Page 54 of One Step Too Far

Forget his physical recovery; I’m no longer certain he’s mentally with us. But he lets the dog go, then stares straight at Martin and declares in a defiant tone, “All right. We only have a few days, right? Let’s do this.”

—

We do not do this. Neil may think he’s all well and good, but the second he stands up, gravity proves problematic. Bob has to grab him, while Scott scurries forward to prop him up from the other side. It takes both of them to get Neil slowly back to our temporary base camp at the midpoint of the wall.

Miguel trails far behind, looking at anything but his injured friend. Neil doesn’t seem to notice, but I do.

We arrive just as Nemeth does.

“I thought I heard a whistle. What happened?” Then, gazing upon Neil’s bloody face: “Crap.”

Neil’s laugh again. “Yes, sir. That’s me. Mr.Fuck-Up. Pity when you could’ve had Saint Timothy instead.”

Scott and Miggy exchange startled glances.

“Let’s get him back down to sitting,” I instruct. “And water. He needs more water.”

My supply is out, but between the others, fluids are rapidly produced. As the resident first aid experts, Luciana and Nemeth take turns inspecting Neil’s bashed skull.

“Nauseous?” Luciana asks. “Headache? Tunnel vision?”

“I’ve had concussions before,” Neil mutters, raising a hand to block the sun. “Scale of one to ten, give this a four. Rest. Just need to rest.”

Daisy takes up position next to him, while Luciana sits on Neil’s other side. Martin and Nemeth walk a short distance away from the rest of us. As if that will keep us from hearing what they’re saying in the middle of an echo chamber.

“We need to abort and get this kid down the mountain immediately,” says Nemeth, hands planted on his hips.

“Get him down the mountain? How? He can barely walk. You know we don’t have enough daylight left.”

“Then we head back to camp. Right now. Make him comfortable, trek out at sunrise.”

“I found the remains of a campfire.” Martin, voice tense. “Right before the whistle blew. Near the opening of a large cave.”

“Old campfires are a dime a dozen in these parts. Plenty of people enjoy building a fire and hanging out after a long day’s hike. Doesn’t mean a thing.”

“But the one I found was encircled by perfectly matched stones. Like the one at the lean-to. I’m telling you, Tim had a thing for balance and symmetry. It’s his. I know it.”

Nemeth, staring hard at Martin: “First hazard of any search and rescue—seeing what you want to see versus what’s really there.”

Heaven help me, I raise my hand. “I found something, too.”

Both men stop arguing, turn to stare at me. Nemeth is scowling while Martin regards me with the kind of feverish intensity only a grieving parent can know. I’m now the center of everyone’s attention.

Deep breath: “I’m not convinced Tim would take shelter. I thought he might try to climb the cliff face instead.”

“You didn’t even know him.” Miggy speaks up, tone hostile.

“I didn’t. But I’ve been learning about Tim through all of you. And all of you loved him very much.”

Neil chitters, “Saint Timothy!” Scott glares at him.

“Tim didn’t have any rock-climbing gear,” Nemeth states at last.

“Maybe he didn’t need it. Pulling back, I was able to identify a path of sorts. Tricky, and probably terrifying. But the cliff wall is riddled with protrusions and ledges. If someone was desperate enough, he could think it worth trying.”

“No way,” Nemeth says, just as Martin speaks up. “What did you find?”

“Something dark green. Maybe an article of clothing? It’s about a third of the way up. Too high for me to see clearly. But there’s definitely something there. I marked the spot with a cairn. You can take a pair of binoculars and check it out for yourself.”

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