Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(82)

Lily tilted the gun horizontal, pulled the trigger. Bam.

The recoil flung her arms up, sent her stumbling back, tripping over rocks. She hit the ground, scrambled to her feet, took aim again. Bam. Miriam lay on the ground, struggling to rise.

Lily tried again. Bam. Bam. Bam. Twigs and leaves and trees snapped. Bam. The bullet tore a hole in the fallen tree. Wood chips flew. Her arms shook. Her fingers were numb.

And Miriam rose up, like some immortal demon spawn. “Is that all you’ve got for me?” she wheezed. “You stupid f*cking whore!” She laughed, her lips peeled back from her teeth, and swung her gun up.

Bam. A huge blow to Lily’s chest slammed her to the ground.

The gun flew from her hand. She struggled to rise, groping in the underbrush for the Glock, her chest a well of fiery agony. “You crazy bitch,” she gasped out, fighting for air. “What’s your problem with me?”

Miriam aimed. “Just that you’re still breathing.”

Crack, crack. Lily jerked, stumbled.

It took a beat to realize that she wasn’t shot. It was Miriam who spun and was flung down onto her side. Her gun hit a dead branch, flew into the bushes. The woman lurched to her feet, looking around for it wildly. She spotted Lily’s Glock the same moment Lily lunged for it.

She let out a shriek and ran at Lily like a charging bull.

The impact knocked her backward, and they tumbled over the rounded edge of the ravine, sliding in a clawing, screaming, grappling ball, thudding, rolling, jolting down that rough, steep slope.

Closer and closer to the edge of a sheer rock face below, where it was ten yards of freefall to the creek bed below.

Lily snatched at small trees as they rolled by, but hers and Miriam’s combined weight made them rip and shred through her hands, thwapping at her face. They fetched up against an outcropping at the edge of the cliff. Miriam’s back hit it first. Lily took advantage of that stunned second to tear herself loose, scrabbling for something to hold.

The first thing her groping hands could clutch was an old root from some ancient tree, still jutting from the hillside. Her other hand grasped a bunch of saplings, no more than two feet high. Shallow, tender root systems on a hard rock face. They wouldn’t hold for long.

Miriam lunged for Lily’s ankles. Lily hung on grimly, wrists and shoulders screaming at the strain. Miriam dangled from her feet, slowly clawing her way up Lily’s leg. Her nails dug in painfully as she grabbed handfuls of Lily’s jeans, which were sliding down over her hips.

Lily kicked, twisted, trying to knock the woman loose. The root systems started to give. One pulled loose. The others were straining. Miriam was dead weight, and clad in heavy body armor just as Lily was. Swinging on Lily’s knees, like a horrible ripe fruit that would not drop.

Crack, crack. Gunfire echoed through the canyon. Miriam let go, slid over the edge of the cliff. Her long, wailing cry cut off abruptly.

Lily dangled, staring at a wall of frozen mud and rock. She was intensely conscious of the cold smell of the icy earth. Blood on her hands trickled down into her sleeves. Her jeans were twisted around her thighs. The icy rocks scratched and bumped against her naked hips.

Her tormenter was gone. And she could not move.

It could have been hours, hanging there, before the sound penetrated. Somebody shouting her name. Yelling it, over and over.

“. . . goddamnit, are you OK? Lily! Answer me! Lily!”

Bruno’s voice, rough with fear.

Lily pulled in air to respond, but it all wheezed out in a useless squeak. Her lips felt numb, cold. They wouldn’t seal to form wds.

He kept calling. She kept trying. Finally, she got it out. Small, but audible. “B-b-b-bruno?”

Silence for a stunned moment, and then an excited clattering shower of small stones tumbled down onto her head. Dirt showered into her already stinging eyes, and she flinched, trying to blink the stuff away. “Lily?” he yelled again. “Lily? You OK?”

She looked up again, eyes streaming. There was his big silhouette against the blinding white sky, clinging to the hillside above. “Y-y-yeah.”

“You’re too far down.” His voice shook. “I can’t reach you. Christ, I wish I had some rope, but it would take twenty minutes to get to the cabin and back. Can you hang on for a few? I’ll find a way to get closer.”

“Um.” Too complicated a question to answer. Hanging on. That was the thing. She’d concentrate on doing it, not talking about it.

Seconds ground by while Bruno struggled and cursed, sending down a constant stream of rocks and dirt onto her. Then she heard him calling again. She concentrated to put his words together.

“. . . best I can do to pull you up. Try, OK? Just let go, see if you can stretch up at least about eight, ten inches? Lily, goddamnit, answer me! Can you hear me? Hey! Lily!”

She coughed, cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she croaked out.

“Yeah, what?” he snarled.

She sucked in air, gritting her teeth. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

Her bleeding hands hurt, but she started scrabbling against the slippery rock face, trying to get her numb feet up over the edge of the cliff. Neat trick, with knees shackled by slippingdown jeans. She finally found a lip of rock that didn’t crumble. Wedged her foot against it.

She lifted herself, almost screaming as pain redistributed itself in her arms, shoulders, hands, as blood enthusiastically pumped into new, hurt places. She scrambled up, reached . . .