Michael Palmer - The Last Surgeon

The forest landscape began to change. There were fewer trees here, more low brush. It was as though the woods were disappearing. Then the brush, too, gave way. He lifted his head just in time to see the stream fall away. He dropped to his knees and inched forward, peering down into the darkness. A thin, shallow waterfall disappeared beneath him. Fifty feet straight down? Seventy-five? It was impossible to tell. The gorge, formed by the river below, cut the forest in two. It was a hundred or two hundred feet wide, and ran ahead as far as he could see. The sound of rushing water reverberated off the cliff walls. From behind him, Nick heard dead branches and leaves crunching.

How could he have made such a mess of things?

To travel the ridge of the gorge in either direction would leave him totally exposed from lack of cover. Going down beside the narrow falls was an option, but not a desirable one.

Years ago, before Nick traded in his adrenaline addiction for EMDR therapy, his skills as a rock climber hovered just below expert. In his heyday, Nick could engineer the three most common rope systems blindfolded. He knew the right knots to tie in for most climbing situations. Abseiling down a rock wall such as this was always a favorite maneuver of his. He did some rappelling in the Army and always excelled at it. But free-solo descent was a Different beast entirely, especially in the rain.

There were no ropes here to provide him a quick trip down. He had tried bouldering before, but that hardly qualified him as more than a rank novice at free-solo techniques. Still, with Koller getting nearer, he had no options.

“Necessity is the mother of insanity,” Nick muttered to himself.

Lying flat on his stomach, he inched over the cliff ’s edge. Forty feet down, there appeared to be a rock overhang. If he could descend the top part of the drop and reach the overhang before Koller spotted him, there was a chance he could hide out underneath it until it was safe to move again-until dawn if necessary.

More rustling to his back.

There were no options.

He would have to on-sight this route-figure out his holds on the fly as he worked his way down.

Turning around and dropping his feet so he was facing the rock, Nick eased himself over the ledge. He located his first foothold five feet down. Moss and the rain had turned every rock and crevice slick and treacherous. There was no sure footing here, no dependable handholds. He kept his hands just past shoulder width, digging around the loose stone until he found what seemed like a reasonable grip. His left leg was shaking, perhaps from the tension of the tiptoe hold, but probably from exhaustion as well.

The first twenty feet down passed fairly easily. The rocks jutted out like jagged teeth, making the holds painless to feel out, even in dim light. Nick was gaining on the overhang, ignoring his fear and the pain from the gunshot wound in his right arm, and focusing all his intensity on the goal.

Almost there… Keep going… Easy… Easy…

A voice called out to him from above.

“Hey there, Doc,” Koller said. “Haven’t you read about the dangers of climbing at night without ropes?”

The monster was only a silhouette, but even in darkness, Nick thought he could see the white of his Cheshire Cat grin. He hurried his movements, inch by inch working his way down.

“You made this very easy, Doc. Set up a perfect non-kill, actually. Watch out for falling rocks. Those can be a bitch.”

A small boulder clattered past, just two or three feet from Nick’s face. He sensed the miss might have been on purpose.

“What about the DVD?” Nick yelled up into the blackness. “You don’t have my copy.”

“Yes, it’s a shame your death will make it harder to find. But I know it’s not far from where your friends Siliski and Mollender are napping. The good news is you’ll be dead so I won’t have to send you my medical bills for the hand and foot you impaled with that fucking nail gun.”

“I hope they really hurt.”

Nick’s right foot hungrily sought out a new hold. The tips of his fingers began to burn from fatigue. Koller dropped another rock, missing by no more than a foot. The overhang was too far away for Nick to reach in time to get cover. Another rock clattered down, then another-this one glancing off his left shoulder.

“Once you fall and hit bottom, I’ll amble down myself and make sure if you’re still alive that you die slowly. You stuck there?”

The next rock, a foot or more around, smashed just above Nick’s head, spraying a cloud of loose stone and dust into his face. The river continued to churn some fifty feet below, and he began peering down, searching for a pool. There was one. He felt certain of it. But there was no way of guessing its depth. Even if it ran deeper than six feet, a drop from this height could still be fatal, or at least leg-breaking, which would be the same thing.

Still, his options had all but vanished.

Where did I screw up? he wondered. What could I have done Differently?

Koller’s next drop hit Nick squarely on the shoulder. Startled, he lost his footing and for several seconds his body swung out over the river like a hinged door, with only the fingers of his left hand sustaining him. Teeth clenched, he held on and waited to swing back.

Staying there was suicide, he decided. He had to jump.

“And Doc,” Koller’s voice rang out, “I’m going to do your girl before I kill her.”

Driven by the demon’s words, Nick found the grip he needed. His footing felt solid enough. The handholds were in long fissures of the rock, which provided him with surprisingly good leverage. He visualized the move he was about to perform. There was no time to work up the needed courage. No matter what, he was going to jump. He flattened against the rock, feeling the cool moisture on his skin. Then, with every bit of power he could generate, he pushed himself away from the crag, and flew.

Am I far enough out?

His arms and legs flailed against the rushing air as he plummeted downward.

Please, God… Please…

Nick hit the water with the force of a thunderclap. Air exploded from his lungs. His head snapped forward. His legs hit bottom, then gave way. Immediately, the current pulled him under, grinding his body against rocks and sand before spitting him back to the surface again. Nick choked and sputtered on the musty-tasting water.

A bullet slapped into the river mere feet from where he was being carried downstream. It was followed by another shot, but there was no sound of impact. Nick took one stroke, but again was pulled under. His lungs burned. His strength was all but gone. Panic had replaced fear, and he was desperately hungry for air. Back on the surface, Nick gagged and coughed out the water threatening to fill his lungs. His arms windmilled wildly, searching for anything that would hold him on the surface. Each time he submerged he felt it would be his last. The sense of dying one moment, living the next was a cruel joke. Finally, the churning water slowed, and the turbulent river became a placid stream once more. Nick floated on the surface, completely spent.

Don’t give in, Garrity… Stay conscious… Stay alive. …

Everything went black.

NICK HAD no idea how long he’d been out. He was faceup in the stream, and he was still alive. His shirt had caught on a branch that was jutting out over the water, and might have been what had saved him. He was chilled to the core, and unable to stop shaking. The first sound he heard besides the rippling water was Koller, calling his name. The killer was somewhere upstream, but moving in Nick’s direction.

It wouldn’t be long.

“I know you’re out there. I hope you’re suffering. I hope I don’t find you dead. I owe you. I owe you for the holes in my hand and my foot. And I owe you because I’m getting cold. Please don’t be dead.”