My arms are starting to ache. One triceps quivers. I strained it last week in the weight room with Anders, twisting mid-extension as he made a joke. Now it's quivering when it should be fine.
It is fine. It will be fine.
Breathe.
I don't breathe. I can't. That quivering triceps becomes a voice, whispering that even holding on is foolish. I can't hold on forever, and there's no other way to go but down.
The triceps is quaking now, and my right hand slips. I grip tighter. The rock edge digs into my forearms. Blood drips down my arm.
I look left and then right. Maybe that's the way to go. Perpendicular. Get to a safer spot and then slide. I can see one possibility, maybe ten feet to my left. Between here and there, though, the rock is smooth, and I'm not sure I could find hand grips.
Well, you're going to have to try, aren't you?
My left hand has a good hold on this rocky nub. I release my right a little and begin inching it left. It's slow going. Millimeter by millimeter it seems, excruciatingly slow as my dog howls above.
I'm almost there. Get my right hand wrapped around that nub and then--
My right hits rock. Solid, slick rock. My fingers slide. I try to dig in, but there's nothing to grasp, and my nails scrape rock and there's a jolt, excruciating pain shooting through my left arm and . . .
33
I'm dangling by one arm. My left hand still clutches that jutting rock, but that's the only thing keeping me on the rock face, and the pain, holy shit, the pain.
I grit my teeth and focus on the fact that I'm still holding on. Not how barely I'm holding, or how much that jolt hurt. I'm still okay.
Well, relatively speaking.
I make a noise at that. It's supposed to be a chuckle, but it sounds like a whimper.
Still hanging on. Still alive.
I need to find purchase. Whether it's my right hand or right foot or left foot . . . Just find purchase somewhere. Being slightly lower means I have fresh places to check.
Optimism. Awesome.
I start with my right hand. Reach up and . . .
All I can do from this angle is scratch the edge of that rock ledge, and my nails are already torn. I reach down instead. There's a rock there, a nub that I can at least grip to brace myself and take some of the pressure off my left arm. I do that, and then I try with my legs, but of course, that would be too much to hope for.
I'm still hanging off a ledge, my dangling legs nowhere near the cliffside.
I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.
Two fingers on my right hand twitch. I'm holding them in an awkward position trying to keep some semblance of a grip, and they have had enough. Two fingers twitch. Then a third joins in.
No, no--
My right hand slips. That jolt again, my left shoulder screaming as my right hand clamps tighter and--
"Casey? Casey!"
I am hearing that, right? Not hallucinating?
Fresh pain stabs through my arm.
"Casey!"
The voice comes from right above me, and I peer up to see Dalton on his hands and knees, looking over the side, his face stark white. He pulls back, and I want to scream, No, don't leave me.