"Three, Jenna." Secured by a rope, he's got two hands free, one holding me while the other stretches towards her. "Katya, move your right foot up about six inches. That should hold you."
I'll never understand how he can sound so calm when I'm two seconds from plunging to my death. There are tears on my face, and I want to break down and sob. His steadiness helps me, and I shift my foot until it finds the rock jutting from the side of the ravine.
Jenna glances at me fearfully before shakily pushing herself up and reaching out to Captain Mathis. He grabs her. With my other hand free, I rebalance myself and tug my arm out of his grip. When I'm stable, I watch him quickly and expertly secure the rope around her in a way that she can't possible fall out of it.
"Petr!" He calls when he's done. "Sixty five pounds."
"Got it!"
Seconds later, Jenna starts upward slowly.
As soon as she leaves his arms, Captain Mathis motions to me. My muscles are burning and I force them to cooperate. He takes my wrist again and pulls me upward with strength I know he possesses but which surprises me nonetheless. It takes a minute or two before he can reach me well enough for his arm to circle my midsection and draw me against him. I find a sturdy branch for my feet and he leans into me, pressing me between his warm body and the cold, muddy wall.
"You okay?" he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
"Sorta." I'm shaking from exertion and cold.
He wraps his other arm around me. "Relax for a minute."
I think you mean - go ahead and collapse. I keep my trap closed and listen to him, comfortable in his arms once more. My muscles are burning.
"I've got you, Katya," he says in the gentle tone he used last night. "Catch your breath then we'll move."
"Did I mention that I hate camping?" I mumble.
"You're doing fine, Katya."
I close my eyes. "I'm so sorry. If I was better at this shit or if I bothered to look before she walked off, maybe -"
"Focus on your breathing, Katya. Let's get through this first."
"You may be invincible, but I'm not!"
"Not the time or place," he says. The cold bastard has the balls to be amused, like we're not dangling off the side of a ravine. "Though if you feel like talking, how about telling me about Harris and that bruise on your cheek."
"Talk about not the time or place!" I saw the look on his face earlier. It scared the hell out of me. I'm pissed at Harris, but I don't want his neck snapped.