by Angela Scott
My hands shot out in front of me, grasping desperately at the air. Blood thrummed behind my eyes and my knees weakened. Desperate, I reached for my pocketknife. Get the knife! Get the freaking knife! I was willing to cut the rope away to save the person under the tree, and now, I was willing to do whatever it took to save myself.
The rope lay right across the top of the opening to my pocket. Through the outside of my pants, I could feel the outline of the knife, it was right there, but I had no way to access it. You’ve got to be kidding me!
Wind whipped Dale’s frame around, tangling him in the rope. Although it kept him from flying off, pin pricks ran up my legs. My toes grew numb and my head light. Just let me pass out, please!
Dad yelled at Dale, but the wind carried away the sound of his voice. “Let go!” He mouthed.
Dale, whether he heard it or not, clung to the rope with every bit of strength he had. His feet flapped around in the wind. Desperation wrinkled his face. Dirt and debris whipped his body. His struggle was real, no doubt, but I hated him. Oh, how I hated him! Of course, I couldn’t blame him — I’d been in his situation only moments before — but in his attempt to save his life, it felt like he was taking mine.
Each time the wind gripped Dale’s body, tossing and turning him, I squeezed my eyes tight against the pain of the rope searing through my stomach. I grit my teeth so hard I could swear I just might grind them into dust. Please, let go. Please, let go.
Just because I didn’t blame him didn’t mean I wanted him to hang on. It was his life or mine.
The wind whipped him and the rope around, but Dale got his feet under him. He seemed to move closer in my direction. What is he doing? Isn’t it bad enough he has our rope? Now he wants my tree, too?
Maybe we could both fit behind my tree, maybe, but his method of trying needed work.
Ahhhhhhh … no more, no more!
The rope ripped through both my jacket and shirt. It rubbed against the bare skin of my belly, tearing into my tender flesh. I shut my eyes so tightly I feared my head might explode. I really hate you, Dale!
Why couldn’t he just die already! Let go, you fat bastard!
The pressure of the rope against my body lessened a little, just enough to provide a small sense of relief. I opened my eyes, hoping to see he’d let go.
Dale’s body slammed against mine, his hands gripping the rope at either side of my waist, holding on.
What the—?
Between the ropes and Dale pressed against me, my cat had to be a pancake, but I couldn’t even think of her.
His weight pushed into me further, trying to get out of the wind’s direct path. He pressed his mouth against my ear. “You!”
If words had preceded it or came after, I didn’t hear them. His hot, angry breath left me knowing we weren’t in this together. If there had been a sliver of a chance I was wrong, his tugging on my ropes, loosening them, crushed it.
I slapped at his hands.
My small efforts didn’t impede him at all. I clawed at him, digging my nails through his sensitive skin. Still nothing. His determination to remove my ropes seemed to outweigh any pain I inflicted on him.
I tried to bring my knee up, hit him in every man’s weakness, but he must have perceived my move and shoved his lower half against my lower half, immobilizing me. His eyes bore into mine as if daring me to try something else.
Stand there and do nothing? Who did he think I was? Of course, I was going to do something else! He was undoing my rope, damn it!
I flung my hands at his face and dug fingertips into his cheeks and forehead, putting all my weight into it. If I could push him off, just enough, the wind would grab him and carry him away. It was either him or me. He gave his head one quick, violent shake, dislodging my hands as if I was nothing more than a toddler.
My nail imprints on his face glowed red. A few had even produced blood. I smiled, knowing I had hurt him.
I went for his face again, but with our heads only inches apart, he drew his head backwards. Before I could shield myself, he rammed his forehead into mine. The back of my head slammed against the bark of the tree. Black dots skipped across my vision. A thundering pain danced around inside my skull. Blood trickled down the front and back of my head, dripping into one of my eyes and soaking the back of my shirt. Holy sh—!
Without the rope around my middle, I would’ve fallen to the ground. Maybe even passed out, but instead, I vomited.
All over myself. All over him.
It didn’t faze him. He didn’t even bother wiping his face. He tore at my ropes as if I hadn’t thrown up at all. Chunks of my MRE clung to the front of his shirt and beard for a moment before the wind took hold of the pieces and whisked them away.
My head seemed to whirl on my shoulders. My stomach threatened to explode again. My legs barely kept me upright, but I wedged a trembling hand between the loosened rope and into the pocket of my pants—the pocket. With fumbling fingers, I pulled out the small Swiss Army knife.
I flicked open the blade but could barely lift my arm. I wasn’t sure I even had the strength to lift it at all. I took a deep breath and swung it upward, trying to connect my tiny blade with anything — his thigh, his stomach, his arm, whatever I could reach with what little strength I had left.
It didn’t matter what I hit, if the blade hit something.
He grabbed my wrist, glanced at my worthless weapon, and smiled. With his body pressed tightly against mine and one of his hands clinging to the rope at my side, his hand with the blade slipped out of sight. No, no, no! This was not how this was supposed to go!
I closed my eyes, anticipating the pain of the blade piercing my flesh. I readied myself for it.
The pain never came.
I opened my eyes in time to see him slip the knife under one loop around my waist and flick the blade upward. The simple blade couldn’t slice through it. Not on the first go. Two more swipes and one loop of rope fell away.
“Don’t do this!” I couldn’t kill him. Hell, I could hardly hurt him! I had nothing left. My only option left was to plead, to wear him down or get him to come to his senses.
“Please!”
Before, his heated gaze could’ve bore a hole through my skull. Now, he wouldn’t look at me.
I leaned my face close to his. “Why are you doing this?”
The tiny knife slipped beneath another loop of rope and sliced. He placed his mouth against my ear again, and I barely made out the words. “Because I have to!”
The second loop frayed and broke away. The length of rope that connected me to Dad and Toby recoiled, flying toward them, like a measuring tape winding back up.
I reached behind me and tried to lock my hands around the giant base of the tree. This is really happening! The remaining piece of rope fell to my feet. Oh, my God!
The only thing keeping me in place was Dale.
“Please!”
He gave a quick and simple shake of the head. His large hands grabbed mine, trying to pry them away.
“Don’t do this! Please, you don’t have to do this!”
I dug my fingertips into the bark, planted my feet in the ground, and turned my head sideways. Dad and Toby watched my struggle with their own sense of panic on their faces. Dad had the uncoiled length of rope in his hands. He struggled his way to me as he wrapped it around his waist.
The wind pushed him back, making it impossible to maneuver from their tree to mine. In the few minutes we’d been battling, the wind became monstrous and impossible.
“No!” I yelled at him, knowing he couldn’t hear me. I shook my head, tears barely hitting my cheeks before the wind carted them off.
Don’t do it! Don’t try! Please. Don’t.
There was no point in him coming for me. He’d only end up killing himself in his effort, and that was the last thing I wanted. “No,” I whispered, catching his eye. “No.”
Dad shook his head and gripped the rope tighter. He dug his feet into the dirt and attempted to cra
wl toward me. The wind forced him back, toppling him onto his side, obliterating any progress. He’d never make it to me anyway — the rope, now broken, was too short to reach me. I knew it. He knew it, too.
Still, he tried again. My dad.
My dad.
I continued to shake my head as I mouthed, “I love you.”
Dad’s eyes widened, and his mouth formed the word “No!” I couldn’t hear it.
Like slow motion, Dale ripped my hands from the tree. He turned me just as Dad had done before. Only this time, Dale turned me into the wind’s path.
And though he’d expected the wind to whisk me away when he’d given me a forceful push, the horrified look on his face led me to believe he hadn’t planned on it doing the same to him.
We flew backwards together. He held onto my arm, gripping my wrist with both hands as if I might somehow save him.
For a moment, flying into the unknown didn’t seem so bad. Earth particles of every shape and size pricked my face and stung my body, either ricocheting off me or embedding themselves into my exposed skin. Trees whizzed by in my peripherals. In the hazy swarm of things, I’d never felt lighter.
I also felt no pain.
We flew a foot or two above the ground, the brush and mountain growth whipping our bellies and slashing our arms and legs. I tried to reach out and grab onto something, anything, but all I managed to do was strip branches of their leaves or pull bushes from the ground.
I couldn’t see behind me, and maybe that was a good thing. When Dale’s body slammed into the base of a massive tree, like a fly against a windshield, and his grip fell away from my wrist, I shut my eyes and decided I didn’t want to know.
Chapter 9
Silence.
Nothing but the sounds of my breathing.
I lay face down, my eyes closed, my arms sprawled at either side of me, and my cheek pressed to the cold hard ground. I didn’t dare move. My brain and body hadn’t caught up with one another to realize my stint through the air had stopped. I felt as if I were still flying.
I was alive, but I wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or not.
Dizzy and nauseous, I bent the fingers of my left hand a little at a time, sliding them through the dirt and thick mountain grass. Each finger moved as it should. I did the same with the other hand. With both hands seemingly in decent shape, I attempted to push upward. A sharp pain pierced my chest, like electric heated claws dragging across my belly, around my side and down my spine. I collapsed on the ground.
I was alive, all right. Painfully alive.
I blinked one eye, taking in the blueness of the sky above me and the warmth of the sun on my face. No wind. Not even a breeze. No tree branches blocked my view, which seemed odd, but not odd enough to make me attempt getting up again. I lay there, listening to my breathing and the faint sounds of a trickling stream nearby.
It was almost peaceful, except my entire body ached with each breath I took. If I could’ve held my breath forever, I think I would’ve. I was pretty sure I’d broken all my bones and had become nothing but a giant pile of gelatinous glop — a conscious, painful pile of goo... with working fingers.
Grit coated my tongue and ground against my teeth. I ran my tongue over my lips and instantly regretted it. I only succeeded in dragging more dirt into my dry mouth.
The sounds of the water trickling over rocks grew louder, or maybe my thirst made it seem that way, only I had no plans to move at all. Not now. Maybe not ever. Moving hurt. As thirsty as I was, pain and fear of feeling more of it won out.
I’ll just lie here a little longer.
I closed my eyes and decided to wait for death. Either the pain of my broken body would kill me, or I’d die from thirst. It didn’t matter really, as long as it came quickly.
Meow.
My backpack wiggled, and both of my eyes opened.
Meow!
Callie’s protests grew more insistent as she clawed at the fabric of the bag.
I should’ve been thrilled my cat had somehow miraculously survived, and I was … sort of. Her being alive and not being happy about being trapped in a bag meant I had to move my bruised and broken body to let her out. Moving my body was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Okay.” I closed my eyes, gathering courage, and then opened them again. “Give me a second. “
I wanted more than a second, but she screeched and hissed, desperate to get out as she zipped around inside my bag looking for escape. Her weight shifted from my lower back to my neck to my lower back again. I cringed with each little kitty step she took.
“Okay,” I said again, trying to encourage myself to move. “I can do this.”
I managed to get my shaky arms beneath myself. Despite the pain that shot across my chest and radiated in my head, I bit my lip and pushed upward until I rested on my knees. My head swam on my shoulders. The ground seemed to raise and lower like a tiny rollercoaster. I wanted to fall forward, giving in, but I knew if I did, I most likely wouldn’t get up again.
I didn’t mind the idea. Not at all. I’d already accepted death as my fate. Thinking of Callie, who’d been through so much, dying in my backpack because I couldn’t fight through my pain enough to let her out, didn’t seem fair to her.
You can do this, Tess. Your crazy cat needs you.
I struggled with shaky fingers to undo the buckles of the backpack. Callie hissed and screamed in my ear. Once undone, the entire bag slipped from my shoulders and hit the ground with a thump.
Callie’s cries took on a different higher pitch than I’d ever heard before.
“What? What? Are you okay? Callie?” I shifted slowly on my knees, doing my best to forget my pain and threats of vertigo. Was she hurt? Was she broken, too? Had I hurt her worse by dropping the backpack? “I’m getting you out of there. I’m hurrying.”
At least I thought I was hurrying. I moved more like a turtle, but that was more than I thought I could do only moments before. Any movement was a miracle.
I zipped open my pack, not even thinking to grab hold of her leash, and she shot out of there like a greyhound after a rabbit. She stopped a few yards away from me, turned, and arched her back. A giant hiss pressed through her lips, longer than any hiss I think I’d ever experienced from her before.
She was one pissed off cat.
“I’m so sorry. That totally sucked, didn’t it?” I held one hand out to her while pressing the other against my painful chest.
She took a few steps backward, not trusting me, and hissed again.
I lowered my hand. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to come any closer. The last time she trusted me, she ended up going on a wicked and crazy ride inside a dark backpack.
“Well, at least you look like you’re doing okay.” Her legs worked. She could arch her back, so no paralyzed kitty. Her vocal cords worked at optimum capacity, as she continued to demonstrate.
If she chose to take off, I couldn’t do a thing to stop her. Not in my current condition. I doubted I could even get to my feet. But looking at her anger and pissiness, I had no doubt she could take on the mountain and dominate it. All animals, if any existed, be damned.
“I love you, but if you want to be free of me, I completely understand. No hard feelings.” I truly meant it. I’d let her out of the backpack. I’d done my part. The rest was up to her.
Callie shifted her arched body, circling one direction, and then reversing and circling in the other. She stopped, glared at me one final time before plopping down and proceeding to groom herself. She licked her paw for a few seconds and then took a moment to shoot me a glare and another hiss before grooming herself again.
Well, then.
With her somewhat content for the moment, I surveyed my own damage. I hadn’t fallen over yet and figured I might as well.
Dried blood from my forehead gathered at the corner of my right eye, from where Dale hit me. It caused my upper and lower eyelashes to stick together. I could hardly blink that eye. My mouth tasted lik
e sandpaper, and grit and grime stuck to the spaces between my teeth. My chest hurt with each breath. My head swirled, but I was sitting up, something I didn’t think I could do only a few minutes before.
Tears covered my shirt and jacket, having been caught on branches as I flew past trees and bushes. A long gash ran from the back of my wrist to my elbow, not deep enough to need stitches — thank goodness — but bloody enough to need further attention. My jeans ripped in several places. A patch of fabric above my left knee had turned dark red. I’d need to look at that, too, but the dizziness of my head and my difficulty in breathing had me most concerned. It appeared I wasn’t a pile of gelatin after all.
But that didn’t mean I knew what to do with what was left of me.
I dragged the backpack close to find the first aid kit, but I froze before placing my hand inside. What the—?
I whipped my head around instinctively, but the first turn of my head nearly toppled me over. I grabbed my head, waiting until the pounding subsided and the earth stopped spinning.
Slowly, very slowly this time, I took in my surroundings.
What in the world was going on? Where were the trees? Where were the freaking trees?
I sat back on the heels of my feet and released a long, slow breath.
The grandness of the open field that encircled me was more than overwhelming. It spread evenly in every direction for hundreds of yards, with me at its center. Only a thin stream cut through the field, dividing it in half, but not one tree in sight for at least a mile.
The tall blades of wild grass brushed against my body as I gently shifted on my knees. The grass stood upright everywhere around me. It almost reminded me of crop circles in a cornfield, except there weren’t any circles, no creative path that placed me in that exact spot. Just my cat and me, literally dropped from above.
And what scared me worse than being dropped in the middle of the field, or the fact that I didn’t recognize it, was that I had no idea which direction I’d come from. I’d have to deal with that later, if I managed to have a later.