one sudden jerk of the rope. My face and body hit the snow hard and I am dragged about five feet into the trunk of the tree. The impact is painful. I can feel where I’m going to bruise on my shoulder.
“Paul,” I shout. “Paul!”
I adjust my body and straddle the base of the tree, hooking my legs around it, and hold on for my life.
“Paul! Can you hear me?” There’s no answer, but his weight is still pulling against the tree.
“Paul!”
Nothing. Then suddenly the rope goes slack, and there’s no longer any pressure on the line. I scream.
“Paul!”
“You need to do as I say,” he calls back. “On the count of three, can you walk away from this cliff?”
I am flooded with relief.
“Yes, but count to ten; I’m kind of tangled here,” I shout.
“Just say when, okay? But try to hurry.”
I crawl back under the tree and free myself. The rope feels slack. I walk back to the edge and peer over. Paul is now standing in the tree and has one hand on a nub of rock. He’s planning on climbing up the wall. My walking is supposed to assist him.
“What if you fall?” I call down.
He looks up and smiles.
“It’ll be romantic, Jane. We’ll die together, like Romeo and Juliet.”
I take a big gulp of air and breathe out.
What an ass.
“Nothing personal, but I don’t want to die with you, Paul.”
“That’s extra incentive for you, then. Don’t slip.”
I make sure the knot around my waist is tight.
“Hold on a second,” I call. “I have an idea.”
I scurry back to the tree and crawl under and around again, creating a primitive pulley. Instead of walking away from him, I pull in all the slack, and then walk sideways, parallel to the ledge.
“Go!” I shout.
With his weight displaced against the tree, I use my lateral force to help move his weight up the mountain. I can’t see him, but every time I step into fresh powder, I can sense his weight moving up the mountain.
Come on, Jane,
I think. I leverage all of my one hundred and eighteen pounds into each step. Then I hear myself let out a grunt that turns into a scream, from deep inside that I didn’t know was there. It’s primal, like life itself announcing its return to my body.
Pull,
Jane, pull.
My feet lift out of the powder with an unbelievable force, and step after step, I feel a sense of euphoria taking over my body. Then the weight pulling against me disappears, sending my body flying forward into the snow.
I sit up and turn around, brushing snow from my face. For a second I see nothing but white. A hollow feeling fills my gut. I look to the ledge and then back over the landscape, which is flat and empty. Then, like an animal waking up after a long night hidden beneath the snow for warmth, Paul Hart pops up in my line of vision. Where did he come from? His chest heaves up and down. His face is bright red and his broad grin tells me he’s okay. I start to cry as I walk over to him, I can’t help it. He is still kneeling down. He looks up at me; his smile just gets bigger. He falls onto his back and lets out a big laugh.
“Jane Solis,” he shouts, still flat on his back, “you pull like a donkey.”
Like I said, what an ass.
Chapter 16
W ith some effort, Paul lifts himself into a sitting position and then stands. He looks around, surveying the area.
“Which way?” he says, still breathing heavily. “To the plane, I mean?”
No hello or “thank you for saving my life.” Just “which way?” I chalk it up to his nearly dying, the thin air, and general guy-ness.
I pull out a pair of gloves and a hat and hand them to him.
“Here.”
He nods and pulls back his hoodie to put the hat on, and then the gloves, but doesn’t say thanks for those either.
Really?
I point at my footprints, which are fading quickly but still visible.
“It’s that way. Follow my tracks.”
“Right?” He looks at me for confirmation. “Come on.”
He turns and marches toward the cabin. The wind whips with a new ferocity, and the
“Paul,” I shout. “Paul!”
I adjust my body and straddle the base of the tree, hooking my legs around it, and hold on for my life.
“Paul! Can you hear me?” There’s no answer, but his weight is still pulling against the tree.
“Paul!”
Nothing. Then suddenly the rope goes slack, and there’s no longer any pressure on the line. I scream.
“Paul!”
“You need to do as I say,” he calls back. “On the count of three, can you walk away from this cliff?”
I am flooded with relief.
“Yes, but count to ten; I’m kind of tangled here,” I shout.
“Just say when, okay? But try to hurry.”
I crawl back under the tree and free myself. The rope feels slack. I walk back to the edge and peer over. Paul is now standing in the tree and has one hand on a nub of rock. He’s planning on climbing up the wall. My walking is supposed to assist him.
“What if you fall?” I call down.
He looks up and smiles.
“It’ll be romantic, Jane. We’ll die together, like Romeo and Juliet.”
I take a big gulp of air and breathe out.
What an ass.
“Nothing personal, but I don’t want to die with you, Paul.”
“That’s extra incentive for you, then. Don’t slip.”
I make sure the knot around my waist is tight.
“Hold on a second,” I call. “I have an idea.”
I scurry back to the tree and crawl under and around again, creating a primitive pulley. Instead of walking away from him, I pull in all the slack, and then walk sideways, parallel to the ledge.
“Go!” I shout.
With his weight displaced against the tree, I use my lateral force to help move his weight up the mountain. I can’t see him, but every time I step into fresh powder, I can sense his weight moving up the mountain.
Come on, Jane,
I think. I leverage all of my one hundred and eighteen pounds into each step. Then I hear myself let out a grunt that turns into a scream, from deep inside that I didn’t know was there. It’s primal, like life itself announcing its return to my body.
Pull,
Jane, pull.
My feet lift out of the powder with an unbelievable force, and step after step, I feel a sense of euphoria taking over my body. Then the weight pulling against me disappears, sending my body flying forward into the snow.
I sit up and turn around, brushing snow from my face. For a second I see nothing but white. A hollow feeling fills my gut. I look to the ledge and then back over the landscape, which is flat and empty. Then, like an animal waking up after a long night hidden beneath the snow for warmth, Paul Hart pops up in my line of vision. Where did he come from? His chest heaves up and down. His face is bright red and his broad grin tells me he’s okay. I start to cry as I walk over to him, I can’t help it. He is still kneeling down. He looks up at me; his smile just gets bigger. He falls onto his back and lets out a big laugh.
“Jane Solis,” he shouts, still flat on his back, “you pull like a donkey.”
Like I said, what an ass.
Chapter 16
W ith some effort, Paul lifts himself into a sitting position and then stands. He looks around, surveying the area.
“Which way?” he says, still breathing heavily. “To the plane, I mean?”
No hello or “thank you for saving my life.” Just “which way?” I chalk it up to his nearly dying, the thin air, and general guy-ness.
I pull out a pair of gloves and a hat and hand them to him.
“Here.”
He nods and pulls back his hoodie to put the hat on, and then the gloves, but doesn’t say thanks for those either.
Really?
I point at my footprints, which are fading quickly but still visible.
“It’s that way. Follow my tracks.”
“Right?” He looks at me for confirmation. “Come on.”
He turns and marches toward the cabin. The wind whips with a new ferocity, and the
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