“Copy,” Jack muttered, his face still covered.
A muffled voice rose up from below. “Why are you here?” Thomas asked.
“What?”
“Why did you come down here? Why did you do this?”
“I was under the impression you needed a little help.”
“It could have killed you.” Thomas coughed, sounding like lung was ripping apart.
“Don’t talk now, Thomas.”
“Why did you do this?”
“I don’t get to choose what I do. That question, I should be asking you.”
The radio popped on. “Jack, we’re about to take your weight off the rappelling rack, in three . . . two . . . one.” They slid down the wall and stopped.
Now in the hands of Carl Foss. What a reassuring thought.
Minutes passed. Then Luis came on. “We’re raising.”
Jack keyed the radio. “Copy. The faster, the better.”
“Do I need to remind you how emphatic you were about being slow and deliberate?”
“I’m in no position to engage in clever conversation. But in no mood to hang out, either.” He took his finger off the transmit button. “Hang out. Good one, huh, Thomas?” He coughed.
The rope inched up the wall, tenuously, then moments of speed, then a gradual stop.
“Why are we stopping?”
“It’ll be this way all the way to the top. And get ready, we’re about to drop.”
They waited. Then the drop—about three feet. Thomas gasped.
“Get used to it. It’ll be that way all the way to the top. Up, then stop, a few feet down, and then up again. They have to lock in their gain, and stretch out the z-rig to do it again.”
They began to ascend. When it seemed they were moving quickly and smoothly, they stopped. Then dropped.
After several rounds the dust cloud seemed to diminish. Jack rubbed the dust from his face and batted his eyes, finally managing to get them open. He looked down. The cloud hung below.
Orange haze hung in the sky.
Jack contorted himself to get a look at Thomas. His helmet faced the direction of Sipapu Falls. Orange also hung in the mist at the base of the falls. Strange. All of it was strange. “Thomas, why the hell were you on that ledge?”
He didn’t answer, but turned, seemingly tracing the ledge from the falls, all the way back to its almost invisible origins in a hanging canyon.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
“Yes.”
“So why were you there?”
“Trying to help. Trying to understand. Doing something maybe it wasn’t for me to do.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’ve said too much.”
Chapter 5
“It’s everywhere,” Jack complained. “In my hair, on my skin, my clothes, everywhere.” He pulled off his T-shirt and gave it a pop. Dust hung in the air and drifted toward the abyss. He coughed.
A young ranger stepped back to avoid the drift. “You’re alive, man. Count your blessings.”
“Not till I get some air, and not till I kick Luiz’s ass.”
“Jump in the river when we get there.”
“I’m not going to the canyon.”
“You mean we’re lugging this stuff down by ourselves?”
“You got it here.” Jack coughed and fought for a breath. “Have him give you a hand.” He nodded at Thomas and gave his shirt an-other pop.
“Sure as hell should,” the young ranger said, turning to watch the man Luiz was attending.
Thomas sat upslope, behind the safety line. Luiz swabbed alcohol on the scrapes on his nose, then taped on a piece of gauze. It glistened against his skin.
“You stay here,” Luiz said, as he stood and turned to other matters.
Jack watched as Thomas sat back and stared. Unengaged, he seemed to have little interest in what the others were doing. Instead, his attention was faintly on the canyon. What the hell was he thinking? What was he doing on that ledge? And why is he being so damned coy?
Hell, he’s Luiz’s worry now.
Jack knelt at a boulder and kneaded a knot loose. He tossed the webbing and carabiners into a green canvas duffle.
The team disassembled the raising system, belay lines, anchors, and safety lines, breaking them down and packing them away.
When done, Luiz made one last check, walking cross-contour, making sure no equipment would be left behind. He found none.
“Okay, you two get back to your fire,” he said. “Jack, I owe you one.”
“One?” Johnny howled. “And what about me? What about my fire? You’ve got a debt to repay, dude, like tonight. Night shift.”
“I don’t do fire.”
“Yeah, right. Like I don’t do rescue. See you at seven.”
“By the time we get to the cache, I’ll be wasted. And I’m not letting him drive home,” Luiz said, nodding at Thomas. “I’m taking him. Plus, I need to stop at that pickup that caught fire on the desert. When this call came in, I was investigating. Left in a hurry. Need to stop and get some things.”
“You’re making excuses.”
“I’m not, and there’s something strange about that pickup. No bodies or anything, but I wouldn’t’ve been surprised. Gotta check something. It’ll be late when I get back.”
“Then we’ll see you late. Ask dispatch for directions.”
“But . . .”
“And, that one you owe Jack. Hell, there aren’t enough beers at Elena’s Cantina to pay him back. But give it a try.”
“You’re right. Next time at Elena’s, I buy.”
“Deal.”
“Do I get any say in this?” Jack asked.
“Don’t blow the deal, boss.”
Luiz bent down and hefted a pack frame loaded with rope coil, slipped an arm through the strap, and slung it over his shoulder. He pointed Foss at another pack, ignored the big man’s grumbling, and turned to Thomas. “Let’s go,” he said, starting into the brush.
Somehow it felt there would have been more war stories, more rehashing of details, more trading of barbs, but Luiz wasn’t that way.
Thomas extended a hand. He held Jack’s eye.
“Take care of yourself,” Jack said.
“You, too, my friend.” Thomas turned and followed after Luiz.
Jack waited, watching until the others disappeared into the brush. “Our turn,” he said, to Johnny.
Backing, Johnny took hold of a serviceberry branch, steadying himself. “You’re not waiting on me. And you owe me. You’re lousy at taking advantage of negotiating position. Luiz is a cheap bastard. You would have gotten off with nothing, maybe one beer max. Which means, your rope man would’ve been buying his own. You gotta keep your priorities straight, unless, of course, you’re buying.”
The old Johnny.