mountain .
This mountain was not like that.
Our road ended at the foot of a 40-foot incline of vertical rock. When I shielded my eyes from the pale sun above, I still could not see the peak.
“Looks like we walk from here,” I announced.
“Do I look like a goat?” Rick asked. I ignored him and got out of the car.
“There’s got to be a way,” I murmured to myself, and began to scout, walking along the base of the jagged limestone pillars that seemed to wall the mountain off from the powdered death at its feet.
The way didn’t become apparent. We split up, Rick heading one way, and Annabel and I going the other. We agreed to meet back at the car, one way or the other, in a half hour.
The walk was treacherous. Our path had apparently been a slowly ascending ribbon of land that had grown increasingly distinct from the surrounding plains. As we walked along the unscalable wall of the mountain’s foot, the ground to our left dropped off with increasing rapidity, until within a few minutes we were walking on a thin path between wall and deadly drop.
Annabel walked single file in front of me, so I could keep her in sight.
“Did you love him?” I asked at one point, instantly kicking myself. If I’d wanted to break the ice, there were less crass ways.
“No.” She didn’t elaborate.
I didn’t know what to say to that exactly. It wasn’t what I expected.
“I’m sorry Rick had to kill him,” I finally spit out. Equally dumb.
“Me too,” she said.
We walked in silence a bit more, single file, and then she stumbled, cursing as she began to slip off the edge of the path, rock crumbling beneath her foot to fall into open space below.
I dove forward, aiming to grab her about the waist, and instead, hooked my arm into hers, which was tied in a tight loop about her wrist to her other arm, and thus made a convenient hook point.
“Fuck,” she screamed as her arms twisted above her head and she hung suspended from my grasp.
The gravel clicked and rained around her feet, which dangled above the grey featureless earth below.
“Try to wedge your foot in the rock,” I begged, my own strength quickly giving way. I could feel my body, flat on the ledge, slipping toward the edge.
She swung from my grip, screaming as much in anger as pain, and I pulled with all my strength. I felt her skin sliding through my grasp.
“Come on,” I begged, and she shouted back.
“Pull, you bastard!”
I did, and she hooked an elbow onto the rock at the path’s edge. I reached out and grabbed a piece of her shirt with my other hand and pulled again, and this time her hip cleared the ledge. With a scream and the twist of a gymnast, she flipped a foot up onto the rock. I pulled hard, and both of us rolled back and away from the drop.
“Fuck, fuck fuck,” she breathed, tears streaming down her face.
“Are you alright?” I gasped, and she shook her head.
“Untie my wrists, please,” she whispered, and then let out a long scream of anguish.
When she was done, she took a breath, and looked at me with wide, blue eyes that couldn’t be ignored.
“I think you broke my arm when you grabbed me,” she moaned. “Oh, God.”
“Stand up,” I said, and helped her to her feet.
Her right arm was hanging limply and I pulled out a knife.
“Promise you won’t run,” I said, holding it for her to see.
“Where would I go?”
I cut the ropes and then traced her left arm from shoulder to wrist with my fingers. When I got midway between her elbow and wrist, she gasped.
“Okay,” I said, and continued on. “Move your fingers?”
She could.
“I don’t know if it’s broken,” I said. “I don’t feel anything jagged. When we get to the car we can wrap it.”
She nodded.
We started back, her in the lead this time, and then she stopped.
“What?” I asked.
“The path,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“We’re going down.”
I looked back, and then ahead of us again. She was right. The incline was slight, and I
This mountain was not like that.
Our road ended at the foot of a 40-foot incline of vertical rock. When I shielded my eyes from the pale sun above, I still could not see the peak.
“Looks like we walk from here,” I announced.
“Do I look like a goat?” Rick asked. I ignored him and got out of the car.
“There’s got to be a way,” I murmured to myself, and began to scout, walking along the base of the jagged limestone pillars that seemed to wall the mountain off from the powdered death at its feet.
The way didn’t become apparent. We split up, Rick heading one way, and Annabel and I going the other. We agreed to meet back at the car, one way or the other, in a half hour.
The walk was treacherous. Our path had apparently been a slowly ascending ribbon of land that had grown increasingly distinct from the surrounding plains. As we walked along the unscalable wall of the mountain’s foot, the ground to our left dropped off with increasing rapidity, until within a few minutes we were walking on a thin path between wall and deadly drop.
Annabel walked single file in front of me, so I could keep her in sight.
“Did you love him?” I asked at one point, instantly kicking myself. If I’d wanted to break the ice, there were less crass ways.
“No.” She didn’t elaborate.
I didn’t know what to say to that exactly. It wasn’t what I expected.
“I’m sorry Rick had to kill him,” I finally spit out. Equally dumb.
“Me too,” she said.
We walked in silence a bit more, single file, and then she stumbled, cursing as she began to slip off the edge of the path, rock crumbling beneath her foot to fall into open space below.
I dove forward, aiming to grab her about the waist, and instead, hooked my arm into hers, which was tied in a tight loop about her wrist to her other arm, and thus made a convenient hook point.
“Fuck,” she screamed as her arms twisted above her head and she hung suspended from my grasp.
The gravel clicked and rained around her feet, which dangled above the grey featureless earth below.
“Try to wedge your foot in the rock,” I begged, my own strength quickly giving way. I could feel my body, flat on the ledge, slipping toward the edge.
She swung from my grip, screaming as much in anger as pain, and I pulled with all my strength. I felt her skin sliding through my grasp.
“Come on,” I begged, and she shouted back.
“Pull, you bastard!”
I did, and she hooked an elbow onto the rock at the path’s edge. I reached out and grabbed a piece of her shirt with my other hand and pulled again, and this time her hip cleared the ledge. With a scream and the twist of a gymnast, she flipped a foot up onto the rock. I pulled hard, and both of us rolled back and away from the drop.
“Fuck, fuck fuck,” she breathed, tears streaming down her face.
“Are you alright?” I gasped, and she shook her head.
“Untie my wrists, please,” she whispered, and then let out a long scream of anguish.
When she was done, she took a breath, and looked at me with wide, blue eyes that couldn’t be ignored.
“I think you broke my arm when you grabbed me,” she moaned. “Oh, God.”
“Stand up,” I said, and helped her to her feet.
Her right arm was hanging limply and I pulled out a knife.
“Promise you won’t run,” I said, holding it for her to see.
“Where would I go?”
I cut the ropes and then traced her left arm from shoulder to wrist with my fingers. When I got midway between her elbow and wrist, she gasped.
“Okay,” I said, and continued on. “Move your fingers?”
She could.
“I don’t know if it’s broken,” I said. “I don’t feel anything jagged. When we get to the car we can wrap it.”
She nodded.
We started back, her in the lead this time, and then she stopped.
“What?” I asked.
“The path,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“We’re going down.”
I looked back, and then ahead of us again. She was right. The incline was slight, and I
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