Page 81 of A Rebel's Shot

Next, he clipped a carabiner to the rope near the tree. The metallic click as he locked it into place seemed loud in the quiet forest.

“This will act as our belay device,” he explained to Merritt, who watched his every move with wide, attentive eyes. “It’ll create friction and give you more control over my descent.”

As he fed the free end of the rope through the carabiner, Tiikâan’s mind raced with all the ways this could go wrong. But he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand and the woman whose life depended on his success.

“Ready for your crash course in belaying?” he asked, forcing a smile to his lips.

Tiikâan turned to Merritt, hoping his expression concealed the apprehension racing through him. He held out the rope, his calloused hands steady despite the gravity of the situation.

“Okay, Skeeter, this is important.” He could hear his dad in his voice. “Your job is to keep this rope taut at all times. It’s my lifeline down there.”

Merritt nodded, her face pale but resolute as she gripped the rope. Tiikâan guided her hands into the proper position, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“If you need to stop me, just pull down sharply on this side of the rope.” He demonstrated the motion. “It’ll create friction against the carabiner and halt my descent.”

He watched as Merritt practiced the movement, her brow furrowed in concentration. Pride swelled in his chest at her determination, even as fear gnawed at his insides.

“Remember, communication is key,” he continued. “I’ll call out to you, and I need you to respond. Got it?”

“Got it,” Merritt replied, her voice stronger than he expected.

Tiikâan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He approached the edge of the ravine, the yawning chasm below seeming to mock his resolve.

“On belay?” he called out, following the familiar protocol his dad had drilled into them despite the makeshift nature of their setup.

“B-belay on,” Merritt responded, her shaking grip visibly tightening on the rope.

With one last glance at Merritt, Tiikâan began his descent. The first few steps were the hardest, his body protesting as he lowered himself over the edge. The rock face didn’t help him out any, offering few handholds and even fewer footholds.

“Lowering,” he called out, his voice echoing off the ravine walls.

As he rappelled down, Tiikâan focused on his breathing, trying to ignore the way his ribs screamed with each movement. The makeshift harness dug into his thighs as if emphasizing how precarious his position was.

“You’re doing great, Merritt,” he called up, more to reassure himself than her. “Just keep that rope steady.”

The descent felt agonizingly slow. Each foot gained a battle against gravity and his own limitations. Sweat beaded on his brow, stinging his eyes as he blinked it away. The cockpit of the wrecked plane grew larger below him, a tantalizing goal that seemed just out of reach.

Tiikâan’s muscles trembled with exertion as he continued his descent, the rock face scraping against his hands and knees. His ribs screamed at him to stop.

He was about three-quarters of the way down when he reached a smooth section of the cliff, devoid of any substantial handholds or footholds. His heart hammered in his chest as he pressed himself against the cold stone, searching desperately for any purchase he could use climbing back up.

But he couldn’tfind any.

“Stopping,” he called up to Merritt, his voice tight with strain.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He might get down there and see a line he could use to get back up. But if he got down there and the rock face truly was as smooth as it looked, he was screwed.

If Gunnar were here, he’d have scaled this cliff like it was nothing more than a ladder. His brother would probably already be on his way back up, radio in hand.

Heck, even his sister Sunny, petite as she was, would have found a way down by now. She’d always been the fearless one, tackling every challenge head-on with a grin and a quip.

Tiikâan’s chest tightened with a mixture of shame and frustration. Here he was, stuck on this godforsaken rock face, while his family—any of them—would have been out there saving the day. They were the heroes, the ones who always came through when it mattered most.

And what was he? A washed-up bush pilot who couldn’t even manage a simple climb to save the woman he loved.

He was supposed to be Merritt’s protector, her lifeline. Instead, he was the one who needed rescuing.

With a grunt of frustration, Tiikâan began to inch his way back up the cliff face. Each movement was agony, his muscles screaming in protest as he fought against gravity and his own limitations.

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