Cold Springs(75)

He called Leyland forward. As the rain pattered down on the red granite, Hunter grabbed a mess of ropes and metal clasps from one of the white levels and started fitting the gear around Leyland's waist.

What the hell? Mallory wondered.

“Accountability isn't worth a dime without courage,” Hunter told them. “You need courage to remove yourself from your old patterns; to tell your so-called friends to take a hike; to face the people back in the real world and convince them you aren't the worthless heap of self-pity you were when you came into this program. We will see if you've got courage, ladies and gentlemen. You will not leave Black Level until you know that nothing—NOTHING—can test you worse than I can test you.”

Mallory's ears were ringing. Did he say leave Black Level?

Hunter finished fitting the straps and hooks around Leyland's chest, then Leyland started putting a similar harness on Hunter. The black levels stood there, watching—like this was normal, standing outside in the icy rain in the middle of the night watching your instructors tie each other up.

It dawned on Mallory that the gear was some kind of climbing equipment—and her excitement turned to apprehension. Courage was something she knew she didn't have. If she'd had courage, she never would've wound up here. She would've figured out a way to help Race.

Your so-called friends.

Leyland finished putting the harness on Dr. Hunter. They double-checked each other's straps.

“Now,” Hunter told them. “In partners with your counselor. The job you do may be the difference between life and death. Do it right.”

Olsen came up to her—tossed her a harness. “After you, kiddo.”

Mallory did her best to fit Olsen. Her hands felt numb, the straps sluggish going into the metal buckles. Olsen's clothes were as wet and cold as her own, smelling faintly of sweat and campfire smoke.

One of the instructors yelled, “You don't want to be last! You DO NOT want to be last!”

“Doing fine,” Olsen assured her. “I won't bite you.”

Mallory got the last strap secured around Olsen's thigh.

Olsen checked her work, grimaced. She lifted a strap Mallory had forgotten to fasten. Mallory's face burned with embarrassment, but she finished the job.

Olsen picked up the other harness and started weaving it around Mallory's torso—tugging hard on the straps, making them tight around the shoulders, like she'd done this a million times before.

They weren't the last ones finished. Bridges took forever getting his counselor hooked up. But finally, everybody fell into line.

“Too slow,” Hunter told the group. “Let's make up for lost time.”

Leyland blew his whistle and led them on a run—down the familiar path to the river, rain spiking in their faces, kids slipping in the mud, instructors yelling. Just like old times.

They passed the obstacle course, the Mushroom Rocks, and then came to the banks of the river.

The whole forest was lit up fluorescent silver, striped with rain.

Floodlights burned in the branches of two enormous cypress trees, one on either side of the river. Strung between their trunks, maybe forty feet in the air, were three thin cables like power lines. Below this the river raged, swollen and glistening like an enormous, melting slug.

“That bridge,” Hunter yelled over the growl of the rapids, “is the only way across.”

What bridge? Mallory started to ask. And then she realized Hunter meant the ropes.

All her confidence drained out of her.

“There is no going back,” Hunter continued. “You will be here until you make it across—if that means tonight, or a week, or the rest of your life. So watch and learn.”

Hunter tossed Leyland a safety helmet.

Leyland put it on, clipped himself to a climbing rope, and Hunter took the other end.

“This is the belay,” Hunter told them. “This is your lifeline. I will not do this for you. I will not catch you if you fall. You and your counselor will spot each other. So pay attention.”

Leyland began climbing handholds Mallory hadn't even noticed before—knobs no bigger than drawer handles going all the way up the trunk of the cypress.

He ascended effortlessly. At the top he stepped onto a tiny platform—just a couple of boards nailed between the base of two branches. He hooked himself to a new line, dropped the climbing rope, then started over the rope bridge—his feet on the bottom cord, hands on the middle, a safety line tied to the top. He shimmied his way across the river, to a platform in the opposite tree.

Mallory no longer felt the cold. She no longer felt the thousand pounds of rain soaking into her clothes. Her mouth was dry and hot as beach sand.

I can't do that.

She had always been scared of heights. She couldn't even look out the windows of Race's grandmother's apartment. Now she was certain she was going to fall and die.

“One pair at a time,” Hunter said. “Your counselor will spot you. Then you'll return the favor. Volunteers?”

No one spoke.

“Zedman and Olsen,” Hunter decided. “Thank you.”

Mallory's eyes widened. “I didn't—”

But Olsen was already stepping up to the tree.

A white level explained the belay gear. He told Mallory she would be climbing first.