Page 74 of Tattered and Torn

“I don’t need any gear,” Kirk replies. “I’m going to free solo it.”

John props his hands on his hips. “I don’t advise that. If you’re going to climb it, at least use gear. Are your friends experienced belayers?”

The kid waves John off and continues to the rock face, followed by his friends.

I sidle up to John. “What’s wrong?”

“He has no business trying to free solo that rock.”

“What does free solo mean?”

“Climbing without gear. Just using his hands and feet.”

The one named Kirk is sitting on the ground changing his shoes.

I crane my neck up to the top of the rock. “That’s huge. If he falls—”

“Yeah. Maya’s nickname for that rock is Resting Bitch Face.”

I try not to laugh, but I can see the resemblance. “What should we do?”

“We finish packing up camp,” he says, “and then we hang around and wait for him to fall.”

John says that with such certainty I realize it’s a sure thing. And I really don’t want to stand here and watch.

Chapter 23 – John

Our gear is packed up—tent, bedroll, cooking supplies, food, everything. Well, almost everything. I haven’t packed the satellite phone yet. I’m pretty sure we’re going to need it to call for help. I haven’t saddled the horses and mule, either, as that might be premature.

Gabrielle and I grab some water bottles and sit on the log bench beside our fire pit to watch the shit show unfolding just a hundred yards away. The afternoon is getting on, and we’re going to be late getting back. There’s no way we can leave now, not when all hell’s about to break loose.

As the kid climbs, his buddies stand at the base of the rock and cheer him on—loudly.

Gabrielle watches the kid climb, her expression a mix of confusion and horror. “Why isn’t he using any ropes?” she whispers. “Is he crazy? He could fall so easily.” When he misses a hand hold and scrambles for purchase, she covers her eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

I put my arm around her and pull her close. “Yeah, this isn’t going to end well. He’s in way over his head.”

The kid’s foot slips on the rock, and he flails for a better hold.

“You got this, Kirk!” one of the kids on the ground yells up at his friend. “You got this!”

Gabrielle turns to face me. “I can’t watch this. Seriously, I can’t.”

I stroke my thumb across her cheek, mesmerized by her soft skin.

“Did I ever mention I’m afraid of heights?” she asks.

“You do fine on Odin, and he’s a tall horse.”

“That’s because I’m careful never to look down at the ground. I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, usually at the back of your head. It’s not so bad then.”

“You flew to Denver. You’re not afraid to fly?”

“Aisle seat. I avoided looking out any windows. I told myself we were sitting on the runway the whole time.”

I laugh. “Did it work?”

She shrugs. “Mostly. Except for when we hit turbulence.”

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