Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
There was no way I was going to ask for an update. I was fine. A little cold, maybe, but fine. Plus, I had my emergency pack if I needed water, food, or first aid. Worst-case scenario, I even had an emergency bivvy bag that would help keep me warm if I had to spend the night up here.
“Lucky, rain incoming,” Zach said in the same clipped tone. “Morrie is experiencing sudden severe vomiting. Drill aborted. Put on weather gear. Visibility is fine down here, but not where you are. We’re going to run him back to base and then come back for you.”
I clenched my teeth in frustration. Morrie and I needed this drill to pass off some of our skills for the course requirements. Colin and Luiz had already completed theirs, so Morrie and I were the only ones left. The poor guy. He’d had some altitude sickness the first few days, but this sounded more like food poisoning or a virus.
Even though I was cold and a little bored, at least I was safe and healthy. It would have been very unpleasant to be the one with severe vomiting while hanging up here.
After so much time of inactivity and without much protection from the wind and rain, I was definitely getting cold. I reached around to the water bottle clipped to my emergency pack and took a few sips. The wet bottle slipped from my grip and clanked against the rock when it fell to the end of its little rope tether. Score one for rock climber ingenuity.
I reached down to fish it back up and took a few more sips before clipping it back to my pack.
My ears were protected by the helicopter helmet I wore, but my nose and cheeks were stinging from exposure. I pulled up my neck gaiter until it was covering the lower half of my face, but I noticed an odd smell. Maybe it was the stage makeup on the ripped gloves? As carefully as I could, I removed the damaged gloves and hooked them into my belt before putting back on the good ones I’d worn to rappel.
At least I wasn’t actually a climber who’d fallen and gotten frostbite like my assignment suggested. I spent the next several minutes imagining how much worse it could be until another gust pushed me out from the wall a few inches before pushing me back into it with a smack. I grabbed for the rope with one hand and the rock face with the other to keep from face-planting against it.
Suddenly I felt an odd drop, like someone had just let out an infinitesimal amount of the rope I hung from.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, glancing down at the rope and trying to convince my heart rate to calm down.
There, in the brightly colored webbing, was a frayed tear and some odd discoloration.
I stared at it.
A quarter-inch section of the rope had broken open somehow, leaving me dangling by only the remaining half of the braided fibers. That simply… didn’t happen. We inspected every inch of rope before every mission, and I knew for a fact this rope had been pristine earlier that day.
“Zach,” I called out without thinking. “You still in range?”
“Lucky, what is it?”
“The rope. There’s something wrong with the rope.” I hated the panicked sound in my voice, but this was unprecedented. We went over our equipment so often, it was ridiculous. There simply couldn’t be a worn area of this rope. It was impossible.
“What do you mean wrong? Describe what’s happening. Are you safe?”
I fought the urge to cry and beg for help, the desire to appeal to any feelings of protectiveness he might have harbored for me so I could get off that damned rock face and settle safely into the helicopter seat again.
There was only one rope between me and sudden death and it was breaking.
“I…” I gulped and tried not to croak. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s discolored… and fraying. Right where I’ve been holding on to it.”
I glanced down at my gloves and noticed a white chalky residue on them. Could the makeup from my hands have been somehow caustic to the rope? Wouldn’t it have damaged my skin before damaging the brand-new rope?
Zach’s voice was all business. “Okay, listen to me. I want you to clip your harness directly into the anchor bolt. Take the damaged rope out of the equation. Do you understand?”
I glanced up at the bolt a few feet above me on the wet rock face. In order to get my harness up to it, I’d have to climb the damaged rope or climb the slippery rock. If I climbed the damaged rope, I’d be putting more stress on it. If I climbed the rock and slipped, I’d put sudden, massive stress on the compromised rope.