The Anomaly(23)

I’d heard people describe climbing as a kind of physical chess, which doesn’t help, as I suck at chess. But yes, for a while, I kind of understood the appeal of choosing which outcrop to put this foot on, and then that, shifting your weight from hand to hand. As we moved higher and higher I even had a chance to revisit the feeling I’d had when we first got on the river—a surprised awareness that I was doing something intrepid and cool that, left to my own devices, wouldn’t have made it onto any realistic bucket list.

From time to time I took a few moments to turn from the wall and look out across the canyon, down toward a river that was an increasingly significant distance below, sparkling in the sun. Ken was gamely keeping pace. He let loose with an occasional burst of profanity, but as time went on it became clear that this was part of his process rather than an indication that he felt in imminent danger.

I was glad to have him there, and glad we were effectively climbing together. It helped, for some reason, and not just because he was the most self-evidently unsuited to the undertaking. This probably meant, I realized with something of a shock, that he had become, like, a friend.

That hadn’t really occurred to me. I wondered if I should mention it at some point, found it easy to imagine the weapons-grade irony with which the observation would be met—I would do exactly the same, of course—and decided not.



When Gemma fell, I had half a second’s warning.

We were more than two-thirds of the way up and my arms and calves were feeling it, but I’d settled into a rhythm and the whole escapade had stopped feeling unfeasible. To be honest, it looked a lot worse from the river than it was when you were in the midst. I still kept checking below once in a while (Ken doggedly replicating my every step and handhold) but had stopped looking around at the view—we were a little too high now to do that with equanimity. Instead, part of my mind had moved toward working out what I’d say to camera when we eventually made it up there. A lot depended on what we found, of course, but I wanted to be at least slightly prepared. I was deep in this train of thought when there was a short, squawking scream.

Then the sound of scrabbling.

Before I’d had time to consciously process these noises, Gemma was sliding back toward me. Fast.

Even if I’d known the recommended response to this kind of event there wouldn’t have been time to do anything except what I did, bracing my feet and tightening my grip with both hands.

Gemma had only a couple of feet to build up speed, and was grabbing at rocks on her way down. She still hit me like a freight train. The impact knocked all the air out of my lungs and I felt my lower right back muscle snap straight into spasm.

But there was enough room between me and the wall for her to slide into, and somehow my hands held.

She quickly got handholds on the wall, too, and her weight came off me within seconds.

Then we both just held tight.

I was very aware of the heat of her skin through her shirt, and the perspiration on the back of her neck where she’d tied her hair up. That, and my heart beating like a jackhammer.

“Shit!” Molly shouted. “Are you guys okay?”

“Let’s not do it again,” I said, my voice a little unsteady. “But yeah, we’re good. I’m good, anyway. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Gemma said, turning her forearm to look at a long, deep scrape there. Blood was already beginning to bead along it. Her voice was very shaky. “Fucking fuck, though.”

“Nicely put,” I said. “I take back everything I said about the quality of your prose.”

I held on while she gingerly climbed back up.

Pierre watched, hanging casually onto the wall above. “Ready?”

We climbed.



About ten minutes later Pierre turned and looked down at the rest of us again.

“Nolan?”

“What?”

“See these little ledges, to my right?”

“What about them?”

“I’m going across there. Moll, Feather, and Gemma—you come this way, too. Nolan, you head straight up.”

“Why?”

“I can film you getting to the cavern from here.”

“Look, Pierre—”

“Do what he fucking says,” Ken said, tersely. “My arms are falling off. And if that thing up there is just a bloody recess, the drinks are on you forever. I mean it.”

I waited while people climbed up the remaining ten feet and moved sideways onto the series of small ledges. They were only about eighteen inches wide and sloped markedly, and everybody but Pierre kept their hands firmly gripped to the wall. I saw Gemma rest her head against it, eyes closed, and realized she was pretty much done with this crap.

I then waited until Pierre had carefully extricated the camera from his backpack and gotten it into position in his left hand, holding on to the wall with the right.

“Rolling,” he said.

I climbed the last thirty feet alone. It wasn’t hard, especially now that the end was in sight. Pierre had been correct about this, too—concavity in this section of the wall made the final chunk a lot easier than the middle portion.

Foot by foot I went up, until the opening was just above me. I am familiar enough with the playful ways of the gods, however, that I made doubly sure every hand-and foothold was secure as I covered the remaining distance.