Far Country (15 page)

Stopping
only long enough to collect their rappelling gear, a tent, and an emergency
first aid kit, the two rangers had set a brisk pace up the Moore’s Knob trail
to the promontory cutoff. The storm was a fast moving system, though, and they
had less time than they had hoped to complete the climb. Each rumble of thunder
spurred them to move even faster, until they were nearly sprinting over the
rocky terrain. They had reached the Wall trail at last, but they would have
only minutes before the storm overtook them.  Already the wind was picking
up.  The men stood at the neck of the outcropping, searching anxiously for
Steve’s gear bag.

Pete’s
heart fell as he scanned the bare rock. There was nothing! No ropes, no gear
bag, nothing!

“I
don’t get it!” Pete exclaimed to Chuck, his shoulders slumping wearily.”I was
so sure he’d be here! This is his favorite spot.”  Pete shook his head in
defeat.  “If he’s not here, he could be anywhere.”

           
“Yeah,” Chuck agreed glumly. “He could even be back at home while we’re out
here jogging up mountain trails.” He took several deep breaths to slow his heart
rate from the race up the trail. A pained look crossed Chuck’s usually carefree
features, and he glanced sideways at Pete.  “Pete,” he began hesitantly,
“isn’t it possible Steve just – left? Walked away?” 

Pete
shook his head dismissing the possibility out of hand. “Steve would never do
that. Until this summer I don’t think he’s ever missed a day of work!”

“That’s
what I mean,” Chuck continued uncomfortably, but determined to make his point.
“Since this summer – since that girl died – he’s been wound up. He’s different,
Pete.  I’m not so sure...”

Pete
closed his eyes. Steve
was
different lately, he couldn’t deny that, but
still Pete was certain beyond reason that something was very wrong, and that
time was fast running out.   Not willing to give up so easily, he
walked further out on the promontory, wincing involuntarily at a flash of
lightning that was quickly followed by a crack of thunder.
That one was
nearly on top of them
! They would never make it back down before the rain
hit.

Out
from the protection of the trees, a strong wind gust caught Pete off guard. He
stumbled, caught his foot in a small crevice and dropped to his knees, hard.
That
hurt.
He took a deep breath and went to push himself back to his feet, but
stopped abruptly.  A rock hammer.  Pete picked it up and held the
tool up for Chuck to see.

Chuck
crouched a little against the wind and joined Pete on the promontory. “That
doesn’t prove anything, Pete,” he growled, unconvinced. “It could’ve been
dropped there days ago.”

Pete’s
jaw set in a stubborn line. Something had happened to Steve. He felt it as
clearly as if a hand shaking his shoulder to get his attention. He wasn’t ready
to give up. Carefully, he began to make his way further out onto the tongue of
rock that jutted far out from the protection of the mountainside. Chuck sighed
and followed Pete, working his way as close to the edge as he dared, searching
the distant valley floor for any possible clue. The wind whipped his curly
blonde hair into his eyes, and he brushed it aside in irritation, peering
intently into the distant gloom. Suddenly he stiffened. It was a patch of neon
yellow, definitely not a color found in nature, just visible in the brush, some
distance from the cliff base.

“Pete!”
Chuck said, placing a hand on his friend’s arm to gain his attention. “Pete,
look over there – behind those bushes!”

Pete
raised his eyes to search an area much further out than he had anticipated, and
in the half light of the approaching storm he caught a glimpse of what Chuck
had seen.

“What
do you think it is?” Chuck asked.

Pete
shook his head, but quickly shrugged out of his pack. “It could be a lot of
things, but  I guess I’ll climb down and take a look,” he replied grimly,
as he unpacked his ropes and carabineers.

Chuck
stared toward the streak of color, trying to imagine what was down there. Was
it somebody’s forgotten windbreaker? A piece of trash that a careless hiker let
blow off the promontory?  Suddenly he knew, and a sick feeling of
foreboding washed over him. He dropped to his knees beside Pete, helping him
sort and prepare the equipment for the descent. “His new gear bag is yellow,”
he said to Pete. “I was with him when he bought it last month.”

Pete
nodded and slipped into the harness. Lightning streaked across the sky and the fat
drops of rain began to spatter on the rocks. Neither ranger even bothered to
look up at the sky.

“Ready?”
Chuck asked.

 Pete
nodded in reply and gave a final tug on the rope anchor, then leaned back and
released the
decender
. Chuck watched as he disappeared
over the side. After what seemed like an hour, Chuck’s radio finally crackled
to life.  “It’s him! Get down here, fast!”

Chuck
waited a few seconds, but the radio remained quiet. Chuck clicked the button.
“Pete, is he alive?”

Another
few moments passed before Pete answered. “For the moment,” he replied grimly.

Chuck’s
hopes sank. Pete wasn’t one for dramatics. Steve’s condition must not be good.
But then, years of training kicked in and he pushed his feelings aside. 
Quickly he radioed the Center and informed them of the accident and the
location. Then, ignoring the rain that was now falling in earnest, Chuck
followed Pete over the side of the cliff.

           
“There.”  The nurse, a middle-aged woman with unnaturally red hair and
penciled in eyebrows, deftly withdrew the IV needle and covered the mark with a
fluffy white cotton ball. “Put some pressure on this with your other hand while
I get a band-aid,” she directed.

           
Steve complied and flexed the stiff arm. What a relief to finally be free of
his “leash”, and the constant steady beeping of the IV machine!  Day and
night, for nearly three weeks now, he had lived by its sound, steady as a
metronome.

           
In an eerie replay of Shane Davis’ accident in June, Steve had been med-
evacued
by helicopter from Moore’s Knob at dawn, following
a wild night of wind and thunderstorms. Not that he actually recalled any of
it.  Truthfully, he only had the vaguest impressions of Pete and Chuck
strapping his body onto the board and being carried up the trail to meet the
waiting helicopter.  Of the night, huddled in the stuffy 4 man popup tent
while Pete and Chuck struggled to keep him alive, he remembered nothing.

           
Doctors had rushed him into surgery to repair a damaged spleen. They had
wrapped his cracked ribs, set his dislocated shoulder and broken right leg, and
hooked him up to the IV to re-hydrate his body and dispense medication. Then
they all waited nervously to see if Steve would wake up, for of course, he had
another concussion. Other than that, the doctors had shaken their heads in
wonder. Considering how far he had fallen, and how long he had lain, exposed to
the heat of the sun, and the chilly night air, Steve was in incredibly good
condition.

           
“You are a very lucky young man,” Doctor Harris announced with satisfaction, as
he completed his final exam before releasing Steve from the hospital.

           
“No,” Steve contradicted him with a shake of his head, remembering the
unearthly voice. “No, I am blessed.”

           
Doctor Harris, an energetic man in his fifties with coke bottle glasses, smiled
at Steve’s quiet statement. “You may be right” he agreed. “I hope you are
sending out the appropriate ‘Thank You’ notes?”

           
Steve smiled back ruefully, nodding at the heavy cast that encased two thirds
of his leg.  “I can’t exactly hit my knees right now, but I’m working on
it.”

           
Doctor Harris nodded. “See that you don’t forget,” he advised, then switched
the subject.  “I’ve been in contact with a Doctor Tate in
Jacksonville.  He’s the orthopedic doctor who will be overseeing your
therapy while you are home.”  Doctor Harris studied him with a stern
expression. “I want to caution you to be patient and diligent in following
through on your therapy.  You can’t cut corners.  It is going to take
months for all of your injuries to heal completely, and longer to regain your
strength in your leg. You must be patient!” He reiterated.

           
Steve nodded. “I understand, Doctor Harris.” He smiled reassuringly. 
“Don’t worry. I know you worked hard to put me back together. I won’t mess up
your efforts.”

           
Doctor Harris grinned back, appreciatively. “That’s what I wanted to hear! Now,
how long before your ride comes?” He asked looking at his watch.

           
“Reverend Graham will be here in about an hour,” Steve replied.

           
“You’ll appreciate being able to stretch out in their RV, with that cast. 
It’s good of them to take you home.”

           
“We’re from the same town,” Steve explained.

           
Doctor Harris raised an eyebrow. “Really? What a coincidence!” Then he shook
Steve’s hand once more, and continued on his morning rounds.

           
“
What a coincidence…”

           
“I’m beginning to doubt that,” Steve mused half aloud.  What were the
chances of so many coincidences occurring in one short summer?

           
A knock on the door made Steve look up, and there was Pete, grinning his
lopsided grin. Steve’s face lit up. “Come in!” He invited his friend.

           
“It’s all right, don’t get up for me,” Pete quipped.

           
Steve rolled his eyes. “Very funny.  How’s work?”

           
“Your replacement arrived yesterday,” Pete informed him, settling into the
chair beside Steve’s.

           
“Yeah? What’s he like?”

           
“First off, ‘he’ is a ‘she’.” Pete corrected him.

           
Steve made a face and sighed.  “I’ve been replaced by a woman, huh?”

           
Pete grinned enthusiastically.  “Oh yeah, tall, brown eyed, and best of
all, a transfer from the Cliffs. She already knows the ropes.”

           
“Great,” Steve replied half heartedly.

           
“Don’t worry,” Pete quickly reassured him. “She’s just a loaner for the
remainder of the summer. We can get through the winter without you, but Chuck
and Deb and I expect you back in the spring…that is, if you can tear yourself
away from your mom’s home cooked meals, and being waited on hand and foot.”

           
Steve gave a short laugh of derision. “It’s been over five years since I spent
more than a few days in that town. Since Dad died, she has her committees and
clubs…I’m never sure if she’s more pleased when I arrive or when I finally
leave!”

           
Pete gave a strange wistful smile. “I was there when Reverend Graham called her
to let her know about the accident.  She can’t wait for you to get
home.  Family is a gift, Steve. You’ve wasted that gift for far too long.”

           
Steve studied the bleak look on Pete’s face, and frowned.  “Don’t you have
any family, Pete?  I thought that you grew up near here?”

           
Pete shrugged and sighed in resignation.  “I pretty much lost them when I
was fourteen.”

           
Steve frowned in confusion. “But…I thought, I mean, you’ve always spoken of
them as if they were still alive…?” Steve stumbled over the words, suddenly
afraid he would offend Pete.

           
“Yeah, they are,” he replied dully. “But my mother no longer acknowledges
me.  I haven’t been ‘home’ in over ten years.”

           
Disbelief and confusion spread over Steve’s face.  What was there not to
love about Pete? Tall and steady, even-tempered, hard working, reliable and a
Godly man, who was always willing to help someone out…what mother wouldn’t pray
for her son to have all those virtuous qualities? But the empty look in Pete’s
eyes when he spoke of his mother confirmed the truth of his words.

           
“I’m sorry….” Steve’s voice trailed off. He had no idea what to say in response
to Pete’s statement.

           
Pete gave Steve a half smile.  “It’s all right, really. For what I did, I
deserved what happened, and most of the time, I’m at peace with it.  It’s
just…when I heard the concern in your mother’s voice, how worried she was, it
does still make me wish it all could have been different for me.”

           
Steve shook his head. “Pete, it’s your own business, but, well, I’ve always
been jealous of you! You’re every mother’s dream child!”

           
“Nightmare,” Pete corrected him.  He stared off into space for a moment
and took a deep breath before he spoke again. 

           
“When I was fourteen, I shot and killed my little brother.” Pete paused again,
as if gathering courage to continue. Steve waited in shocked silence. 

           
“It was the first day of the hunting season,” he continued at last.  “I’d
gotten my first new gun for my birthday, and I could hardly wait to go hunting.
I’d taken the gun safety course and I’d been out the year before with my dad,
and I was so ready to prove myself. Best of all, I knew about this six pronged
buck that lived not too far from the house, and I knew I was going to get him.
I could just picture my dad’s face when he got home from work, and I was there
in the yard with my first kill!” Pete shook his head sadly, remembering that
October day, then he continued with his story.