Chapter 33 #2
The moose took another step forward, lowering its head toward my vital organs. I could practically feel its hot breath from fifteen feet away.
“Um … can you come down here, please? Like now?”
“Not even I can make it all the way down there in time.”
“I think it’s going to charge.”
“She’s definitely going to charge.” Noah’s voice was impossibly calm. “But we’re going to get you out of this. I need you to listen carefully.”
My heart was beating so fast and so loud I wasn’t sure I could listen to anything, but I nodded, eyes still fixed on the moose’s flaring nostrils.
“See the rope hanging on your left? About three feet from the rock face?”
I glanced sideways, careful not to move my head. The braided climbing rope I’d seen earlier still dangled from above, its end coiled on the ground.
“I see it,” I whispered.
“When I tell you, not before, you’re going to run and grab the rope.”
The moose pawing intensified, dirt flying behind its massive hooves.
“Noah, I don’t think …”
“Trust me.” His calm certainty steadied my rising panic. “You’re going to climb, and I’m going to pull. But we have to time this perfectly.”
“I busted my ankle trying to find you.” I winced when I tried to put my weight on it.
“That moose is going to bust a lot more than your ankle if you don’t get out of its range.”
“Noah … I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can do this, Sam, and you will. Just like we practiced on the climbing wall. Just like when you saved that osprey. Get to the rope. Start climbing. And hold on.” He shifted his position slightly, bracing himself against the cliff.
“The moose’s first charge will be a feint.
A warning. But she’ll stop short. That’s when you move.
Not even a second early. Definitely not a second late. ”
The mother moose lowered her head further, muscles bunching beneath her thick hide.
“Get ready,” Noah murmured. “When she charges, count to three, then dive for the rope.”
The clearing fell silent, even the birds holding their breath as the standoff continued. The moose’s eyes, dark pools of primal ferocity, locked with mine.
Everything stopped.
“Wait for it …”
Time froze.
“Get ready …”
The moose charged.
My brain screamed for me to run, to climb, to do anything but stand there counting.
“One,” I forced out between clenched teeth.
The distance between us halved in an instant. Her massive head lowered like a battering ram.
“Two.” My voice cracked.
The moose kept coming. I could see the individual hairs on her muzzle now.
“THREE!” Noah and I shouted in unison.
The ground shook beneath her thundering hooves as the moose skidded to a stop, her feint complete. Just like Noah said.
I dove for the rope, fingers wrapping around the rough nylon, yanking it toward me.
The moose bellowed in frustration and wheeled around for a second charge, one that would NOT be a warning.
“Climb! Now!” Noah called, his voice sharp.
With shaking hands, I fumbled with the rope. The angry moose pawed the ground again, preparing for round two.
“There’s a foothold to your left!” Noah instructed, his voice urgent and patient as the moose began her second charge. This one didn’t look like a practice run.
“Noah, I can’t ...”
“Remember the climbing wall? The tree with the osprey? Same exact thing!”
The memory of the Adventure Center’s practice wall flashed through my mind, then Noah’s patient instructions at the lake, the triumph when I’d finally cut the osprey free from the fishing line.
“Put your hand in that crevice,” Noah called down. “Just like we practiced.”
The moose closed in, but instead of freezing, I forced my attention to the rock face. There! A small ledge just within reach. I stretched my fingers to grip it.
“That’s it,” said Noah. “Now, get your foot on that outcropping to your right.”
I pressed my good foot against the small jut of rock, testing it before putting my weight on it. The moose closed the final few yards between us. I could smell her wild musk, feel the ground trembling beneath her hooves.
“CLIMB!”
I pushed upward with my good leg, pulling with my arms just as the moose barreled through the space where I’d been standing. Her massive body swiped the rock face inches below my dangling foot.
The rope went taut, not jerking me up but supporting my weight as I found the next handhold. My injured ankle screamed in protest, but I gritted my teeth and kept moving.
“Don’t look down, just keep going!”
While I was climbing, Noah was pulling. With his legs still braced against the floor of the ledge, the only leverage he had was from his arms. His biceps bulged so swollen they looked like they would pop.
Below, the moose passed under me, stuttering to a halt, hooves kicking up a cloud of dust. She turned to make another run.
“There’s a handhold at your two o’clock,” Noah called.
I reached for it, fingers closing around the rough stone.
“That’s it, you got this!”
Except … I didn’t.
My foot slipped, sending a shower of rock fragments tumbling down the cliff.
“Sam!”
Without my leg to support me, my body dropped, fingers wrapped around the rope, coarse fibers cutting into my palm.
“Hold on!”
But I couldn’t. A muscle in my shoulder felt like it tore in half, my rope hand on fire. Above me, Noah sprang into action, moving toward me, arm extended to grab my hand.
“Sam, grab my hand!”
I tried. Our fingers were just inches apart.
Inches too far apart.
The rope slipped from my sweat-slicked grip.
The cliff face raced skyward in a blur.
WHAM!
I hit the ground hard; the breath knocked right out of me, busted ankle screaming. Luckily, I’d only scaled part of the way up, so it could have been worse. And for once, getting tangled up in a climbing rope actually helped me, slowing my descent.
I was alive.
But not for long.
The wind had been knocked right out of me, and I couldn’t even feel my injured foot. It took everything I had just to sit up.
The moose finished its turn. She looked right at me, eyes on fire, nostrils blazing.
She lowered her head.
She charged.