Blind Descent-pigeion 6 by Nevada Barr

attempted. She was glad the ranger from Rocky Mountains who had taught her to climb had insisted she practice everything one-handed, and by touch, not sight. Tillman trained his lamp on her hands and watched.
      "Looks good," he said when she had finished. "See you on the other side."
      Anna nodded and pulled herself hand-over-hand along the rope till she could begin to kick in with her rope-walkers. For a brief eternity she floundered like a fish in a net. Because the Gibbs wouldn't lock regardless of how she angled her feet in an attempt to get the cams to catch, she was muscling her way along, using the strength of her arms and shoulders. Bad form, and something she couldn't maintain for any length of time. Exertion made the line sway. Coupled with the wild dancing of shadows every time she moved her head, it was dizzying. Adrenaline, already high, rose to poisonous levels.
      Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax, let the rope and metal take the weight. After a steadying breath, she began again her crippled walk, this time with more success. The rope inclined, tension increased, the cams locked and unlocked fluidly. Much to her amazement, she found she was enjoying herself. Deep in the bedrock of the Southwest, and she was probably as high as she'd ever climbed. She laughed aloud and hoped Holden wouldn't mistake it for hysteria.
      The ascent was over too soon. Head against the wall, feet over the rift, she dead-ended. By craning her neck she could look back far enough to see the opening she was supposed to get into. It was nothing snort of miraculous that Iverson had managed it without aid. She felt utterly helpless.
      "Oscar?"
      "Right here." An ungloved hand, looking sublimely human, came out several inches above her face and the fingers waggled cheerfully. "Put your arms over your head like you're diving."
      It took a minor act of will, but Anna got both hands off the traverse line and did as she was instructed. Fingers locked around her wrists, and she was drawn into the Wormhole. Stone brushed against her left shoulder and her face was no more than two inches from the rock above. The dragging pulled her helmet over her eyes. Newly blind, her first sense that the environment had changed was the warm sweet smell of sweat mixed liberally with cotton and dust. An unseen hand tipped her hat back so she could see. Rock had been replaced by a maroon tee-shirt with pink lettering so close to her face she couldn't read it. She was less than an inch below Iverson's chest. The space was closing in. Her lungs squeezed and her throat constricted. An image of fighting like a maddened cat, clawing back out to fall into the abyss, ripped through her mind.
      Now's not a good time, she warned herself. "What next?" she asked, needing to move.
      "Is your rear end in?"
      "Feels like it."
      "Okay. There's space to your right. You're going to have to stretch over, reach down, and let loose your foot ascenders."
      Anna bent to the right at her waist. She tried to bring her knee up but cracked it painfully against the rock. Second try and she could feel the ascender on her boot. After a moment of fumbling she pulled the quick-release pin securing the cam and plucked the line out. "Got it," she said.
      "Left is harder, but you're short and flexible," Iverson said encouragingly.
      Anna grunted and pretzeled farther over in the slot that sandwiched her in. The left proved easier. Small blessings. She'd take what she could get. "I'm loose."
      "Get your body as straight as you can," Iverson told her. She squirmed her bones into a line. Every movement was dogged by difficulty. Clothing and gear caught and dragged. Her hard hat pulled, choking then blinding her. Fear built. She began to count in her head to drown out the distant buzz of panic, a sound like a swarm of angry bees.
      "Okay. Good. Grab my knees and pull yourself the rest of the way in."
      Anna worked her arms back over her head and felt the