"If there's someone down there, one person alone can't get them up. Let's go."

She didn't move.

"It's what you're paid to do."

Dean turned away from the frightened woman and hurriedly tied one end of the line to the back bumper of his Jeep. He had no idea of the depth of the gorge or the length of the rope, but he prayed it was sufficient. He'd take it as far as it would go. "I'll go first. We'll back down, with you above me, so if you slip I'll be below you. Hold the rope in both hands." Lydia Larkin was silent, a look of sheer panic on her face. She slowly turned her back to him. He thought she'd walk away, but instead, she cautiously lifted the rope, turned further away from the precipice and took baby steps backwards toward him.

Dean continued to move, clutching the rope in a loop around his body while the unspent coil remained slung over his shoulder. He tried to hold the flashlight, but he needed both hands to secure the line. He hooked the light to his belt where it swung in an eerie arc, casting jumping shadows on the rock-strewn slope and yellow streaks into nothingness. His own flashlight was jammed in his pocket, pointing absurdly upward.

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The slope dropped at a precarious angle, impossible to maneuver unsecured, only a few degrees from the perpendicular. It was strewn with loose gravel and stone, with occasional clumps of hardy vegetation mixed with larger boulders. Dean could see nothing behind him, only the slope directly beneath his feet. He followed the gouged earth where the vehicle had ripped its path downward. Lydia pressed her body against him so tightly he could feel her quiver with each tiny step. He was supporting her entire weight in addition to his own.

Dean's lack of proficiency at mountain climbing left him to make do instead of utilizing a more effective and safer method of descent. His sole venture at the end of a rope was the prior winter in Ouray's ice climbing park, under even more tenuous circumstances. He tried to block that day from his mind as he played out the coiled rope from over his shoulder and moved backwards down the slope.

After the first several feet, the angle of the slope dropped more sharply and he was forced to move to his left to avoid falling. His hands ached and he tried tying a handkerchief to ease the pressure. The rough track he followed ceased to exist, as if the vehicle had become airborne in its terrible fall. Rocks kicked loose fell in silence until ricocheting and bouncing far below. Above them, the headlights of the two vehicles grew more distant, finally hidden from view by their angle of descent. The night was moonless and the dark covered them like a cloak the deeper they descended into the blackness of the gorge.




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