Page 45 of Canyon of Deceit
“Okay.” The faint sound told me talking had stolen his strength.
If only I could take away what he’d endured. “No need to say another word.” I continued to encourage him while easing the rope under and around his waist twice. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. “Think about something fun, a favorite vacation.”
“Like kissing you?”
I sighed. “I suppose if that works.”
“You’re... crazy. Leave me here.”
“Listen to me. Together, we’ve got this. And I need your help. I must turn you onto your back. That will make pulling you up easier. Also, I want you to hold on to the rope with your right hand. Don’t let go.”
“My backpack’s... gone,” Blane burst out. “How did I lose it?”
Earlier he’d placed his phone in the zippered pocket of his pants. “We’ll be fine.”
“Not sure... how.”
“Hush.” My guess was the jagged rocks cut through the shoulder straps, but now wasn’t the time to analyze how his backpack lay at the bottom of the canyon. With my phone.
I bent on the rock and rolled him inward to the incline. He screamed with the pressure of his body on his left arm. I rolled him onto his back. “Blane, I had no choice.”
“Not the first time... I’ve broken a bone.”
I pulled a sling from my backpack and slipped it over his head and cradled his arm. The excruciating agony on his face while heremained silent tore through me. I secured his glove and wrapped the rope around his right wrist. I stood to make the climb. “I’ll tell you when I’m at the top and ready to hoist you up. Don’t let go of the rope until we are safe. We’ll manage your climb together.”
He gripped the rope. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” I choked on the words. This wasn’t like me—I’m levelheaded during emergencies. “Stay alert.”
I hated to leave him. A wrong move on his part or mine, and we’d tumble to our deaths.
Grabbing the rope, I made it up to the trailhead where we’d started. I lay on my belly and alerted Blane that his time had come. “You can do this.”
Blane’s slow ascent started. He used his legs to raise himself until his broken arm hit against a mass of rock and debris. He shouted like a madman, echoing across the canyon. Chandler now could have no doubts as to our location.
My arms and shoulder muscles burned, making every upward inch a struggle and yet a victory. I paused, my body needing a moment’s reprieve. Blane had helped me gain control of my emotions earlier, and I wanted to reciprocate. I practiced “Blane’s inhale and exhale” technique. The strain and stress—worry for a good man—sent my head throbbing.
I needed supernatural strength, the kind only God provided. Determination grasped me like a vise, and I continued to pull Blane closer to me. With muscles screaming in protest, I heaved and prayed until I touched the fingers of his right hand and gripped them.
“Just a little more.” I panted. “Push up with your legs so I can roll you onto the edge.”
He finally sprawled out on the rock, and I gingerly tugged him away from the edge.
None of his pockets contained a phone.
What little intellect I had left must first assess his injuries—the source of blood oozing from his head needed stitches, the deepening blue-and-purple swelling around his left cheek and eye, and the task of setting, then splinting his arm.God, help me.
TWENTY-THREE
Those who affect us emotionally are always the ones we long to protect from suffering. Blane experienced a horrendous fall. My fault. I’d recruited him. I’d put aside my opposition to his lack of faith and coaxed him to join me. I’d done my best to give him solid safety instructions. Had I used his attraction to benefit my agenda?
“I’d give anything to be in your place,” I said.
“No, you don’t want any part of it. I’m miserable. Hurting. Mean. Cursing. And... a little late to use our code word for danger.”
“Oh, yeah, scree. You are one strong man, and my hero.”
He huffed. “The altitude has made you delirious.”
