither spitting it out or choking. They would both die with fluids around their mouths, entirely consistent with fitting, and then I and others would reappropriate their clothing to help save ourselves as our bodies continued to respond to our freezing environment and we were damp with sweat. I ended up wearing a shirt trek medic Yuri Yudin gave Yuri Doro, which had 4 Streptocide pills in the pocket.
With others weakening, some injured from falls, I'd realise, if I was feeling up to it, that I needed to return to the part-erected tent and drag sled it, the blankets and the stove back down the mountain to set it up in the forest. 4 others were deteriorating and some started to seize, with one biting into the tip of her tongue through clenched teeth, which would later accelerate its decomposition.
So I and two others would prepare a 4-person den to temporaily house them while me and 2 others returned to the tent, but by the time the den was made it was too late and the 4 had become unresponsive, perhaps while sheltering in the ravine, and because their clothing was saturated from collapse into water, sealing their hypothermic fate, I would not be able to reappropriate their clothing for my underdressed self.
I'd then occupy the den with the remaining 2 survivors, explaining my relative lack of frostbite despite all the exposure, with none visible to my face and hands in my slab photo's. I had burnt all the joules of energy I had in my lean Soviet frame, and needed to rest, but as late evening encroached the convective overnight winds were increasing and there was the threat of the storm to follow, something which I knew would shred the unsecured tent.
So I'd set off with the others, to get the tent down off the mountain, but my stamina would soon give out. I'd tell the others to continue and I'd return to the den but I soon became unable to drag myself there and died with dilated pupils, partly due to the toxin and also because it was night.
Another guy collapsed from his head injury, fitting on the snow, his right arm outstretched and he did not get up again, and the last survivor crawled up the mountain until she could not move another inch, her fingers frostbitten from all the dipping into cold wet snow while her uncovered face remained unaffected. She would not have survived alone even if she'd made it back, and may not have been able to write what happened as her fingers were frostbitten.
Later, my body and the others would be found by Mansi noticing the tent stuck on the ridge, using their old trail 400 yards from the tent site, this long before any rescue party arrived, and carrion visiting the ravine to drink would peck out the eyes of 2 of my dead comrades.
I would hope a pathologist would determine what had happened to us, what drove us from our tent, but he simply saw Leichmann Spots and convinced himself most of us died from hypothermia, and he would template evidence towards his conclusions across our autopsies, assigning frostbite to people who didn't have it in the text of their report, or in their slab photo's. He would not suspect a poisoning so would not commission special blood tests or urine analysis, describing only the volume and colour, and not even in all cases. His ill-equipped and sloppy approach would cause my death and that of 8 others to turn into a 64-year mystery.