Cold Springs(76)

“No,” she said. “Not first, please.”

The white level frowned, started to repeat the order.

“It's okay,” Olsen interceded. “I'm ready to climb.”

Mallory didn't like the idea of holding Olsen's lifeline any more than she liked climbing. How the hell could Olsen trust her, after everything she had done? Her shoulder couldn't be fully healed from the stab wound Mallory had given her. But Olsen didn't act scared.

The white level fitted Olsen's helmet, hooked her to the line and made sure it was secure. He showed Mallory how to wrap the belay cord around her waist. Mallory would be responsible for spotting Olsen as she went up, taking up the slack, making sure she didn't fall. Then Olsen would spot for her, from the top platform. Simple.

Right, simple, Mallory thought. We're both going to die.

Olsen said, “Belay on?”

“On belay,” Mallory said.

“No,” Dr. Hunter chastised. “You got her life in your hands, girl. Say it like you mean it.”

“On belay!”

“Climbing,” Olsen called.

“Climb on!” Mallory said.

Mallory watched her ascend, even more swiftly than Leyland had. Soon, she was at the top, reversing the ropes so she could hold belay for Mallory.

There was no way Olsen would be able to stop her falling, holding her rope from way up there. The platform and Olsen looked so tiny.

Mallory got hooked up, stepped to the tree. This would be a good time to wake up, she thought.

She yelled that she was climbing, heard Olsen's distant voice shouting back to climb on.

Mallory got ahold of a slippery knob, pulled herself up. She tried putting her foot sideways on the footholds, pushing with her legs. That worked pretty well. About five feet up, she slipped and banged against the slippery wet bark of the tree, but she didn't fall. She just dangled. Olsen had taken up the slack.

Mallory found a foothold and continued climbing.

Her progress was maddeningly slow. Her fingers ached, her forearms burned. The strap of the safety helmet cut under her chin. There was nothing but tree trunk and rain and the unforgiving floodlights in her eyes. Her vision telescoped to the smallest details—canyon patterns in the bark, the gray plastic half-moon of the next handle, the blood seeping from the cut on her right hand. After a million years, she reached the base of the platform; she hauled herself up next to Olsen.

“Good job,” Olsen told her. “Excellent.”

She was trembling, and Olsen's praise made her want to sob like a baby. She hooked herself to a new line, then lowered the climbing rope to the ground.

Looking down made her stomach spin—the other black levels the size of dolls, their heads all bent upward, watching her.

The platform seemed to shift under her. She grabbed Olsen's leg.

“You're not slipping,” Olsen promised. “It's vertigo.”

“I'm going to die. I can't do this.”

“Yeah, you can,” Olsen said.

“I'm scared of heights.”

“You're connected to the cowstail. You'll be fine.” Olsen pointed to the rope bridge—the small top wire that ran above the bottom two. It was red, and impossibly thin, and Mallory's lifeline was now connected to it.

“Cross slowly,” Olsen instructed her. “Small movements. Slide across, don't step. If you slip, you'll just hang there. Take your time getting back up. You saw the ropes take Leyland's weight. They'll take yours.”

“Christ, have you done this before?”

“Counting tonight?” Olsen asked. “Once.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Language,” Olsen warned her.

“Language? I'm about to die here and you tell me ‘language'?”

“Let's go. I'll help you up.”

Mallory knew her fingers were leaving permanent gouge marks on Olsen's arms, but Olsen didn't complain.

She coaxed Mallory to the platform edge, said encouraging things Mallory couldn't even register as words, and somehow got her to step out over nothing.

“Good!” Olsen said. “Slow—just take it slow.”

The rain was worse now—needling her face, reducing her vision to nothing. She slid one foot out on the bottom rope. The feeling was like a trampoline, only worse. Every vibration in the line was an earthquake.

She knew the others were watching her—the black levels, Olsen, Leyland, Hunter.

Mallory wanted to do well. She took another step, exhaled, the cord cutting into her soles.

“Good!” Olsen told her. “Your right hand. Just slide it out a little. Now the left.”

Mallory measured her progress by inches, memorizing the feel of the cord, the braid pattern under her hands. Olsen's voice was the only thing keeping her heart beating.

About halfway across, just when she was feeling like she might make it, she stepped wrong. The rope slipped from under her foot and the world did a mad pirouette on a floodlight. Mallory found herself hanging, unable to find the lines, the river twisting and churning below, hungrily waiting to swallow her.

She was too terrified even to scream.

“It's okay!” Olsen shouted. “It's okay. The foot line is right next to you.”

“Where?”