“There’s a foothold to your left!” Noah instructed, his voice urgent and patient as the moose began her second charge. This one didn’t look like a practice run.
“Noah, I can’t ...”
“Remember the climbing wall? The tree with the osprey? Same exact thing!”
The memory of the Adventure Center’s practice wall flashed through my mind, then Noah’s patient instructions at the lake, the triumph when I’d finally cut the osprey free from the fishing line.
“Put your hand in that crevice,” Noah called down. “Just like we practiced.”
The moose closed in, but instead of freezing, I forced myattention to the rock face. There! A small ledge just within reach. I stretched my fingers to grip it.
“That’s it,” said Noah. “Now, get your foot on that outcropping to your right.”
I pressed my good foot against the small jut of rock, testing it before putting my weight on it. The moose closed the final few yards between us. I could smell her wild musk, feel the ground trembling beneath her hooves.
“CLIMB!”
I pushed upward with my good leg, pulling with my arms just as the moose barreled through the space where I’d been standing. Her massive body swiped the rock face inches below my dangling foot.
The rope went taut, not jerking me up but supporting my weight as I found the next handhold. My injured ankle screamed in protest, but I gritted my teeth and kept moving.
“Don’t look down, just keep going!”
While I was climbing, Noah was pulling. With his legs still braced against the floor of the ledge, the only leverage he had was from his arms. His biceps bulged so swollen they looked like they would pop.
Below, the moose passed under me, stuttering to a halt, hooves kicking up a cloud of dust. She turned to make another run.
“There’s a handhold at your two o’clock,” Noah called.
I reached for it, fingers closing around the rough stone.
“That’s it, you got this!”
Except … I didn’t.
My foot slipped, sending a shower of rock fragments tumbling down the cliff.
“Sam!”
Without my leg to support me, my body dropped, fingers wrapped around the rope, coarse fiberscutting into my palm.
“Hold on!”
But I couldn’t. A muscle in my shoulder felt like it tore in half, my rope hand on fire. Above me, Noah sprang into action, moving toward me, arm extended to grab my hand.
“Sam, grab my hand!”
I tried. Our fingers were just inches apart.
Inches too far apart.
The rope slipped from my sweat-slicked grip.
The cliff face raced skyward in a blur.
WHAM!
I hit the ground hard; the breath knocked right out of me, busted ankle screaming. Luckily, I’d only scaled part of the way up, so it could have been worse. And for once, getting tangled up in a climbing rope actually helped me, slowing my descent.
