Ronald Malfi - The Ascent

“Come on, Chad!” Curtis continued. “There! There! It’s in front of your face, man!”

“Use your feet,” Hollinger yelled.

My hands were numb; I could no longer tell if I was still holding on to Chad’s parka. I closed my eyes, my teeth chattering, my arms quaking. My chest was going to burst at any second. The breath whistling up my throat was the breath of a volcano.

The rope went taut.

“Here—here—” Curtis pitched forward as the top of Chad’s sopping head appeared over the crest of the ridge. “Gimme your hand—”

One of Chad’s hands swung around and clamped down on Curtis’s elbow.

Curtis grabbed Chad by the seat of his pants.

How the hell is Curtis not falling? How is he not toppling right over the ridge?

“Heave!” Curtis hollered.

A moment later, Chad sprawled on top of him, both of them covered from head to toe in black mud. There was a second rope tied around Curtis’s waist. I trailed it with my eyes toward a forked tree where Donald Shotsky still held the other end of the rope, both his feet planted against the bifurcated tree trunk.

Petras loosened his grip but didn’t let go. He yanked me away from the edge of the cliff, as if to simply release me would send me shooting like a rocket out of the abyss … and given the adrenaline burning through my body, I might have done just that.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” I huffed.

Petras released me fully as Hollinger patted the top of my head like I was a child.

“Me, too,” Chad wheezed, pulling himself off Curtis. His pale face was streaked with mud, his eyes blinking away the rainwater. Somewhat unsteadily he got up on his knees and gripped his hips with jittery hands. “Saved my life, Shakes.”

I nodded like a fool. I didn’t know what I wanted to say.

“Come on,” Petras said, clapping me on the back. He caught one of my elbows and helped me to my feet. “Before the whole lot of us catch pneumonia.”

Soaking wet and freezing, I wiped the hair out of my eyes. Lightning struck again, followed by the locomotive clang of thunder, but it was creeping over the valley and away from the mountain. The rain was beginning to let up now, too.

Andrew appeared in the lightning flash. He was perched on the crest of the ridge no more than twenty feet away, his eyes like hollowed black pits, his mouth a lipless slash. I could tell he was looking straight at me. I thought about going over and shoving him and asking where the hell he’d been when Chad nearly plummeted off the side of the

mountain, but something in the way he just sat there staring in the darkness stopped me.

Petras shook my arm. “Come on. Let’s get in the goddamn tent.” I followed him, feeling Andrew’s eyes on my back the entire time.

Chapter 10

1

–OPEN YOUR EYES.

The acrid stench of burning fuel, of melting rubber … —Tim , she said. Open your eyes .

2

MY EYES OPEN TO A RAGING INFERNO. I CAN FEEL

the fire ravaging my flesh, charring me alive. I glance down and see that my hands are on fire. Through the flames I discern the suggestion of my bones, blackened and like tree limbs bound together by string. —Tim … The rasping voice—hardly a voice at all—summoning me. My eyelids disintegrate, and my skin sloughs like melting wax off my skull.

—Tim … Hannah’s body, twisted like a corkscrew, matted with dirt and blood, so much blood. She raises a mangled hand in my direction. Her legs are on fire.

I grab her hand, then her other hand, and pull her away from the burning vehicle. Her legs leave streaks of fire in the dry earth. Don’t die, I beg her. Don’t die on me, Hannah. Please.

She smiles. Her face is a black pit, a coconut smashed with a hammer and streaked with crimson gore. That mangled hand comes up again and touches my face. My skin slides off into her bloodied palm. Something hard and spiny rolls over in the pit of my stomach.

No, I plead. No, Hannah.

—Tim, she says. Open your eyes.

No—

—Open your eyes.

3

MY EYES OPENED TO INFINITE BLACKNESS. I WAS

on my back, my hands folded across my bare chest, breathing hard. I blinked. It took several seconds for me to realize where I was.

I eased up on my elbows, the sounds of collective snoring amplified in the canvas tent. Sweat matted my hair to my head; I could almost feel heat rising off my flesh. It was difficult to breathe, the air in the tent stale and motionless. I peeled the flap of my sleeping bag off my nude, sweaty body and pulled on a pair of clean sweatpants. I negotiated through the dark to the zippered tent flaps, which I opened as quietly as possible, and crept outside.

The air was bitterly cold. My nipples hardened instantly, and my sweat froze on my body. I shivered and rubbed my hands along my forearms while I felt my testicles retreat into the cavity of my abdomen. The rain had moved on across the valley, taking with it the angry-looking thunderheads that had hovered over our camp just hours ago.

Something moved in the darkness ahead of me: a flitting shape, large and alive, hardly visible through the trees.

“Hannah.” My voice was no louder than a harsh whisper.

The shape continued on through the trees.

Barefoot, I walked across the camp through freezing puddlesof mud and frost-stiffened reeds. My left eyelid began twitching. “Hannah …”

The shape crossed the veil of trees. It paused as the sound of my voice reached it. Then it proceeded up the gradual incline that was the ridge’s pinnacle. I watched the figure slip out into the open, lighted now by the soft glow of the moon. It wasn’t a human figure at all.

It was a wolf. Its pelt shimmered silver blue in the night. As its eyes turned toward me, curious of my presence, they glowed like floating, pearl-colored orbs. I watched it, my breath caught in my throat. I could feel its eyes boring into me. Then, with casual disinterest, it turned away from me and padded silently up the incline. I watched it until it disappeared over the ridge like a ghost.

“Tim.” It was a man’s voice.

I jerked my head around quick enough to crimp the tendons. A liquid hot pain spread across the side of my neck. Andrew stood behind me in a pair of faded chinos and a wiaafebeater. Half his face glowed with the light of a full moon.

Andrew raised both hands, palms facing me. “You okay, man?”

“You scared the shit out of me,” I uttered, finding my breath.

“You out here looking for someone?”

“Just collecting my thoughts.” Had he heard me calling Hannah’s name? “Did I wake you?”

“Wasn’t asleep.”

“Where were you?”

“The tent stinks like sweaty men,” he said with a smirk. “Just needed some fresh air.”

“No,” I said. “I meant, where were you earlier tonight when Chad almost bought the farm? We could have used the extra pair of hands.”

After the incident, we’d all gathered in the tent where we collectively stripped our clothes and washed the mud and filth off us with fresh rainwater. Andrew had appeared during the process, and

I’d fumed as he crossed into the tent and peeled off his own sopping clothes. I’d thought some of the others might start attacking him, bombarding him with questions, but that didn’t happen.

Chad had talked a mile a minute about how he’d almost died, grinning and clapping us on the back. He recounted what had happened to Andrew without seeming to realize Andrew had been missing. Only Petras noticed my unease with Andrew, but he didn’t say anything. Apparently I had been the only one to see Andrew watching all that had transpired from his perch on the ridge. I considered mentioning this to Petras but decided against it.