Ammon ignored him as he jerked again, suspending all of his weight. The rope seemed to hold firm, and Luke huffed impatiently.
“All right,” Ammon finally said. “It seems to be okay.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Luke answered. “Now what about the overhang?”
Ammon looked up. “It’s going to be even harder than it looks,” he answered, lifting his arm and pointing as he talked. “There, you see that?” He motioned toward the leading edge of the overhang. “That crevasse you’re counting on to provide a handhold, it looks to be only a few inches wide, just enough to get your hand in and get a good grip. But it’s a lot wider than that, Luke, I’d say five inches or so, and it slopes downward much more than it looks like from here. You’re not going to be able to use it for a handhold like you thought.”
Luke studied the small fissure and said, “But it’s got a pretty good lip there that I could hold onto.”
Ammon nodded. “You could try. That’s all I can say. But listen, Luke, why can’t we just move down the rock fifteen feet or so?” Ammon pointed to his right. “It’s got better handholds, it’s even, and we wouldn’t have to mess around with that overhang, which is just going to make you fall.”
“So what if I fall? That’s what the safety rope is for.”
Ammon flipped the climbing rope in his hand, 150 feet of interwoven nylon and cotton. Designed to stretch under pressure, it was a good rope, and expensive, and had saved both of their lives literally dozens of times. He pulled on the rope as he stared at the wall. “One more thing,” he continued, still hoping to talk Luke out of trying the climb, “because the rope has to extend over the edge, it will hang away from the wall. That’s going to make it harder for me to keep a proper tension on it. No big deal—I can handle that—but if you lose your grip and fall, the ledge will leave you dangling five or six feet away from the wall. Which means you’ll have to trust me to lower you to the ground.”
“I don’t know, Ammon. It won’t be any harder than you rappelling down.”
Ammon hesitated. “I just think it’s a waste of time to try to climb over that ledge,” he concluded. “You can’t do it, Luke. No offense, buddy, but no one can pull themselves over the top of that ledge. So I’ll sit here for an hour and watch you try, then you’ll be exhausted and come down, and that will be it.”
“But you’ll hang with me, right? You’ll give me a chance?”
Ammon watched his brother. “You’re not going to pull a Sam on me, are you? Because both of us know what Sam would do. He’d hang on the wall and keep trying to pull himself over that ledge until he either starved to death or we pulled him down. He wouldn’t give up as long as he had any strength. He would literally fall from exhaustion before he would quit. Now, you’re not going to do that, are you? Because I really have to get to my lab this afternoon. If I’m going to be here all day holding the safety rope for you, then tell me now so I can go and buy me some lunch and a couple of sodas before you get on the wall.”
Luke smiled. “I’ll give it a reasonable try,” he said. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll admit defeat and rappel down the wall, and we’ll try somewhere else.”
“I’m serious, Luke. I’m not going to stay here all day,” Ammon warned. “I’ll tie the rope to a tree and leave you if you drag this thing on.”
“Got it,” Luke answered.
Ammon nodded, checked his harness, then flipped the rope, moving it a couple of feet to his right in order to position it to the place where Luke wanted to climb.
* * *
As Ammon released his weight and flipped the rope, the bolt he had driven into the rock reseated itself and cocked again to the side. Microscopic fractures formed through the rock, spreading away from the bolt like a tiny spiderweb, weakening the stone where the bolt had been set.
* * *
Luke moved to the base of the fifty-foot sandstone wall. Ammon stood behind him, the safety rope secured to his harness. The rope ran over the top of the wall, through the carabineer he had secured in the crack on the top, then back down the wall to Luke, who had tied the other end to his climbing harness. Luke glanced behind him. “Belay on?” he asked.
Ammon flipped the rope to make certain it curled on the small carpet he had laid out behind him, then pulled out the last of the slack. “On belay,” he answered.
Luke moved to the wall. “Climbing,” he said.
“Climb on,” Ammon replied.
Luke stretched his hands over the rock, feeling for the tiny crevasses and finger holds that a nonclimber would have never seen. His gum-soled shoes were like fly paper, giving him an extraordinary sense of security against the rock. He stretched, reaching over his head, and pulled himself up, using his feet and legs to support his weight as much as he could to help save his upper body strength for the ledge overhead. As he climbed, he was extraordinarily aware of his body and used every part: his knees, his elbows, his fingers and palms; he even forced his chest muscles against the rock in order to evenly distribute his weight. He easily climbed the first fifteen feet, using tiny protrusions as handholds and forcing his feet into thin cracks. Halfway up the rock, the wall became suddenly smooth, and he had to hang on a tiny ledge while he searched for the next handhold. Stretching over his head, he felt for a crack that he could hold on to.
Ammon watched from the ground, all the time looking up. He kept the rope tight enough to immediately break Luke’s fall, but not so tight as to interfere with him or let it get in his way. He watched his brother search in vain for a handhold, then called up, “Luke, there’s a place to put your foot a couple of feet to your right.”
Luke turned his head. He stretched out his leg and tried a place or two, but couldn’t find anything that would support his weight.
“Higher up,” Ammon shouted. “Get your right foot on that tiny ledge right beside you.”
Luke stopped and stared down at his brother. “Oh, you must mean this ledge here by my ear!” he shouted sarcastically.
“Come on! It’s not that high. You can do it, buddy, if you get your knees high enough . . .”
“I’m not a contortionist, Ammon. How many people could lift their feet to their chest!”
“You’re exaggerating, Luke. Now come on, you can do it!”
Luke stared at the tiny ledge by his waist, hesitating. He lifted his leg a time or two, measuring the height, but his other foot almost slipped. He stared down at Ammon. “Would you like to come and demonstrate?” he called back.
Ammon started to answer, but Luke ignored him. After several more minutes of searching, he descended the rock a couple of feet, moved two arm lengths to his right, then started climbing again. There was a better route there, with handholds enough for him to sink his fingers onto. Fifteen minutes later he had climbed to the ledge.
“How you feeling?” Ammon asked as Luke studied the overhang directly over his head.
Luke took a free hand and wiped quickly at his brow. “A little tired,” he called back. “That wore me out, getting stuck halfway up. And it took a lot longer to get here than I thought it would.”
Ammon glanced at his watch. Luke had been on the rock for almost thirty minutes. He knew Luke had to be exhausted. A less experienced climber would have fallen a dozen times by now. A beginner wouldn’t have made it ten feet up the wall. But Luke was just beginning. The most difficult part of the climb was directly over his head.
Luke craned his neck back as he held to the rock with his fingers, his feet turned sideways to fit on a one-inch crack in the rock. The rock jutted outward at a sixty-degree angle, extending above and behind him for five feet or so. His hands trembled, and his calves were beginning to cramp from the constant strain of holding his weight on his toes. He had to move quickly or he wouldn’t have any strength left to pull himself over the ledge.
He searched in frustration, sweat pouring down his cheeks and under his arms.
* * *
Lucifer stood in the air beside him. “You can do it!” h
e whispered into the exhausted man’s ear. “Ammon doesn’t think you’re strong enough, but you know that you are! Samuel could do it. Is he that much stronger than you?”
Luke passed a weary hand over his eyes as he thought.
“Sam has always been stronger,” Lucifer hissed bitterly. “He’s better at everything! But you know you can do this. Now prove that you can.”
The young mortal looked down. His brother stared up. He clenched the fingers on his left hand against the tiny cracks in the wall, then leaned backward so far he thought he would fall. He clung there, suspended, barely hanging on the cliff. He moved his hand across the overhang, feeling for the crack they had identified from the ground, searching for anything he could sink his fingers into. His shoulders ached, his arms trembled, and his neck muscles cramped.
“Luke,” Ammon warned. “Be careful up there.”
“I’m okay,” he shouted.
Luke moved a few inches away from the wall and the safety rope went slack. “You got me?” Luke called as he glanced down.
“I got you!” Ammon answered as he braced himself, planting his feet and leaning back, anticipating Luke’s fall.
Luke gathered his strength and reached back again. He stood on his toes, and his leg muscles cramped. He stretched out his fingers and lifted one leg, but he . . . couldn’t . . . quite . . . reach . . . it! He huffed in exhaustion, then shifted his weight to his left foot and lifted up on his toes, clawing over his head and behind him. He could see the crack, but it was two inches too far.
* * *
“Jump!” the Deceiver told him. “Let go of the wall. You can do it, Luke! You won’t get hurt if you fall!”
* * *
Luke stretched out again, almost at the end of his strength. He extended his fingers. Just . . . a . . . few . . . inches . . . to . . . go! He shook his head and looked down, relieving the cramps in his neck, then gathered his strength and repositioned himself on a tiny ledge on the cliff.
“You got me, right?” he called down to Ammon.
Ammon looked a little worried. “Come on, Luke,” he answered. “Let’s call it quits.”
Luke shook his head. Not when he was so close!
He looked back and stretched a final time for the handhold he had been reaching for. It was simply too far. It was jump or climb down.
He made his decision and swallowed hard.
He braced himself against the wall as he gathered his strength, then leapt for the rock while twisting in midair, extending both hands, stretching them over his head.
He grasped the crack with his right hand, but only with the tips of his fingers. There he hung, suspended, his feet swinging wildly through the air. He grasped with his other hand, forcing it against the crack in the wall, scratching and pawing for something to grab.
Ammon braced himself, waiting to absorb the weight of his fall.
Luke almost screamed from the pressure on his arm. The adrenaline shot through him, and he clawed like an animal with his free hand. As he pawed at the rock, tiny pieces of sandstone and dust tumbled into his eyes. Hanging by one hand, he scratched with the other, then felt a tiny crack in the rock. Stretching, he grabbed it with all the strength he had left.
He caught his breath as he hung there, four stories above the ground, then moved his right hand for a better handhold. He pulled himself upward and moved his left hand. Inch by inch, hand by hand, he moved upward toward the tip of the ledge. Another foot . . . another handhold, he moved across the overhang.
His arms ached. It was agony. He could hardly breathe. His fingers trembled with exhaustion, and his shoulders knotted in pain.
He didn’t think he could make it. He couldn’t hold on anymore. It took everything he had just to hang on to the rock. He was growing light-headed; his entire body was shaking, and his arms cramped in pain.
Just a few inches more. But he did not have the strength.
He wasn’t going to make it. It was time to let go. He had tried; he had failed. Now his body was done.
He huffed in disappointment, then reached for the safety rope, snatching it desperately while hanging by one arm.
The rope fell through his fingers, slipping over the overhang and onto the rocky ground. The carabineer was still attached to the climbing bolt, and both clinked when they landed on the rocks below.
* * *
Ammon saw the rope fall and almost threw up on himself. The bolt had broken free from the crevasse. It couldn’t be true! His mind flashed in white lightning and he rushed to the wall. He legs turned to jelly, and his gut crunched in a sick knot of dark fear.
He glanced up at his brother, who hung from the edge by his arms. “Oh God!” he frantically whispered. “Please, don’t let him fall!”
He dived on the rope in a panic, as if it could help him now. He laced it through his fingers, finding the bolt. The carabineer was still attached, and he grimaced in pain, then stared at it blankly, an unbelieving look on his face. He turned for the trail and started to run, then pulled up and stopped. He did not have enough time. Luke could not hang on long enough for him to get to the top of the rock and secure the rope again.
He looked up in horror.
He did not want his brother to die!
Then the bitter truth hit him like a baseball bat in his chest. He exhaled in pain, almost doubling over with guilt. He clenched his teeth and looked up, his eyes wide in gut-wrenching fear.
He thought the bolt was safe. But he hadn’t been sure.
His brother might die. And it was his fault!
He looked up, his mouth gaping, his throat too tight to scream. “I will catch you, Luke!” he tried calling, but his voice only croaked.
* * *
Luke knew he was dead. He simply couldn’t hang on. He had drained all his energy, every ounce of his strength. His fingers were slipping, and his arms cramped in pain. He tried desperately to hang on, but there was nothing more he could do.
He felt his grip slipping, and he closed his eyes for the fall.
Time came to a stop, the world freezing in place. He heard his heart beat and felt each pull of breath in his chest. He thought clearly and precisely as his mind raced ahead.
He looked directly below him where Ammon was waiting in terror, his face sick and grim. It looked as if he was trying to call to him, but his voice didn’t come. His brother reached up as if waiting to catch him when he fell. The rope lay curled at his feet, glistening white in the sun.
Luke looked up to the overhang. He was so close. Just another few inches. But he simply did not have the strength. His fingers slipped again, and he held on by their very tips.
He listened to his heart beat. Thump! It slammed in his chest. Then he started praying. “Please, I do not want to die.”
“Then fight!” the Spirit said to him. “This is your choice!”
Luke almost looked around. Was someone else there? The voice was so clear, it was as if someone spoke in his ear. He blinked his eyes in confusion, at the same time feeling sudden strength in his arms.
“This is not your time,” the Spirit whispered. “You have more work to do. Now are you going to fight so I can help you, or are you going to let go?”
Luke didn’t hesitate. He tightened his grasp on the rock.
“Look to your right! There is a firm handhold there.”
Luke turned his head and saw a small protrusion in the rock he had not noticed before. How could he have missed it? Was it really there before? He reached out and grabbed it. It fit like a glove in his hand, and he curled his fingers around it, a perfect handhold. He felt a sudden rush of power and reached with his other hand. Another crack in the rock provided another handhold, and he moved slowly upward on the ledge. He reached the edge of the overhang, where he hung for a moment, still suspended, then started swinging his legs while pulling himself up with his arms. He got one knee up and clawed at the overhang with his feet while pulling up with his arms. His other foot brushed the rock, and he felt another rush of powe
r. He pulled one final time, and his feet caught the top of the ledge. With strength beyond his own, he heaved himself over the top, then collapsed in a heap of quivering flesh.
He couldn’t move his fingers. He couldn’t move his arms. He was so numb and exhausted he barely had the strength to breathe. His head dropped to the side and he saw the bloody scratches on his arm. His stomach turned to water, bitter and tart, and he rolled to his side and threw up a gush of clear fluid from the deepest part of his gut. Then he lay back, exhausted, barely able to think.
Then below him he heard his brother’s desperate sobs.
* * *
Ammon had fallen to his knees, then rolled to his side. He pulled his arms to his chest and held himself tight, while great tears of horror and relief rolled down his cheeks to his neck.
He had almost killed his brother. The whole thing was his fault. He shuddered again as his face went pale. A cold sweat drenched his face, his lips almost turning blue.
It was over. God had saved him. He had reached down from heaven and pulled Luke up and over the ledge. Ammon had watched it. There was no doubt in his mind. Someone had saved Luke, someone from above.
He stared at the rope that lay curled at his knees, then picked up the carabineer and felt sick again.
He sobbed with emotion, overcome with guilt and relief.
He had almost killed his brother. How could he have gone on if his brother had fallen? He had almost killed his brother! What was he going to do? Would he ever get over this moment? Would the dread ever pass?
He felt sick and alone. He thought he would throw up. And he knew in his heart he would never be the same man again.
* * *
A long moment passed. How long, Ammon didn’t know; it felt like only a few seconds, but it could have been much longer, before he finally pushed himself to his feet, picked up the rope, and ran up the trail to the top of the rock. Looking over the ledge, he saw Luke waiting there, leaning against the cliff, his arms hanging weakly at his sides. Ammon looked down at his brother for several heartbeats before Luke noticed he was there.
The Great and Terrible Page 32
