Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

She was aware of a stiffening in her bodynot just from the fall, but also, she realized, because she was cold. The cab had lost its heat.

It occurred to her that perhaps she could start the motor, and get heat going. It was worth a try. She flicked on the headlights, and one of them worked, glaring off the ice wall. So there was still electricity from the battery.

She turned the key. The generator made a grinding sound. The engine did not kick on.

And she heard a voice yell, "Hey!"

Sarah looked up, toward the surface. She saw nothing but the gap and the strip of gray sky beyond.

"Hey!"

She squinted. Was somebody really up there? She yelled back: "Hey! I'm down here!"

"I know where you are," the voice said.

And then she realized the voice was coming from below her.

She looked down, into the depths of the crevasse.

"Peter?" she said.

"I'm fucking freezing," he said. His voice floated up from the darkness.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't know. I can't move. I'm wedged in some kind of cleft or something."

"How far down are you?"

"I don't know. I can't turn my head to look up. I'm stuck, Sarah." His voice trembled. He sounded frightened.

"Can you move at all?" she said.

"Just one arm."

"Can you see anything?"

"Ice. I see a blue wall. It's about two feet away."

Sarah was straddling the open door, peering down into the crevasse, straining to see. It was very dark down there. But it seemed as if the crevasse narrowed quickly, farther down. If so, he might not be that far beneath her.

"Peter. Move your arm. Can you move your arm?"

"Yes."

"Wave it."

"I am."

She didn't see anything. Just darkness.

"Okay," she said. "Stop."

"Did you see me?"

"No."

"Shit." He coughed. "It's really cold, Sarah."

"I know. Hang on."

She had to find a way to see down into the cleft. She looked under the dashboard, near where the fire extinguisher was clipped to the car wall. If there was a fire extinguisher, there was probably a flashlight there, too. They would be sure to have a flashlight amp;someplace.

Not under the dashboard.

Maybe the glove compartment. She opened it, shoved her hand in, feeling in the darkness. Crunching paper. Her fingers closed around a thick cylinder. She brought it out.

It was a flashlight.

She flicked it on. It worked. She shone it down into the depths of the crevasse.

"I see that," Peter said. "I see the light."

"Good," she said. "Now swing your arm again."

"I am."

"Now?"

"I'm doing it now."

She stared. "Peter, I don't seewait a minute." She did see himjust the tips of his fingers in their red gloves, protruding briefly beyond the tractor treads, and the ice below.

"Peter."

"What."

"You're very near me," she said. "Just five or six feet below me."

"Great. Can you get me out?"

"I could, if I had a rope."

"There's no rope?" he said.

"No. I opened the supply chest. There's nothing at all."

"But it's not in the supply chest," he said. "It's under the seat."

"What?"

"Yeah, I saw it. The ropes and stuff are under the passenger seat."

She looked. The seat was on a steel base anchored firmly to the floor of the snowtrack. There were no doors or compartments in the base. It was difficult to maneuver around the seat to see, but she was sure: no doors. On a sudden impulse, she lifted up the seat cushion, and saw a compartment beneath it. The light of her flashlight revealed ropes, hooks, snow axes, crampons amp; "Got it," she said. "You were right. It's all here."

"Whew," he said.

She brought the equipment out carefully, making sure none of it fell through the open door. Already her fingers were growing numb, and she felt clumsy as she held a fifty-foot length of nylon rope with a three-pronged ice hook at one end.

"Peter," she said. "If I lower a rope, can you grab it?"

"Maybe. I think so."

"Can you hold the rope tight, so I can pull you out?"

"I don't know. I just have the one arm free. The other one's pinned under me."

"Are you strong enough to hold the rope with one arm?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, if I got my body partway out, and lost my grip amp;" His voice broke off. He sounded on the verge of tears.

"Okay," she said. "Don't worry."

"I'm trapped, Sarah!"

"No, you're not."

"I am, I'm trapped, I'm fucking trapped!" Now there was panic. "I'm going to die here!"

"Peter. Stop." She was coiling the rope around her waist as she spoke. "It's going to be all right. I have a plan."

"What plan?"

"I'm going to lower an ice hook on the rope," she said. "Can you hook it onto something? Like your belt?"

"Not my belt amp;No. I'm wedged in here, Sarah. I can't move. I can't reach my belt."

She was trying to visualize his situation. He must be wedged in some sort of cleft in the ice. It was frightening just to imagine it. No wonder he was scared. "Peter," she said, "can you hook it onto anything?"

"I'll try."

"Okay, here it comes," she said, lowering the rope. The hook disappeared into the darkness. "Do you see it?"

"I see it."

"Can you reach it?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll swing it toward you." She turned her wrist gently, starting the rope in a lateral swing. The hook vanished out of sight, then swung back, then out of sight again.

"I can't amp;keep doing it, Sarah."

"I am."

"I can't get it, Sarah."

"Keep trying."

"It has to be lower."

"Okay. How much lower?"

"About a foot."

"Okay." She lowered it a foot. "How's that?"

"Good, now swing it."

She did. She heard him grunting, but each time the hook swung back into view.

"I can't do it, Sarah."

"Yes you can. Keep trying."

"I can't. My fingers are too cold."

"Keep trying," she said. "Here it is again."

"I can't, Sarah, I can't amp;Hey!"

"What?"

"I almost got it."

Looking down, she saw the hook spinning when it came back into view. He'd touched it.

"Once more," she said. "You'll do it, Peter."

"I'm trying, it's just I have so littleI got it, Sarah. I got it!"

She gave a long sigh of relief.

He was coughing in the darkness. She waited.

"Okay," he said. "I got it hooked on my jacket."

"Where?"

"Right on the front. Just on my chest."

She was visualizing that if the hook ripped free, it would tear right into his chin. "No, Peter. Hook it on the armpit."

"I can't, unless you pull me out a couple of feet."

"Okay. Say when."

He coughed. "Listen, Sarah. Are you strong enough to pull me out?"

She had avoided thinking about that. She just assumed that somehow she could. Of course she didn't know how hard he was wedged in, but amp;"Yes," she said. "I can do it."

"Are you sure? I weigh a hundred and sixty." He coughed again. "Maybe a little more. Maybe ten more."

"I've got you tied off on the steering wheel."

"Okay, but amp;don't drop me."

"I won't drop you, Peter."

There was a pause. "How much do you weigh?"

"Peter, you never ask a lady that question. Especially in LA."

"We're not in LA."

"I don't know how much I weigh," she said. Of course she knew exactly. She weighed a hundred and thirty-seven pounds. He weighed over thirty pounds more than that. "But I know I can pull you up," she said. "Are you ready?"

"Shit."

"Peter, are you ready or not?"

"Yeah. Go."

She drew the rope tight, then crouched down, planting her feet firmly on either side of the open door. She felt like a sumo wrestler at the start of a match. But she knew her legs were much stronger than her arms. This was the only way she could do it. She took a deep breath.