Page 53 of Free Fall #1

I squeeze my eyes closed. No, damnit, I shouldn’t be thinking of this now.

But suddenly I am. I’m thinking of what happens if I can’t shake this lactic acid out, if my hands won’t hold on, if they let go.

I think about the moment of falling itself.

The horror of the descent through the air.

The bone-shattering crash into rock. I’ve imagined all that a million times before, but now I know the worst is what happens afterward.

Sejin’s smile…that beautiful, gorgeous, hard-won smile that I’ve wanted so selfishly, and chased so passionately these last months, will be gone.

How long will it be before anyone sees it again?

Before he feels joy enough for it to bloom on his face?

I can’t kid myself that he won’t be destroyed if I fail at this.

I can’t lie to myself and say it won’t matter.

I shake out my arms one by one again. Another little fall of rock comes down from above, but this time none of them hit me. I can only think a large bird or small animal is doing it.

On the wall without ropes is no place to rest. I can’t just hang here.

I have to move forward, and once I do, I’m re-committing to this climb.

I have no choice but to move from this spot, to carry on.

This is it. I’m alone on this wall, and there’s no one to call for help who could ever come fast enough.

I must go on. A downclimb is riskier than an up climb. And that fucking roof looms ahead. But it’s okay. I can adjust my trajectory, I’ll move over to my old route, keep that safety ledge beneath me. I should have downclimbed to rest on it like Rye wanted. I should have—

I stop myself.

Should haves are for losers who end up smears on the ground.

I’m not a smear. I’m still alive, still moving forward, and Sejin’s smile depends on me making it up the rest of this pitch, over the roof, and up over the lip.

I surge forward, moving up as quickly as I can.

My hands are still feeling pumped. My forearms throb. My calves ache.

Gritting my teeth, I command my body to obey me. I’ve got this. I’ve trained. I’ve worked hard. I won’t be afraid. I won’t.

Determined, I push ahead.

My only way back to Sejin’s smile is onward. The flow will return to me. It has to…

I just have to get over the lip of the roof. That’s all. Then I’ll be on the wall with razor-edge holds and no time to rest. Fuck.

I’ll make it. I must make it. But first things first.

Get up over the lip…

*

Sejin

In a strange daze, I park my car and start the hike across the wet meadow toward Tom Reed. I feel like I’m not real. Like the morning isn’t real. Like maybe I’m dead and this is Hell, or I’m asleep and this is a dream-almost-nightmare.

The morning is beautiful. The birds are singing.

Tom is there alone with his scope already trained on the wall.

He’s typing into his phone, probably updating his social media and website with the details of what climbers and teams are on the wall and what routes they’re taking.

I walk toward him without any attempt to disguise my approach, but he still seems startled when he notices me.

“Good morning!” Tom calls out. “Here to watch some climbing?”

I nod. My throat is tight. Words won’t come out, much less a smile.

“You’re in for something special,” he says, and I can’t tell how much of his tone is admiration and how much is anxiety. “There’s a free soloist on the wall.”

He points at El Cap, his finger drawing the now-familiar line of Heart Route for me.

“I think he’s taking this route up. It’s a rare one to begin with.

Only been free roped-climbed a handful of times by some of the best…

including this guy. We’ve all been speculating that he’s been training for it, but…

well, we all thought he’d be crazy to try it.

But there he is. Guess this is his day. Hopefully.

” He gestures at his scope. “Want to see?”

I nod and carefully place myself against the eyepiece as my fingers steady the cold metal.

“There are a few more teams on the wall too,” he says. “But I admit, I probably won’t be watching them much until this guy sends this route…or doesn’t.”

I wish he wouldn’t keep qualifying his remarks. His doubts feel like kicks to my numb body. Bruising, even though I can’t feel them.

Because I can’t feel anything.

I spot Dan easily. He’s hanging in one spot on the pitch below the Heart Formation’s roof, shaking out his hands. I stare at him, wondering what he’s thinking. Wondering if he’s going to pop off the wall and die. Wondering why I love this nightmare of a man.

“This fellow is different from some of the others,” Tom says.

“Name’s Dan McBride. He’s a secretive sort.

No cameras for him. I hear he’s been offered some sponsorships, but is too invested in the ‘purity’ of the sport to accept them.

Though how he lives is beyond me. Probably in a van or car like most of these dedicated climbers, but there’s always a question of how they afford the campgrounds and gear. Maybe he has family money.”

“No,” I whisper, but I’m pretty sure Tom doesn’t hear me. He prattles on.

“Not many friends or fans amongst the regulars for this guy either. He’s not much of a sprayer—that means he doesn’t brag about what he accomplishes much.”

“Yeah,” I say, because I know this, but the fellow doesn’t care. He keeps talking.

“Not bragging is sort of an admirable quality, which you’d think the other climbers would like, but mostly they think this guy’s an arrogant dick.

Maybe he is, but he’s always been nice enough to me when I’ve talked to him.

Well, maybe ‘nice’ isn’t the right word, but he hasn’t been a jerk either.

He’s got the energy of a man on a mission. ”

I stare at Dan through the scope as he launches ahead on the route. I swallow hard enough my throat clicks.

“What’s he doing now?”

“Climbing,” I manage to get out.

“Ah, yes, well, that’s better than the alternative.” He chuckles.

I feel some vomit rise in the back of my throat as Dan makes his way toward the roof. I remember his voice, the hitch in it, the uncertainty, whenever he’s described this part to me: “It gives me the heebie-jeebies,” he’s said more than once.

I watch as Dan hesitates again and then moves forward.

I watch as he climbs to a point where he’s hanging by just his fingers and toes.

And then I turn the scope back over to Tom because I can’t watch anymore.

*

Dan

Fuck.

My arms are pumped. My grip loosens against my will, and I know I either have to make a mad dash for the lip—crazy and reckless, because above the lip is a relentless climb of polished granite with razor holds—or risk an insane downclimb back to where I’ll have at least a chance of falling on the ledge, the way Rye and I have discussed before.

I have about two seconds to make my choice.

Three, if I’m lucky.

And I’m wasting those seconds stuck looping on thoughts of Sejin.

Thinking of his fear when he wakes and sees that I’m gone.

Of his expression when the news comes of my fall.

Of his tears. Of that beautiful face without that perfect smile for far too long.

He’ll be fine without me one day. It’s the getting to that one day that seems brutal and unfair now.

I can’t think of him, though. I need to make a choice… or this is over.

I glare up at the lip ahead, and the sun pours into my eyes. The rock will be hot. I know this. I’ve trained for it.

But my arms are giving up on me.

I need to rest. It’s possible, if I’m wildly lucky, I could still downclimb all the way to the ledge and sit there for a breather.

I know that’s not possible. I won’t make it.

I start down anyway. I feel my grip weakening. My hands and arms throb. My shoe skids instead of clinging, and it happens.

Falling is nothing like flying.

In case anyone ever asks.

*

Sejin

“Oh, hell ,” Tom says vehemently. “He fell. Oh, Christ.”

My numbness shatters, and I shove the man aside to look through the scope. I hear Tom beside me speaking quickly, naming the place, the route, and giving Dan’s name. He’s calling 9-1-1.

I stare at the blank space on the wall. My knees go weak. My heart lurches and I turn and vomit into the grass. It’s in my hair, it’s on my chin, and I stare at the white, foamy bile splashed over the green, my heart burning in agony, and my breath coming in quick gulps.

“No, no, he’s hit the ledge,” I hear Tom say. “I can’t tell. He’s not moving. How long? Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay on the line.”

His hand touches my back.

“You alright, kid?”

I straighten and wipe the back of my hand over my vomit-wet mouth. “He’s on the ledge?”

I lurch over to the scope and look through. Tom has adjusted it to point at the ledge. The bright orange of Dan’s shirt is visible. But it’s true; he’s not moving. Not even a little bit. The scope isn’t good enough to tell if he’s breathing. There’s red, though.

Blood.

There’s blood.

I turn and heave on the grass again, and Tom talks to the 9-1-1 operator. “Might want to send someone to the meadow too. Got a spectator here who’s sick. I think he might know the guy.” He touches my shoulder and I shrug him off. “You know him? You know Dan McBride, son?”

I nod. Because I can’t speak. I can’t say the words—he’s my boyfriend, the man I love.

And I can’t bear to ask if he’s dead.

I slump down to the ground, staring at the cold, gray rock of El Capitan, focusing on the Heart Formation. I clutch my chest, feeling the pounding of my own heart, and I wait.

The sound of helicopters and sirens lifts into the air.

Tears run down my face, the heat of them turning cold in the cool morning air.

I think of Dan the night before, his warmth, his strength, his declarations.

I think of the future he wants for us—the adventure, the stupid virtuous poverty, the love-enhanced, giddy dream of it.

I think of his fingers on my skin and his mouth on mine.

The Heart Formation looms.

My heart continues to beat.

But does his?

END BOOK ONE