Endurance - Jack Kilborn [103]
“So when you tried to hammer in your first pinion the rock gave way…”
“Don’t you get it, Mal? I didn’t use any pinions. No ropes. No harnesses. No helmet. I tried to free climb. And I did it without a partner, and without telling anyone where I was. I came here alone, with no gear. It was my own goddamn fault I fell. Not an accident. The rock didn’t give way. I just slipped. It was pure stupidity. I was a fucking fool.”
She waited for Mal’s reaction. His judgement. His disapproval.
He’s got to think I’m as big of an idiot as I think I am.
But Mal’s expression didn’t change. And he didn’t say anything. He simply kneeled down and opened up her suitcase.
Deb shook her head. “I can’t do it, Mal.”
He took out her mountain climbing legs. The ones she’d never used, except to bash Eleanor’s freaks in the face.
“Mal, I fell off with two good legs. I can’t climb that as a cripple.”
“You’re the strongest person I ever met, Deb.”
“I’m an idiot who ruined my life.”
“You’re an amazing woman. And you’re going to climb that mountain, get that radio, and save the day.”
He handed her one of the legs. She threw it back at him.
“Don’t you see I can’t do this!”
“I’m a writer,” Mal said. “You’re an athlete. If I can learn to type one-handed, you can climb this mountain with no legs.”
“And what if I fall off again?”
“Then I’ll catch you.” Mal winked. “This time you didn’t come alone.”
Deb didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or kiss him. She settled for saying, “Gimme the damn legs.”
When she pulled off the Cheetahs they were filled with sweat. Her skin was mottled and blistered and bleeding in some places. But, oddly enough, she didn’t care that Mal saw. After laying her soul bare, him seeing her stumps wasn’t that big a deal.
Besides, he wasn’t looking at her legs. He was looking at her chest again.
“If I make it, you owe me dinner,” she said.
“When you make it, I’ll take you to Rome. I’ll even spring for two rooms so you won’t have to share one with me.”
Deb looked into his eyes, saw trust and acceptance and obvious affection, and decided that he wouldn’t need a separate room.
“Deal,” she said.
Then she put on the mountain climbing legs. Unlike the Cheetah’s, which were curved, these were L shaped, more like a regular leg and foot. But at the toe were rubber balls with tiny metal spikes sticking out of them. Supposedly for good grip and traction. She didn’t know for sure, because the only time she’d ever worn them was during her fitting.
Deb pressed the suction button, sucking out the air from the stump cups so they adhered to her skin. It hurt, but better dealing with pain than dealing with one slipping off.
Mal held out his hand and helped her up. When she found her balance he continued to hold her.
“You can do it,” he said.
She nodded, let out a slow breath, and stared at the mountain.
It seemed to have gotten even bigger.
Deb gently disengaged from Mal, then hobbled over to the mountainside. The legs were crap to walk in, but one she got her first toehold they performed as advertised.
She hugged the mountain closely, embracing it, becoming a part of it. She didn’t look down. Didn’t look up. She looked in the moment, for the next hand grip, the next foot position, the next stable rest point. After a dozen feet up, she found the seam she’d used to get to the shelf, and climbed it just as well as she did when she had legs.
It was all so automatic, all so comfortable, that Deb almost forgot her fear.
Then she reached the angled face. The one she slid off of. And Deb froze.
I remember sliding down this. I remember the terror. I remember the certainty I’d die. I remember hating myself for making such a stupid mistake.
But most of all, I remember the pain when I fell.
“You can do it!” Mal called from below.
Can I? Can I really?
Maybe I can.
Gritting her teeth, Deb hoisted herself onto the sheer face. The angle didn’t seem very steep. That’s why she’d been so cocksure before.
Deb reached up, found a tiny protruding nub, and latched her fingers onto it.
One inch at a time, she pulled