Chapter 34
“Eddy!” Gabe yelled and reached for her, but she was already gone, snatched into the nothingness.
Grabbing an overhanging branch, he lurched toward the edge.
“Edwards!” He skimmed the darkness with frantic eyes. “Edwards!”
A squeak of noise reached him. He glanced down, and she was there. Wasn’t she? Somehow suspended a couple dozen feet above the river?
“Hang on! Edwards, can you hear me?”
He thought she answered, but the words were washed away by the rush of the falls. Straddling a submerged log, he hooked a foot behind a slippery branch and peeled off his pack. It was all but impossible to find the coil of rope stashed away inside. His fingers felt numb, his heart rapped like a hammer against his ribs.
“I’m coming,” he yelled, but if she heard him, there was no discernible response. He fell trying to tie the rope around the log. Water splashed, cold as death in his face. He didn’t attempt to stand again but crawled through the rushing river toward the edge. “Edwards?” He thought he saw her lift her face toward him, a pale oval in the darkness. “I’m throwing you a rope,” he said and hooked the toe of his boot between two submerged rocks closer to the edge.
There was no response from below. Holy shit, was that even her? It was as dark as death in the shadow of the cliff.
“Edwards!”
“Durrand?”
His lungs burst back into action at the sound of her voice. He fed the nylon through fingers clumsy with cold and fear. “Can you see it? Can you see the rope?”
“No. I… Wait! There it is! It’s there! But I can’t…I don’t think I can reach it.”
Lying flat against the bedrock, water sweeping over his back, he squinted into the darkness. Moonlight shone off her outstretched hand, but it was several inches from the rope.
She teetered toward the wall and gasped in panic.
“Don’t!” he yelled.
She drew back, grappling for purchase on the slick timber where she’d landed.
“Don’t try to get it,” he ordered. Twisting around, he searched the darkness overhead. A bare branch shot into the sky not five feet away. Scrambling toward it, he broke it off, then shimmied back to the edge and glanced down, squinting through the cold spray. “Edwards!” For an endless second, he thought she was gone, but then she stirred. His heart bumped back to life. “I’m going to push the rope out toward you.”
Maybe she nodded. Catching the rope in the fork of the branch, he prodded it forward. His foot slipped on the rocks between which it was wedged and he was swept toward the brink. He rolled frantically. His right knee struck something immoveable, shaking him to the core, but he snagged an unseen log with his right hand and hauled himself away from the edge. Jamming his boot back into a rocky crevice, he caught the rope with the branch and prodded it forward once more.
“Do you see it?” His voice sounded empty and lost in the rush of the waves. Hers was almost unheard.
“Yes! It’s there.”
“Can you reach it?”
There was an interminable wait. “Edwards—”
“I got it.”
He closed his eyes in relief. “Tie it around your body. Under your arms.”
Another age passed, but finally she spoke again. “It’s not long enough. I’d have to…” Her voice broke. “I’ll have to stand up.”
“Don’t! God dammit. Don’t stand up. We’ll think of another way.” He glanced frantically about but nothing came to his stumbling mind.
“No time.”
“What?” He jerked his attention back to her. Had she risen? Was she crouched on the log? He swore again but silently now, scared to disturb her. Terrified that she’d topple into the long darkness.
He waited, fear gnawing at his nerves as he strained to see into the blackness below him but finally she spoke, voice breathy, barely audible.
“Okay.”
“You’re ready?”
“I think so. Yeah.”
“All right.” He wrapped his fingers in the nylon. Pain seared his hand, but he gritted his teeth against it, challenging it. “I’m going to pull you up.” How? His demons demanded. How the hell was he going to do that with a wounded hand and compromised strength? “You’re going to swing into the waterfall.” If his hand didn’t give out. If the rope didn’t slip. If she didn’t fall to her death because of him. “And then the cliff. You’ll hit the rock with your body if you’re not ready for it. Bend your knees as soon as your feet leave the log.”
Silence.
“Edwards. Can you hear me?”
“Yes. I’ve got it. I’m ready.”
But was he? “All right,” he said and pulled. The rope tightened. His shoulder popped. She swung toward him, nearly yanking the rope from his fingers. He gritted his teeth against the agony. Fire burned his upper arms. He reached out with his left hand, drawing her up by inches. Then feet. He could see her now, but his foot was slipping. He paused, trying to wedge his boot back into the crevice.
“Durrand?”
“Yeah. Just a minute. I’m almost—”
“The knot’s slipping.”
Dammit! “Hold on tight. Don’t let go. No matter what. Don’t let go. You hear me?”
Her body was nothing more than a black mass, but her eyes were visible now, wide with terror, bright with the fragility of life.
“I’m going to pull again.”
“Hurry!” Her voice was raspy. From pain or lack of oxygen or nerves. It was impossible to tell.
He hauled her up. The rock edge peeled skin from his arm. Only a few feet separated them now, but suddenly her body jerked as the knot loosened.
“Durrand!” she rasped.
Straining to hold the rope in fingers that were perfectly numb, he reached past the edge.
“Grab my hand.”
“I can’t!”
“Do it!”
The rope gave away again. She shrieked as she dropped another inch. Her knuckles were white as bone against the nylon. “Durrand–”
“Now!” he barked.
Her hand shot up. Their fingers met, wet on wet, slippery as seals, but they caught. He hauled her up then seized her arm with his left hand and pulled until she finally lay beside him on her belly. Water washed over them, between them, around them.
“You okay?” He could barely force out the words.
“Yeah. I think… Yeah.”
He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, trying to quiet the gallop of his heart. She was safe now. He hadn’t failed again. Not yet.
“I lost my pack.” She paused, breath still coming hard, eyes bright in the moonlight.
“The GPS?”
“Gone.”
He nodded, practical matters marching inexorably through his well-trained brain. “The Light Fifty?”
“All my weapons.” Her voice sounded shaky, like she might cry. She was sitting in the river with her legs curled under herself like a goddamn water imp. The urge to pull her into his arms, to soothe her, was almost more than he could resist. Instead, he spoke, voice as soothing as a jackhammer.
“Nothing we can do about it now. Let’s get humping,” he said and pushed himself to his feet. Or rather, he tried, but for a second his legs, numb from the icy water and bitching strain, refused to do his bidding. He remained in a crouching position as she stood.
“Are you okay?” Her voice was very small, making him want to cuddle her against his chest, but instead, he forced himself to rise, to turn, to retrieve his pack. His legs shook but whether from fatigue or the residue of terror, it was impossible to tell.
“Hurry up,” he said and managed to step toward shore. “It’s almost daylight.”
“Durrand?”
He swung back toward her. Her face was picture perfect in the moonlight. Her eyes lipid and stunning and haunting.
“I’m sorry.”