Mr Peanut - Adam Ross [76]
She was just within his grasp, but before reaching out he turned around to see where he was, and when he looked back she’d started to walk again.
“Wait,” he said.
She fell.
It was a more sickening sight than he ever would’ve imagined, so much more terrible than he ever would’ve dreamed. As she turned back toward the trail to continue, she went too far, her pack clipping the cliff, acting as a brake and yanking her upper body back, her soles sliding out from underneath her, her feet sticking straight out. Miraculously, she fell straight down—back to cliff and face to sea—and landed on her ass, then stopped, the heel of her right hand (she managed somehow to hold on to the urn) pressed into the edge of the trail, both her legs and most of her buttocks hanging over the side. Only the bottom of the pack’s frame, dug in like a grappling hook, kept her from going over.
She sat bolt upright, teetering.
David rushed over and when next to her was aware of the exertion required to maintain her position. Her triceps were quivering. Her chin pointed up and straight out, she was using all the strength in her neck, and her stomach muscles were trembling beneath her shirt.
“Oh God,” she said.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m going over.”
“Don’t move.”
She was completely balanced but couldn’t hold it much longer. Though he wanted to grab her he knew not to. If she slid and he grabbed her arm or her pack, he wouldn’t be able to support her. Over the side there were no footholds, nothing to press up against. He looked at her whole body. It was like getting close to a priceless statue you weren’t allowed to touch.
“Why did you bring me here?” she said.
He was listening to her and not. He’d turned his right side toward her and was almost kneeling, his right hand near hers; then he got an idea of what they had to do.
“Why did you make me come?” she said quietly, her tone between resignation and fury.
“You have to listen to me. I know what has to happen.”
“I told you we weren’t going to make it, but you made me.”
It was so quiet up here in all of this open space. He quickly thought it all through once more.
“Admit that you made me!”
Searching the cliff for anything like a handhold, he found one and tested it.
“You should’ve protected us,” she said.
He had to ignore her now.
“You should’ve protected us!”
“I need you to listen to what I’m saying. If you don’t, we’re going to die.”
He was losing her. She was sobbing and using every iota of energy she had. She shook her head back and forth against the pack.
“Do you want us to die?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Furious, she just looked at him. “Take him,” she said.
She opened her fingers slightly, and he took the urn and placed it safely behind him on the trail. “You’re going to have to let go,” he said.
“Goddamn you!”
“You’re going to have to let go for a second and take my hand”—he held up his right—“with your right. Okay?”
“You son of a bitch.”
He spoke barely above a whisper. “Okay?”
She was listening.
“Nothing sudden,” he said. “I’m going to take your wrist, and the second you let go, you take mine. Wrist to wrist.” He held his hand to the side of her face so she could see it. She closed her eyes. He screamed her name till she opened them, then spoke quietly again. “You might slip at first, but I can lift you. Enough that you can get a foot underneath. Do you understand? You’ve got to get a leg underneath you and stand up.”
Her eyes were closed again, as if she were making her own plan. Her whole body was shaking with effort.
“Tell me you understand.” He was losing her. “Tell me or I’m going with you.”
She nodded.
“I need you to see it. I need you to think it through.”
She nodded again. Her arms were trembling.
“On three,” he said.
He counted aloud, pressing his left palm and left cheek to the rock, twisting the ball of his left foot into the trail, bracing his left thigh against the cliff. He flexed his knees, the other half of his weight distributed on the outside of his right foot,