Page 105 of When the Stars Rise
I wait a few seconds, then look up again just as I drop ten feet. Jesus. My stomach is somersaulting, and I break out in a cold sweat.
I’m not scared of heights. I love free falling. But on my own terms. That was more like a trust fall. Don’t like them much.
“Sorry!” Briggs shouts.
They lower me down the rest of the way, and the progression is smoother, like they’ve worked out a rhythm.
When I reach Carey, I wave my arm in the air to let them know I’m at a good place then I grab his harness and pull him toward me. He flinches and lets out a groan. He’s not looking too good. Pale beneath his tan, his face covered in sweat streaked with blood from the gash on his forehead.
“Hey, Carey, it’s Noah.” His eyes open and it looks as if he’s trying to bring me into focus. Pretty sure he has a concussion and I’m not sure how much of this is registering but I want to reassure him. “I’m here for you. Everything is going to be okay.”
He swallows. Licks his lips. “Fucked up my shoulder. Think my arm’s broken.”
My gaze dips to his right arm. Blood is seeping through his long-sleeved T-shirt, but I can’t do much about that right now. “Just hang tight, and we’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”
I get him clipped to my harness and cut the ropes until only two hold him up. When I cut the last two ropes, the guys on the catwalk are going to have to do some heavy lifting so I want to make sure they’re ready.
I look up at the catwalk until I find Briggs’ eyes and communicate without words.
“Cut the ropes!” Briggs yells. “We’ve got you.”
That’s all I needed to hear.
Here goes nothing. I cut one rope, and he’s hanging by a thread when I hear a helicopter. The chopper blades kick upmore wind, and I can’t keep us steady enough to cut the final rope.
They’re only trying to help, but it’s doing the opposite. I motion with my arm for them to retreat.
It takes a few minutes of gesturing before they finally get the message and move it out.
I take a deep breath and cut the final rope from the parachute. We both plunge another five feet until the ropes tauten and they start pulling us up.
It’s a slow process, and the wind isn’t helping, but we inch our way up slowly but surely and we’re nearly where we need to be when a strong gust of wind slams us against the bridge. We crash into the metal girders with so much force my jaw clamps shut and my head snaps back.
Carey howls in pain. I wince—this poor dude.
“Hang in there, buddy. We’re nearly there.” I don’t think he heard me, though. He’s unconscious again, head lolling to the side which is probably for the best. But now he’s dead weight, limbs heavy, and it will be harder to lift him.
Luckily, the team is all working together, they’ve found their stride now, so they raise us up until we’re underneath the catwalk.
I grab the steel girders above my head and pull us across until we’re positioned beneath the manhole. Arms reach down, ready to help and I caution them to be careful with Carey’s right shoulder and arm before unclipping him from my harness.
After they pull Carey up through the manhole, I pull myself up and stagger to my feet, trying to catch my breath. My body is shaking from all the adrenaline shooting through my veins.
“You did it, man,” Briggs says, pulling me into a bro hug. White-hot pain shoots through my ribcage. I grit my teeth and try to breathe through it.
Lifting my T-shirt, I inspect the damage. Just some bruising, bit tender to the touch, but nothing serious.
“You should get checked out, man.” Briggs jerks his chin toward the EMTs tending to Carey. We’re all standing back to give them space to work.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m fine. They can’t do anything for ribs anyway.” Broke a few in the past when I got thrown from a horse, so I know that for a fact.
I shake hands and exchange slaps on the back with everyone who helped pull us to safety. “Couldn’t have done any of that without you guys. It was a real team effort.” I tip my chin in thanks and twist off the lid of an energy drink, guzzling half of it to replace my electrolytes.
“Should’ve worn gloves,” Dave grumbles, inspecting the rope burns on his palms before glaring at me and striding away.
Briggs and I exchange a look. “For such a big guy, he was pretty much useless,” Briggs says with a sigh. “He kept dropping the rope.”
“Must be those soft hands of his.” Steve shakes his head in disgust. “Ole Butterfingers.”
