Cover of Night (35 page)
Putting it like that had just frustrated all her objections. She made a face at him and went to her desk in the foyer to get the key. “Does anyone ever win an argument with you?”
“I don’t argue. Waste of time and effort. I do listen to opinions, though.” He was right behind her and reached out to take the key.
She gave it to him without objection, but as he started up the stairs she asked, “Don’t you ever get mad?”
He paused, looking down at her. In the gloom his pale eyes looked like crystal, without any hint of blue. “Yeah, I get mad. When I found that asshole Mellor threatening you with a gun, I could have torn him apart with my bare hands.”
Her stomach tightened in a knot of shock, because she believed every word he’d said. She reached out and grasped the newel post, her fingers clenching on the wood. She remembered the look in his eye, the way his finger had begun tightening on the trigger. “You were really going to shoot him, weren’t you?”
“No point in aiming a weapon at someone if you don’t intend to pull the trigger,” he said, and went on up the stairs. “Stay down while you’re changing clothes,” he called back.
After a moment Cate followed him up the stairs, then turned to the right to go to her bedroom. Obediently, she bent as low as she could manage and still walk. She didn’t have the willies now, but that didn’t mean anything. Nothing had happened out by the rocks; the night before had been a freaky coincidence, nothing more.
If she kept telling herself that, she might one day believe it. The spooky sensation had been too strong, too immediate.
She shook away all thoughts except those about preparing for the grueling challenge ahead of her. A recreational climb was hard work, but fun, and she’d always known that at the end of the day she would have a hot shower, a hot meal, and sleep in a nice comfortable bed. She’d gone camping once, and hadn’t liked it.
When she had been climbing, she usually wore spandex pants and a snug tank top with a sport bra underneath, and her climbing shoes. Her first consideration was her shoes, because climbing shoes weren’t for walking. Conversely, walking shoes weren’t good for climbing. She had always worn athletic shoes to the site, then changed into her climbing shoes. That wouldn’t work this time, because they weren’t coming back down. They had to carry their food, water, and blankets as well as their climbing gear, plus whatever weapons
She took a deep breath, not letting herself think how impossible this was. They wouldn’t be tackling the vertical climbs; they would be looking for the absolute easiest way up—which would still be hell, but not quite the same degree of hell.
She didn’t have any hiking boots, so her only other choice was her athletic shoes. Instead of choosing spandex pants, she prepared for spending probably three or four nights in the mountains, at an altitude that often got chilly at night even in the middle of summer; that meant sweatpants. She had a pair with pockets that zipped, so that was the pair she chose, and laid them across the bed. She added several pairs of socks, plus clean underwear. Maybe she was being silly, but she couldn’t face wearing the same pair of underwear for four days. She put both pairs on. A silk T-shirt, tucked in. A hooded sweatshirt jacket, which could be tied around her waist. She tucked lip balm into one of the pants pockets, then fished around in her underwear drawer until she found her old Swiss Army knife; it went in another pocket.
Next she brushed out her hair and pulled it back in a snug ponytail to keep it secure; getting hair caught in any of the gear was painful. She stood there a minute, trying to think if she’d forgotten anything. Maybe her silk long johns, in case the nights got really cold? They would be too hot to wear during the day, but they weighed nothing and took up practically no space. In fact, they would fit in the pouch pockets of the sweatshirt jacket.
When she thought she had everything, she got dressed. Two pairs of socks, one thin and one thick. The extra two pairs also went into her pants pockets. Then the pants, then her shoes, and finally she tied the jacket around her waist. Experimentally she stretched and twisted, seeing if her clothing hampered her movement in any way. It didn’t, so she was good to go.
Next stop: kitchen.
Just like that, her heart dropped into her stomach. “Oh, no,” she said softly. “They’re over five years old.”
Synthetic rope deteriorated over time, even if it had never been used, and these ropes had been used. She and Derek had taken very good care of their ropes, hand-washing them in the bathtub, keeping them out of sunlight, but she couldn’t stop the march of time. They couldn’t climb with these ropes; it was as simple as that. A rope as old as these could be used for top-roping but not leading, but she didn’t want to use them, period.
“Walter has some synthetic rope in the store,” he said. “Maybe not exactly what we want, but newer than this. I’ll get it now. How long?”
“Seventy meters.”
He nodded. He didn’t ask what thickness, so she guessed that Walter had only the one roll stocked. They would use whatever was there.
He disappeared out the front, and she left the food to inspect the gear. She hadn’t touched it since putting it in the attic three years ago, when she moved here. He hadn’t brought down the helmets, but she understood why: they were brightly colored, easily visible. A lot of climbers didn’t wear helmets anyway, but she and Derek always had.
The old fascination returned as she sorted out the gear, and for a minute she felt the tug of excitement, the lure of sun and height, her skill and strength pitted against the rock. She had fallen, of course. So had Derek. So had every climber she knew. But that was what the ropes were for, and that was why she wouldn’t climb with old ones.
She forced herself to turn away from the gear and go back to food prep. Water would be a big problem, because it was so heavy. A gallon of water weighed eight pounds, not counting the weight of the container. She had some bottled water, but no convenient way to carry it. They needed a waterskin that could be slung on the back, but she couldn’t think of any way to improvise one.
Maybe Roy Edward would know if there was running water on the mountains. There was, surely, aside from the bigger stream that formed part of Trail Stop’s boundary before joining with the river.
“The ones I have are thick,” she said. “I was going to take some back to the others, but they’re too thick to carry while we’re climbing.”
He nodded. “I have a couple of thin blankets at my place, and a sleep pad that rolls up tight. Okay, that’s it. We could use more stuff, but we can’t carry it. Let’s go. By the time we get ready to leave, we won’t have much daylight left.”
“What are we going to do? We can’t climb in the dark.”
“We’re going to get into position, which could take a couple of hours. Whatever we can do tonight, that’s time we’ll save tomorrow.”
He was right about that, and he had a brisk discipline to every movement, even his tone of voice, that told her he knew exactly what he was doing. He’d done this before, probably in circumstances just as dire.
When they made it back to the Richardsons’, they found that Creed had organized the others with the same sort of crispness
According to Roy Edward there were several streams in the mountains, which helped, but they still had to solve the bottle problem. Creed looked thoughtful. The next thing Cate knew, Maureen was cutting the legs out of some of Perry’s thermal-knit underwear. She tied off the end of one, and loaded bottles in the cutoff leg as if putting torpedoes in a firing tube. When each leg was full, she tied off the other end, then fashioned slings that could be worn across the shoulder and chest, with the weight of the water on their backs. Cate tried it out. There was more weight than she was comfortable with, but that would lessen as they drank.
“What’s the closest place we can go for help, after we get through the cut?”
“My place,” Creed said. “From my back porch, I can see the cut. Other than that, there’s a dude ranch about six or seven miles off the highway, and Gordon Moon’s place is a little farther than that in the opposite direction. If you can find my place, you can use the phone there, but you’d have to use some dead-on course plotting, Marine.”
A slow answering grin spread across Creed’s face. “Imagine that. It happens I have one, too. Wouldn’t look good for the guide to get lost, now would it?”
“You remember the coordinates?”
“Does a kitty cat have an ass? Know ’em like my birthday.”
“WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING OVER THERE?” TOXTEL muttered to Teague when the latter walked by on his way to relieve Billy. Goss was taking a break back at the tent, since he was due to relieve Toxtel at
. Now was when they settled into routine, and now was when staying alert would become harder and harder.
Teague looked like hell and felt worse, but he was walking, and he intended to take his shift. The lump on his forehead was so big he couldn’t get a cap on, but the slightest pressure made him feel as if his head were exploding anyway, so he was just as glad to do without one. The pain had kept up a steady pounding all day, but he’d checked his pupils in his rearview mirror and they were both the same size, so he figured he was okay; he’d just have to tough it out through the pain. He popped a couple of ibuprofen every four hours and that took the edge off, which would have to do.
Teague glanced across at the seemingly deserted community. From where he stood, he could see a couple of bodies lying where they’d fallen. If anything much had happened over there today, he couldn’t tell. “What do you mean?”
“You’d think they’d at least try to find out what’s going on, but no one’s stuck his nose out or yelled.”
“Give ’em until tomorrow,” said Teague. “I figure Creed is getting them organized to try something. They may not wait until tomorrow; they might try something tonight. We’ll have to stay alert.” He stared across the wreckage of the bridge; he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Creed on the other side, shotgun to shoulder and sighting down the barrel at him…. Shit, he had to stop thinking about Creed, stop letting himself be mind-fucked. He wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t discount Creed, but the bastard wasn’t a superman. He was good at what he did, period. Well, Teague thought, so am I.
“I don’t like it,” said Toxtel. He, too, was staring across the bridge. “They should have been asking what we want.”
“Don’t forget, my boys have been shooting at ’em every so often. They’re probably not all that anxious to stick their heads up. Tomorrow, we shoot only if we see a target.”
“Then how in hell are we going to talk to them?”
Didn’t these city boys know anything? “As soon as one of them ties a flag to a stick so we know he wants to talk, that’s when we talk.”
He left then and climbed to where Billy was positioned, the movement made more tortuous because he knew damn good and well that some of those old deer hunters could have their scopes on him, waiting for a good shot. He had to make certain they didn’t get the chance, even though he didn’t think it likely any of them would have the firepower to reach out this far. But then, he’d been surprised by how close Creed had managed to get last night; he wouldn’t let himself get caught twice.
Billy was exhausted, since Teague hadn’t been able to relieve him any during the day; he rolled away from the prone rest position he’d held for hours and lay sprawled on the rough ground. “Thank God. You feeling any better?”
“I’m here. Seen anything interesting?”
“I get the feeling there’s been a lot of movement going on behind cover. Blake and Troy think the same thing. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of something, but never enough to tell what it was. And always behind good, solid cover, so I know I wasn’t looking at a dog or a cat.”
“You fire to make ’em keep their heads down?”
“A couple of times yes, a couple of times no. Goes against the grain to waste ammo.”
Teague knew what he meant. He settled with his rifle on the blanket Billy had spread on the ground over some leaves and pine needles to make the long watch more comfortable. His spare battery for the thermal scope was at hand, as well as a thermos of coffee and a pack of snack crackers if he needed to keep his energy up. At least tonight wasn’t as cold as last night had been, so he wouldn’t be shivering and shaking, which would play hell with his headache.
“Nobody tried to retrieve the bodies,” Billy said, sounding troubled. “That bothers me.”
“If they’re going to, it’ll be tonight. They’ll have waited for dark.”
“They have to have figured we got special scopes, that’s how we could hit ’em last night.”
“Yeah, but maybe they’ve worked out something movable they can hide behind. We’ll see.”
“You going to shoot if they go after the bodies?”
Teague considered the question. “I don’t think so. Is Blake already in position?”