One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(48)

Martin thins his lips, frowning. “Rocks rain down from these cliffs all the time. How do you think we got so many at our feet? You shouldn’t have been standing so close. It’s dangerous.”

I stop examining Neil’s wound long enough give Martin a pointed stare. “Now is not the time.”

“Asshole,” Scott mutters, much less diplomatically

“I wasn’t standing that close to the cliff,” Neil bites off, batting at my hands and struggling to sit up. “I know what I’m doing. Five years of chasing you through these goddamn mountains, you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Shhh,” I try to steady him, but he’s too pissed off. Ready or not, Neil sits up. More blood immediately wells at the back of his head. I thin my lips at my disobedient charge, then glare at Martin again.

At least Martin has the decency to appear contrite. For now.

“Careful,” I murmur to Neil as he shifts to a more upright seated position. “Head wounds bleed a lot.”

“I know. I played soccer. Not my first split skull.” He stares at me. “What happened? Who are you?” Then, as my eyes widen in alarm: “Just kidding. It takes more to scramble my brains than you think.”

Noise from behind. Luciana and Daisy are weaving their way rapidly toward us. Not far beyond them come Miggy and Bob, leaping frantically from rock to rock. Well, Miggy is leaping. Bob is just stepping. But they’re both hustling as fast as they can. Maybe our group that’s not a group is stronger than I thought.

Still no sign of Nemeth, but he’d probably made it to the far end of the cliff wall by the time Scott blew the whistle. Without any means of contact, there’s nothing we can do but wait for his return.

The remoteness of our location. The lack of access to outside help.

Kneeling before a wounded man, I refuse to think about it.

Daisy and Luciana arrive first, followed shortly by Bob and Miggy. Miguel takes one look at his injured friend and immediately looks like he’s going to be ill. He turns away sharply. Daisy, on the other hand, scrabbles onto the rock and heads straight to Neil. She stops mere inches from him, whining intently, as Luciana arrives thirty seconds later, panting heavily.

Neil gives Daisy a reassuring pat. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Daisy licks his cheek.

Abruptly, Neil draws the dog toward him and buries his bloody face in the ruff of her neck. After another second, his shoulders start to shake.

He’s crying. Because of his injury? The intensity of the moment? Grief over what last happened in these mountains so many years ago?

It feels wrong and intrusive to watch. We stare at anything but the sobbing man and consoling dog until finally Neil pulls away, swiping at his eyes with his dirty hand. Daisy licks his face again. He laughs roughly.

“Honestly, best kiss I’ve had in years.” He laughs again, hugs her close, laughs even harder.

Forget his physical recovery; I’m no longer certain he’s mentally with us. But he lets the dog go, then stares straight at Martin and declares in a defiant tone, “All right. We only have a few days, right? Let’s do this.”



* * *



—

We do not do this. Neil may think he’s all well and good, but the second he stands up, gravity proves problematic. Bob has to grab him, while Scott scurries forward to prop him up from the other side. It takes both of them to get Neil slowly back to our temporary base camp at the midpoint of the wall.

Miguel trails far behind, looking at anything but his injured friend. Neil doesn’t seem to notice, but I do.

We arrive just as Nemeth does.

“I thought I heard a whistle. What happened?” Then, gazing upon Neil’s bloody face: “Crap.”

Neil’s laugh again. “Yes, sir. That’s me. Mr. Fuck-Up. Pity when you could’ve had Saint Timothy instead.”

Scott and Miggy exchange startled glances.

“Let’s get him back down to sitting,” I instruct. “And water. He needs more water.”

My supply is out, but between the others, fluids are rapidly produced. As the resident first aid experts, Luciana and Nemeth take turns inspecting Neil’s bashed skull.

“Nauseous?” Luciana asks. “Headache? Tunnel vision?”

“I’ve had concussions before,” Neil mutters, raising a hand to block the sun. “Scale of one to ten, give this a four. Rest. Just need to rest.”

Daisy takes up position next to him, while Luciana sits on Neil’s other side. Martin and Nemeth walk a short distance away from the rest of us. As if that will keep us from hearing what they’re saying in the middle of an echo chamber.

“We need to abort and get this kid down the mountain immediately,” says Nemeth, hands planted on his hips.

“Get him down the mountain? How? He can barely walk. You know we don’t have enough daylight left.”

“Then we head back to camp. Right now. Make him comfortable, trek out at sunrise.”

“I found the remains of a campfire.” Martin, voice tense. “Right before the whistle blew. Near the opening of a large cave.”

“Old campfires are a dime a dozen in these parts. Plenty of people enjoy building a fire and hanging out after a long day’s hike. Doesn’t mean a thing.”

“But the one I found was encircled by perfectly matched stones. Like the one at the lean-to. I’m telling you, Tim had a thing for balance and symmetry. It’s his. I know it.”