Rivers of Fire (Atherton, Book 2) by Patrick Carman Page A

the missing pinky letting go. That would be the start of problems he wasn't sure he could handle.
    Edgar focused more precisely on the task at hand, feeling the Highlands slowly grinding beneath him as they sank
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    farther He found to his surprise that he was taking not the fastest but the safest route he could find, and yet it was a daunting challenge. Still twenty feet from the bottom, both feet slipped free and he dangled from only his hands. He struggled against the slippery mud to hold his grip and managed to regain control, but his heart raced at the thought of such an unexpected, close call.
    There were no more problems the rest of the way down as Edgar adjusted to the new feel of the rock face. Once he was standing at the bottom, he sighed with an uncharacteristic relief, gazing up at his two companions.
    "This place will need to be renamed," yelled Dr. Kincaid from above. "It's feeling rather odd to keep calling it the Highlands, don't you think?" He was trying to keep the mood light, easing his own worry that the boy wouldn't make it back with the rope.
    The tree trunks and mechanisms that had once held the ropes and lowered the baskets had been torn apart by the falling world, and the end of the rope lay frayed and loose on the ground. Much of the rope had been wound onto an enormous wooden core and ripped free, but Edgar thought there was enough rope attached to the basket to reach the top. He took the frayed end and tied it in a knot around his waist, then tried his best to untangle the mess at his feet.
    When he was satisfied there was enough to make the climb all the way to the top, he began working his way up the wall of stone. He was a startlingly fast study, and this time he seemed to better understand how to overcome the slick surface.
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    As Edgar rose higher, the rope caught in the pile and he had to turn and hold on with one hand, yanking the rope back and forth until it was untangled. Soon he was a few feet from the top and the rope began to tighten around his middle. Looking down, he saw that he'd reached the end of the rope. The other end was tied firmly to the large, heavy basket on the ground below.
    He was so close to his goal, and yet the wall kept moving down. It occurred to Edgar that if the Highlands were to really start falling, crashing into the center of Atherton with some speed, he would be pulled off the wall by the rope, the basket acting like an anchor yanking him into the open air.
    "Can you untie the rope from around your waist?" asked Vincent. He was just out of Edgar's reach, lying on his stomach with one arm hanging over the edge.
    Edgar held on with his injured hand, feeling the sting of rock against the scabbed bump where his pinky was missing. With his other hand he frantically began untying the two knots he'd put there. The wall was moving down inch by inch, slowly but steadily, and every moment counted.
    Just as he was getting the first knot undone the Highlands lurched violently and the rope tightened, very nearly pulling Edgar free from the cliff. After the cliff dropped the length of Edgar's forearm in the space of a split second, the tremor halted as quickly as it had begun. Both Dr. Kincaid and Vincent were on their bellies, frantically calling and reaching out to the boy beneath them.
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    Edgar was such a calm climber that it seemed more like he was moving in water than air. He had shifted two steps down and was already through the second knot. He held the rope at his side, glad to be free of it.
    "On the count of three," said Edgar. He held the frayed end of the rope beneath his knees and counted, heaving it up over his head. Vincent caught the flying rope without trouble, but he hadn't thought of how to secure it. His eyes darted around in search of some way to hold the few feet of rope he had to work with.
    "Use these," cried Edgar. From his pocket he pulled out two sharp wooden stakes. He had found them on the ground below, where they had once been part of the