David Morrell - Creepers

"Maybe they'll hold!"

The professor swallowed. He took a step upward.

The stairway collapsed.

Balenger was almost jerked off his feet. The noise was overwhelming. He felt most of the force through his legs and arms. Even so, the sudden pressure of the rope around his chest took his breath away. Clutching the rope with his gloves, leaning back against the dropping force of the professor's weight, he groaned. His feet slid.

"Pull!" he shouted to Rick, Cora, and Vinnie.

The pressure around Balenger's chest tightened as the others stopped him from going over the edge. If not for his Windbreaker, he'd have suffered rope burns. Struggling to breathe, he suddenly felt the professor quit falling. The light from a headlamp bobbed below the edge of the fallen staircase. Balenger stared at the rope where it dug tautly into the remnants of broken wood.

"Professor?" Balenger managed to draw a breath.

No answer.

"For God's sake, can you hear me?"

A faint murmur.

"Talk to me," Balenger said. "Are you hurt?"

"Uh."

Sweat slicked Balenger's face. "Professor?"

"Feel… suffocated."

"That's the pressure of the rope around your chest."

"Can't breathe."

Christ, is he having a heart attack? Balenger wondered. "Take slow, shallow breaths. Slow," he emphasized. "If you hyperventilate, you'll throw yourself into a panic."

"Panic's an understatement."

The rope creaked.

Balenger looked behind him. "Rick, Cora, keep holding the rope. Vinnie, get over here and help me pull him up."

Vinnie hurried next to him and grabbed the section of rope that led to Conklin.

"Hurt," the professor said as the rope shifted upward.

"We'll soon free your chest."

"Not the rope." ' "What?"

"Leg."

Balenger and Vinnie strained to raise him. Conklin's headlamp came into view, a chin strap securing it. Then his anguished face appeared, paler than before. His spectacles were gone. Without them, his eyes looked vulnerable. Fear made them wide.

Balenger and Vinnie pulled him higher.

The professor gasped. "Stuck on something."

Balenger was conscious of Rick and Cora behind him pulling on the rope, preventing him from being dragged over. He heard the effort in their breathing.

"Vinnie." Balenger's voice sounded as if he'd swallowed sand. "Let go of the rope and tug him onto the balcony."

Vinnie gradually released his grip. As soon as the professor's weight was fully transferred to Balenger, Vinnie eased toward the edge. He grabbed the professor's arm and pulled.

The professor winced but didn't move.

"I see it," Vinnie said. "The front of his jacket's caught on a board."

"You know what to do. The knife. That's what you brought it for. Cut the jacket."

Vinnie seemed to suddenly remember that he had it. He unclipped it from the inside of his jeans pocket, opened it, and sliced at Conklin's jacket. For a brief moment, he looked in terror at the abyss into which the stairs had collapsed.

"Done." He rushed back to Balenger and grabbed the rope.

This time, when they pulled, the professor moved. Slowly, painfully, the elderly man was able to help them. Bracing his elbows on the edge of the balcony, he squirmed his right knee over the edge. With an inward shout of triumph, Balenger moved along the rope, grabbed the professor, and helped Vinnie drag him to safety.

Rick and Cora were suddenly with him as well. The professor lay on his back, gasping as Balenger freed the slipknot and pulled the rope from him.

"Can you breathe now?" Balenger frantically checked the professor's pulse.

Conklin's chest heaved as he sucked in air.

Balenger counted a pulse of 140, the equivalent of an athlete's heart rate after running several miles. For an overweight, out-of-condition man, it was far too high. "Does your chest still hurt?"

"Better. It feels better. I can catch my breath."

"Oh, shit," Rick said.

"His left leg." Cora pointed.

Balenger registered the strong smell of copper. Lowering his gaze toward the professor's pantleg, he saw that it was soaked with blood all the way from his thigh to his shoe.

Conklin moaned.

"Okay, everybody, listen up," Balenger said.

As the professor's thigh oozed more blood, Cora turned away in horror.

"Forget what you're feeling. Do exactly what I tell you," Balenger ordered.

Rick put a hand to his mouth.

"We don't have time for this," Balenger said. "Everybody, pay attention. Do what I tell you." He unclipped his knife and cut the professor's jeans from the groin to the cuff. He spread the fabric. "Who's got the first-aid kit?"

Conklin squirmed. There was a deep, four-inch-long gash in his thigh, blood spreading from it.

"Who's got the first-aid kit?" Balenger repeated.

Vinnie blinked in shock. "Rick. I think Rick has it."

"Get it out. Now." Balenger tugged the rope around the professor's thigh, tying it above the wound. "Who's got the hammer?"

Cora forced herself to look at the blood. In the headlamps, her red hair contrasted harshly with her pale cheeks. "I do."

"Give it to me!"

Cora forced herself into motion, unholstering the hammer from her equipment belt.

Balenger wedged the handle under the rope and twisted, tightening the rope around Conklin's thigh. The blood stopped flowing. "Hold it like that."

Balenger took the Pro Med kit from Rick. "Your water bottle. Get it out. Rinse the wound. Who's got the duct tape?"

"I do." Vinnie came out of his shock.

"Get it ready."

"Duct tape? We use it for covering the sharp edges of pipes so we don't get cut. How's it going to-"

"Just do what I say."

Balenger unzipped the Pro Med's bag and opened its two compartments. About to reach in, he frowned at his dirty gloves and replaced them with latex ones from the kit. "Cora, your right hand's free. Aim your flashlight toward the kit."

He pulled out packets of alcohol wipes and ripped them open. "Rick, pour water on the wound. Cora, aim your flashlight toward the gash."

Using his jacket sleeve to wipe sweat from his eyes, Balenger stared at the water rinsing the wound. With the bleeding temporarily stopped, he saw the jagged flesh. "The artery hasn't been cut." He used an alcohol wipe to clean dirt from the edges, then leaned close, staring hard at a piece of wood projecting from the wound. "Who's got the Leatherman tool?"

"I do." Rick freed the snap on its pouch and handed it over.

Balenger opened it to the pliers mode. "Keep rinsing the wound. How are you feeling, Professor?"

"Sore."

"Is the rope cutting into you?"

"Yes."

"If that's your only pain, you're doing well. The rope not only stops the bleeding, the lack of circulation numbs the wound. But we can't keep it like that too long. Swallow these." Balenger tore open two Extra-Strength Tylenol packets and gave him four pills. "They're not Vicodin, but they're better than nothing."

Conklin shoved them into his mouth. Rick gave him a drink of water.

"My flashlight. I dropped it when the stairs collapsed." The professor sounded as if he blamed himself. "Vinnie lost his, also."

"We still have three." Balenger used an alcohol wipe to clean the end of the pliers. He smelled the sharp fumes. "Here we go. Cora, keep your light steady."

Balenger inserted the pliers into the gash and gripped the splinter just above where it was embedded into flesh. As gently as possible, he pulled it out.

The professor gasped.

"The worst part's almost over," Balenger tried to assure him. "Keep aiming the flashlight, Cora. More water, Rick." As blood was rinsed away, Balenger saw another piece of wood, smaller, almost hidden in the flesh.