Page 23 of Canyon of Deceit

TWENTY-TWO

THERESE

Blane had vanished below the rock overhang, and a surge of hot and cold blew against me. Had he hurtled to his death?

“Blane? Blane?” My call to him was met with eerie echoes.

Please, God, he’s got to be all right. Give him strength to survive.

I climbed down to the trailhead where we first talked about the strenuous hike. Once my foot slipped on the loose stones. I breathed in and out. Like he’d asked of me, like I’d asked of others who’d fallen prey to the inability to control their surroundings. But my concern was for Blane.

I dropped to my knees and leaned over to study where he lay sprawled out, his left face on a narrow ledge.

A mass of rust-colored hair caught my attention, then blood.

I inhaled sharply at the awkward position of his left arm.

How had he managed to stop himself on that rock slab? Had to be God’s mercy.

“Blane, I’m right above you. Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

I repeated my question. No response.

Reacting emotionally solved nothing. I unsnapped my pants pocket to retrieve my phone.

“Don’t try to move. I’m calling the SAR and Rangers.

” Not sure if my words were to reassure him or me.

My phone in hand, a horror-filled click and hiss alerted me to a rattler.

How? Normally they were active early in the morning and at dusk. I dared not move.

From the corner of my eye, a black-tailed rattler coiled three feet to the right of where my fingers wrapped around my phone. Deadly. Ready to strike.

Slowly releasing my phone, I eased my knife from inside my right hiking boot and aimed it at the snake’s head. It opened its mouth to strike. I jerked while sinking the knife deep into the rattler’s head and knocked into my phone, sending it slapping against rock to the bottom of the canyon.

As I held my breath, the snake ceased to move. The deadly creature’s venomous days were over. I yanked my knife out of its head and kicked the snake to its ancestors.

I fought the urge to cry. You idiot! How could I arrange a meetup with the FBI and Rangers without my phone?

Guilt assaulted me, messing with my thoughts.

Blane’s fall and the pain he endured couldn’t be eased until I rescued him.

I managed a prayer. I clung to the promise of His strength when I was weak.

I’d climb down to Blane, treat his injuries, and pull him up.

I’d use his phone to call Major Montoya.

I wrapped my hand around the rope in my backpack and secured it to a sturdy boulder.

A familiar maneuver, so why did I shake like a leaf?

I tied a bowline knot around the huge rock and another around my waist, then rappelled down the approximately twenty-five feet to where Blane lay.

Barely a foot of space existed between his body and the ledge leading to a canyon fall.

His left forearm twisted at an angle midway below his elbow, but thankfully the bone didn’t protrude through the skin. I’d straightened and set broken bones in the past, and I’d do it again. But blood stained the rock where his face had hit.

“Blane.” No answer. “Blane, I’m right here beside you.”

Terror dropped to my toes. His unconscious state indicated far too many issues. Feeling his pulse, a steady beat vibrated through my fingertips. Aware of the precious few inches of rock between me and death, I thanked God for His provision.

Where was Blane’s backpack? Did I even want to know?

A faint moan escaped him.

“Blane, this is Therese.”

His pecan-colored eyes flickered open, and he eyed me strangely. “Where am I?”

Head injury. “We are in the Guadalupe Mountains. Don’t move. You’re on a narrow ledge.”

“Why? Who are you?”

Reality coiled like the rattler. “We are in search of a little girl and her kidnappers. I’m Therese. You fell.”

“What?”

His confusion confirmed a concussion, but how bad was it? “Where do you hurt?”

“My... arm’s broken.”

“I can set it. Any other injuries?”

“My... head.” He attempted to lift his head and smacked it back down on the rock. “What’s your name again?”

“Therese.” Blood mingled with rust-colored hair seized my concern, but I’d not alarm him. “Save your strength. You’re confused from the fall. It takes time for your head to clear.”

“Is it just you and me?”

“Yes.” And God. “Hush. We’ve both been challenged, but we’re survivors.

Listen to me. Do not move. Again, you are on a narrow ledge.

I need you to stay calm.” I considered Blane’s broken arm, concussion, and possible internal injuries.

My paramedic skills were woefully inadequate for the medical care he needed.

He attempted to lift his head again and uttered a string of cursing that I never appreciated but expected. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I think my head’s clearing.”

“Stay with me. Promise me.”

“Yes.” Faint. Scary.

“I’m going to tie a rope around your middle, then I’m climbing back up. Once I’m there, I’ll pull you to safety.”

“That’ll... be hard. Toss me... rope. I’ll do my... part.”

“Your part is to hush and pay attention. I’m experienced in rescue. Your head and arm will hurt like a bear.”

“I have my own words... to describe it.” He gasped.

“Yes, I heard them, rather colorful.”

“I’m remembering a few things.”

“Good. But don’t push it. Do me a favor and stay lucid. I need to position your body so I can get you off this ledge.”

“Did you call the rescue team?”

“They’re expecting us at another site. Hours from here.”

“Leave me. Go meet them.”

“Not happening. We’re partners.”

“Okay.” The faint sound told me talking had stolen his strength.

If only I could take away what he’d endured. “No need to say another word.” I continued to encourage him while easing the rope under and around his waist twice. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. “Think about something fun, a favorite vacation.”

“Like kissing you?”

I sighed. “I suppose if that works.”

“You’re... crazy. Leave me here.”

“Listen to me. Together, we’ve got this. And I need your help. I must turn you onto your back. That will make pulling you up easier. Also, I want you to hold on to the rope with your right hand. Don’t let go.”

“My backpack’s... gone,” Blane burst out. “How did I lose it?”

Earlier he’d placed his phone in the zippered pocket of his pants. “We’ll be fine.”

“Not sure... how.”

“Hush.” My guess was the jagged rocks cut through the shoulder straps, but now wasn’t the time to analyze how his backpack lay at the bottom of the canyon. With my phone.

I bent on the rock and rolled him inward to the incline. He screamed with the pressure of his body on his left arm. I rolled him onto his back. “Blane, I had no choice.”

“Not the first time... I’ve broken a bone.”

I pulled a sling from my backpack and slipped it over his head and cradled his arm.

The excruciating agony on his face while he remained silent tore through me.

I secured his glove and wrapped the rope around his right wrist. I stood to make the climb.

“I’ll tell you when I’m at the top and ready to hoist you up.

Don’t let go of the rope until we are safe. We’ll manage your climb together.”

He gripped the rope. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” I choked on the words. This wasn’t like me—I’m levelheaded during emergencies. “Stay alert.”

I hated to leave him. A wrong move on his part or mine, and we’d tumble to our deaths.

Grabbing the rope, I made it up to the trailhead where we’d started. I lay on my belly and alerted Blane that his time had come. “You can do this.”

Blane’s slow ascent started. He used his legs to raise himself until his broken arm hit against a mass of rock and debris. He shouted like a madman, echoing across the canyon. Chandler now could have no doubts as to our location.

My arms and shoulder muscles burned, making every upward inch a struggle and yet a victory.

I paused, my body needing a moment’s reprieve.

Blane had helped me gain control of my emotions earlier, and I wanted to reciprocate.

I practiced “Blane’s inhale and exhale” technique.

The strain and stress—worry for a good man—sent my head throbbing.

I needed supernatural strength, the kind only God provided. Determination grasped me like a vise, and I continued to pull Blane closer to me. With muscles screaming in protest, I heaved and prayed until I touched the fingers of his right hand and gripped them.

“Just a little more.” I panted. “Push up with your legs so I can roll you onto the edge.”

He finally sprawled out on the rock, and I gingerly tugged him away from the edge.

None of his pockets contained a phone.

What little intellect I had left must first assess his injuries—the source of blood oozing from his head needed stitches, the deepening blue-and-purple swelling around his left cheek and eye, and the task of setting, then splinting his arm. God, help me.