The Middle of Somewhere(62)

The boulder headed straight for Paul and Linda. Paul, eyes huge, jumped back. Linda did the same, but her backpack was propped against a rock behind her. As she threw herself backward, her heel hit the pack and she fell onto it, legs in the air. The boulder careened off a ledge above her, and grazed her leg. She screamed. The boulder plunged out of sight, but the crush of rock upon rock echoed up to them.

Dante, plastered against the wall, stared at Liz in shock.

She quickly undid her pack and threw it to the ground. “I’m going down.”

Without a pack and traveling downhill, she flew. In two minutes she was there. Paul bent over his wife’s leg. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she bit her lip to stop from sobbing. Her calf was covered in blood, oozing from a four-inch gash. The skin on either side was deeply abraded.

“How bad is it?” Liz asked. Dante appeared at her side and placed a hand on the small of her back.

“It’s not out of alignment and when I pushed on her heel, she didn’t scream, so I doubt it’s broken.” He turned, nodding at the pack behind her. “In my pack, on the left hand side, there’s a medical kit.”

She opened the pack, pushed aside some clothing and found the Ziploc bag. A quick scan told her the contents were similar to hers: adhesive tape, antibiotic cream, alcohol wipes, gauze, ACE bandage.

Paul went on. “And on the other side is a bag with emergency stuff. I need the tent repair kit in there.”

“Paul,” Linda said, her voice shaking. “I’m not a goddamn tent.”

“The bleeding’s not going to stop until I stitch it. Just a few will do the trick.”

“Oh God,” said Dante, as he crossed himself. His cheeks were pale.

Paul poured water over his hands and swabbed them with an alcohol pad. “One more thing, Liz. There’s a silver bottle in my bear can. Tequila.”

“You guys have tequila?” Dante asked.

“A couple ounces each evening,” Paul said, threading the needle with the coarse thread. “Humped it all the way from Yosemite Valley.”

His wife said, “So is what you’re using for my leg your portion or mine?”

Paul laughed lightly. “That’s my girl.” He looked up at Liz. “Please hand me the antibiotic ointment and a couple of squares of gauze.” He held the wound open. It filled with blood. He dabbed it clean and squeezed a line of ointment inside.

Dante sat down and put his head between his knees.

Liz watched as Paul pierced the skin with the needle. Linda cried out.

“Sorry, darling,” he said. “Only a couple more.” He pushed the needle through the other side and tied it off deftly. “Shit. Anyone have a knife? Mine’s in my pocket and I can’t let go.”

Liz reached hers across. “You’ve done this before, I take it.”

“Yes, but not on my wife. Nor a human being, come to think of it. But skin’s skin.”

Paul tied up the last stitch and blotted the wound gingerly with tequila, glancing at his wife as he did it. Her breath came in gasps as she bore down on the pain. “That’s it.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it hard. “My brave girl.”

Dante had yet to lift his head. “So very brave.”

Liz choked back tears, and wondered what brought them on: anxiety over the injury and switchback surgery, or the complete trust Linda had in Paul.

He wiped the needle on a clean edge of gauze and returned it to the bag, along with the thread. He gathered the bloody gauze and stood. A little unsteady, he looked around as if just realizing where they were. Liz fished an empty bag from her pocket. “Here, Paul, put those in here.”

He handed them over, and stared up the headwall. “We were bloody lucky. Can you imagine if that boulder had scored a direct hit?”

His wife sat up and examined the neat row of stitches in her leg. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

Dante followed Paul’s gaze. “How does a rock that size just come loose?”

“It was probably Brensen. The guy is such a klutz.”

“Or the Root brothers,” Liz said.

“You’ve seen them?” Linda said.

She nodded. “This morning.”

Paul’s face darkened. “Are they ahead of us?”

“They’re everywhere.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE