Page 16 of A SEAL's Protection
When I glance at Allegra, her expression is taut. She’s terrified.
“We can turn back,” I say gently.
She shakes her head. “No. We keep going.”
Her face has gone pale, but she’s determined.
“I’ll go first and hook my rope into the anchors so we have two safety points.” I make my tone firm and professional, all jokiness gone. “Your pack will throw off your center of gravity, so it might feel a little strange. Try to follow my holds.”
She nods once.
I start up the cliff face, going slowly and keeping my movements small. If I was on my own, I’d be up in a matter of minutes, but I take it slow and make my holds obvious for Allegra to follow.
I reach the first anchor point and clip my rope to it. At least we’re secure with one clip if the frayed rope were to give way.
With the first anchor in place, I glance over my shoulder. Allegra watches me intently. Her face is pale and her expression neutral, except for a tug of her left eyebrows which betrays her anxiousness.
“You can start up,” I call down to her.
She takes a deep breath, and the rope tenses as eases her weight onto it. With Allegra coming up behind me, I scuttle across to the next anchor point.
When I turn around, she’s not at the first one yet, and I pause to wait for her, clinging onto the rock face with one hand.
“You okay?”
She nods, and a bead of sweat trickles down her forehead. She doesn’t look okay. She looks terrified. But she’s not quitting.
I turn back to the cliff face and shift my weight, tugging on the rope. It creaks as the frayed section stretches under the tension.
The next section is over crumbling rocks, and I press my boots into the face of the cliff to gain purchase. A pair of climbing shoes would make easy work of it, but in my hiking boots it’s hard to find a foothold. Small pebbles crumble under my boot and trickle down the cliff face, falling to the water below.
I reach the next anchor point, and the rope comes into focus. The loose edges are straight; a knife has sliced them. Cut not frayed.
I glance behind me, scanning the ridge behind us. Sunlight glints off glass on the opposite ridge. Binoculars. We’re being watched.
Allegra hasn’t noticed, and I don’t want to scare her when she’s already uneasy about the climb.
“Move steady,” I call over my shoulder.
Perspiration trickles down my forehead as I make my way to the next anchor point. Allegra swears behind me, and when I look back, she’s struggling to find a foothold. She jams her boot into a crevice, and as she pushes up on it, the rock crumbles away beneath her.
She screams as her footing gives way. It throws her off balance, and the rope slips out of her grasp. We’re both pulled down the cliff face until the rope tightens on the last anchor point. My shoulder crashes into the side of the cliff, and the sudden jolt in the rope causes the old injury to flare. I hiss through my teeth as my arm scrapes against the cliff and jagged rock tears into my forearm. Warm blood rushes under my sleeve as pain erupts from the cut.
I push the sensation away and focus on Allegra.
She regains her balance, but her pack has slipped off one shoulder, and it knocks against the side of the cliff.
“My samples,” she gasps.
But it’s not the samples she needs to worry about.
The pack tips sideways, and the strap holding her tent and sleeping bag snaps. She grasps for her pack with her free hand, but the cord tears loose, and her tent and sleeping bag slide out. There’s a flash of nylon as the tent tumbles down the side of the cliff, followed by her sleeping bag. They bounce off the rocks below, then vanish into the water.
Allegra’s breathing hard, and I have to keep her moving before her fear takes over.
“You okay?” I ask.
She snaps her head back to me, and our eyes lock. “It wasn’t the samples.”
