Chapter 7 Marcus
MARCUS
As the day wears on, we climb steadily higher into the mountains.
The trail follows an ancient riverbed that dried up long ago.
Some time over the centuries, the river carved a new path, and we’re never far away from running water.
Sometimes it’s a quiet stream, but as we climb higher, the river widens and becomes progressively more powerful.
We meet it and then turn away from it, coming close and then moving further away all day.
I keep my attention on the surrounding landscape, but aside from a couple hiking the other way, we pass no one.
Allegra moves at a determined pace. I watch her backpack swinging behind her with the tent and sleeping bag strapped to the back.
It must weigh almost as much as she does, but she doesn’t complain.
I wonder again why she’s out here on her own with no assistant.
If nothing else, she could have paid someone to carry half her gear.
But I get the feeling Allegra has something to prove.
The terrain underfoot turns rocky as we climb upwards. Allegra stops and pulls out her GPS. She peers at the screen and turns around to scan her surroundings.
“Everything all right?”
She frowns at me and purses her lips together. If we’re lost, she’s not going to tell me.
“My next waypoint is a hundred meters ahead, but I can’t see the river.”
She scans the area. There’s a cliff face on one side and rocks from the dry riverbed on the other. We’re boxed in here, and I don’t like it. I want to keep moving.
“The river should meet the trail here,” she exclaims.
“Keep moving,” I tell her. “It’s around the corner.”
She peers at me and shakes her head. “Have you hiked here before?”
“Nope.”
I put my boot on the rock she’s resting on, and as hoped, the thought of me getting too close gets her moving.
A moment later, we round the corner, and she pulls up short. We’re on a rocky ledge, and below us is the river. It gushes underneath us in a flurry of whitecaps churned up by the current.
There’s no way over it, and in front of us is a rock face with jagged edges and a single rope hanging down to our ledge.
“How did you know the river was here?” Allegra turns to me accusingly. “You knew we were coming to a dead end, and you didn’t tell me.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and I notice how they’re flecked with amber when she’s angry.
“It’s not a dead end.”
I reach around her for the rope, and the ledge is so cramped that my body bumps up against hers.
The effect is electric, as if a shock’s gone through my body.
I grasp the rope to steady myself as Allegra gasps.
I’m not sure if it’s because she felt it too, or because she noticed the rope and realized how we get out of here.
“Can you climb?”
She presses her lips together and squints up at the cliff face.
It’s about twelve feet high with jagged edges that are good for climbing holds, but sharp if you don’t know what you’re doing. And far below is fast-moving water.
“I’ve never been rock climbing if that’s what you mean,” Allegra admits. “But how hard can it be?”
She presses her lips together in a determined line and gives a tug on the rope. Before I can stop her, she grabs it with both hands and plants her left foot on the rock face.
“Whoa, hold your horses.”
I grasp the rope above her hands, blocking her climb. “Do you have a harness?”
She glares at me before shaking her head. “No. I didn’t bring one. There wasn’t any mention of this kind of terrain on the route.”
She looks away at her admission, and I realize that she’s frustrated with herself, not me.
“I can make you a temporary one,” I tell her.
I examine the rope. It’s frayed in parts but looks sturdy enough. The anchor points I can see are rust free and seem to be secure. But I’m not taking anything for granted.
I drop my pack and pull out my climbing harness and carabiners. I slip into my harness, then grab a coil of tubular webbing from the pack.
“I’m going to make you a harness. It’s called a Swiss Chair.”
She eyes the coil of webbing. “Out of that?” She shakes her head. “It won’t hold my weight.”
She looks me dead in the eye as if challenging me to disagree. She’s not looking for compliments. She’s stating what she thinks is a fact.
“This is military grade. It’s held men twice your size and triple your weight.” I hold up the coil, and she hesitates.
“Or we go back.”
She glares at me, then nods. “Fine.”
I crouch down and thread the cord between her thighs, then bring it around her hips.
My palms brush her thighs, and her breath hitches.
My fingers brush against her soft curves, leaving my fingertips tingling at every touch.
I wonder what she feels like under her leggings. How smooth her thighs are…
I grit my teeth and force my mind back to the mission.
Keep it professional, I remind myself.
“Your throne is ready.”
I stand up and give the improvised Swiss Chair a firm tug. Allegra lurches forward and bumps into me, and I get a moment of her body pressed against mine, the scent of chamomile and her feminine softness.
Then she straightens up, and the moment is gone.
“Get your pack back on and I’ll clip you in.”
She does as I ask, and I clip myself onto the rope.
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.”
There’s relief in her voice, and I’m struck by how much this means to her. But I don’t want delayed shock to set in. Besides, we’re exposed here, and the sooner we get to safety the better.
“We need to keep moving,” I tell her.
She nods and regains her balance. I slow my pace and guide us up through the final two anchor points. Ignoring the throb in my arm, I haul myself over the top of the ridge, then reach down to help Allegra up.
Allegra ignores my extended arm and hauls herself over the ledge. She rolls onto her pack and lies panting at the sky for a few long breaths.
I unbuckle my harness, and when she’s ready, I remove hers.
“Are you okay? Did you get hurt back there?” I scan her body, looking for signs of injury.
But aside from looking shaken, she looks good.
Too damn good with her skin back to a healthy glow, a layer of perspiration coating her forehead, and a grin that comes from pushing yourself to do something you didn’t want to do.
I look away to stop myself from staring at her face.
Allegra leans over the edge of the cliff, peering into the stream far below. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”
“Afraid so.”
She stands up and dusts her hands off on her leggings. Her expression tightens. She’s resigned but still determined.
“Come on.” I glance up at the sky. “We’ve got a way to go before the next camp.”
I keep my tone light, but in my mind I’m running through the inventory of our gear. With Allegra’s tent and sleeping bag gone, we’re down to my meagre shelter. I’ve got a tarp tent and one sleeping bag. Enough to keep us both out of the elements, but if the weather turns, then things could get bad.
As we move on, I hold my hand firmly over my arm, stopping the flow of blood. The old injury hurts, and the scrape stings. But I barely notice as we move onward down the trail.