Solid Gold

by Stephanie Andrews

  “Over there,” I said, pointing to our left. “Let’s stick to the woods until we get to the base of the cliff and work our way over. Nobody will be able to see us.”

  “Unless there are cameras,” said El.

  “Thanks, Miss Sunshine. Maybe there are dobermans as well.”

  Park shivered. “You win.”

  We abandoned the path and bushwhacked our way through the woods to the base of the cliff, then turned and walked along it until we were straight below the building.

  “Keep going,” I said, when Park stopped and looked up. I pointed about fifty yards past where we were standing, where it looked like there was a ledge leading diagonally up the cliff toward where we wanted to be. We went to it, and found the outcropping wide enough to walk on, if we were cautious.

  “Be careful,” I whispered to Park as we started up.

  “Careful is my m—”

  “Oh, shut up,” I hissed.

  She took the lead and we proceeded up the side of the cliff until the ridge petered out about half way up. Still, the cliff face was very choppy and uneven, and Park, who was in the lead, managed another fifteen feet until she finally stopped. She turned carefully to look back at me with a worried face. I stepped back a few feet to where we had passed a spot that was a bit wider, with one big flat rock jutting out further than the others. I motioned to Park to join me.

  “I’m not sure I can go any further,” she whispered. “I don’t have as much rock-climbing experience as you.”

  That was true, but it was also true that most of my climbing had been done inside, on climbing walls, where there was no wind, and a rock wasn’t likely to slide out from under you when you put your weight on it.

  I pulled out my phone to check the time, turning to face the sheer wall so that I could look at it out of the glare of the sun. I should have worn a watch, but who ever wears a watch anymore? Cosmo, I guess, now that I thought about it. It was 11:48 a.m., we were running out of time. I turned back toward Park, bumping in to her. Without my realizing it, she had leaned close to look over my shoulder at the phone. She yelped, and I grabbed for her arm to steady her, my phone slipping from my disabled left hand and skittering down the rocks, smashing on the ground thirty feet below.

  Crap. I was less worried about the noise than I was about the death of the phone. There was no calling it off now. We had to get up there, right away.

  “Sorry,” whispered Park. I eased the pack off my back and set it between us. Rummaging through it, I pulled out the telescoping baton and attached it to my belt with the little snap strap it had on the handle. I found the brass knuckles and slid them into my pocket next to the USB thingy that Marty had given me, handing El a bottle of water as I did. She too a drink and then passed it back to me. The cool liquid felt good going down my throat, and a wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. I hadn’t realized how much I had begun to sweat. I handed Park a sheathed knife that I found in the bag, and she undid her belt and slid it on.

  Next from the back I pulled a mass of straps and handed it to Park. “Put this on,” I whispered, and began pulling out the mass of climbing rope from the bottom of the bag. This, at least, had been properly coiled and tied off. I took one end and tied it through the front ring of Park’s harness while she was still trying to get her legs through the proper openings. As she stood on one leg, trying to step into the correct hole, I grabbed her shoulder so she didn’t teeter off the edge.

  “Do not fall off,” I whispered sternly. I tied the other end of the rope around my waist and started up the cliff face. Handholds were plentiful, but I had never freeclimbed before, and the idea that any mistake would result in my instant death was sobering, to say the least.

  I wanted to look down to see how Park was doing, but I didn’t want to look down. Twenty feet above me, the beams that supported the wooden deck protruded at forty-five-degree angles from holes blasted in the rock and then filled with cement. Once I got there, it would be easy to climb up the rest of the way.

  I had a sudden image flash through my head of rock climbing in movies, and how there’s always a moment when a bird unexpectedly bursts fluttering from a crack in the rock and almost scares the hero into falling. I became fixated on the idea, sure that each handhold was going to erupt into chaos. Sweat started to pour down my back.

  It was one of those times when I wished I was better at controlling my fears, my temper, my breathing. Sweat got into my right eye and stung, I had no free hand to wipe it away.

  But I kept going, one foothold to the next, arms reaching and hands testing each grip before I transferred my weight. In the last six feet the climb became more difficult as the wall sloped outward, causing gravity to pull at me as I made my way the last few feet. With a final lunge, I grabbed the closest support beam, and soon I was underneath the overhanging deck. It may have been ten minutes, but it had felt like hours. I swung myself up and straddled one of the six-inch beams, a leg on either side and my back to the stone wall, which was welcoming and cool in the shade.

  I leaned over and chanced a look down toward El, who gave me a smile and a big thumbs-up. I waved back down and was just wondering how we were doing for time, when a giant explosion rocked the mountain. With a yelp of surprise, I lost my balance and toppled off the support beam and into infinity.

  Thirty-two

  I was falling, eyes closed, when the rope around my waist jerked me to a stop. A tight pain seared across my back and hips like I had been hit with a bullwhip, and I started falling more slowly, and then two arms wrapped themselves around me and I stopped moving altogether..

  I opened my eyes to find myself looking at El’s knees. I could feel her arms wrapped around my thighs. A quick look down confirmed that I was suspended upside down about fifteen feet from our little starting ledge, about forty-five feet from the ground.

  I was too confused to throw up. Craning my neck to the side I looked up past our bodies to where the rope went, from Park’s harness up and over the beam, and then back down to my waist, where it was doing its best to cut me in half. I had been lucky, and fallen over the far side of the beam, turning it into a pully that had yanked Park straight into the air. I only outweighed her by about twenty-five pounds, so her rise and my fall had been slower than gravity, but still plenty fast for my taste. The outward slope of the cliff wall at the top had mercifully kept us from banging and scraping against the rock face.

  I had a sudden image of the climbing rope sliding across the wooden beam, and knew we had to spring into action before friction caused the rope to snap. Easier said than done, I was still hanging upside down.

  “Grab my rope and pull,” I whispered to Park.

  “I’m afraid to let go of you,” she hissed back.

  “Do it before the rope breaks.”

  That got her attention. She let go of my legs and gripped my end of the rope with both hands, feeling the tension on it. All it took was a little tug for me to resume my descent as Park rose toward the sky, higher and higher until she could grab the beam and pull herself up.

  My hands touched the rock first, and I quickly used the purchase to swing myself around and sit on the rock outcropping next to the big backpack. I untied the rope and pulled my shirt up to look at the abrasion on my back. Ouch. It looked like someone had laid a hot poker across the top of my hips. I reached into the bag and found the water bottle, took a drink, and then poured the rest on my burning skin.

  I recovered my senses as the blood finally drained from my head and back into the rest of my body. I looked up to see that Park had pulled the rope up, tied it to the beam, and was now lowering the other end of the rope, with the harness attached, back down to me. Great idea, because I had just been wondering if I had it in me to freeclimb that wall again.

  I took a few breaths to slow my pulse and make sure any dizziness was gone, and then I stepped my right foot through the harness. I was about to lift my left when I heard the unmistakable grating sound of a sliding glass door being o
pened. I froze and looked up, but Park had already moved to another beam, further under the deck and deeper in the shadows. She was nowhere to be seen.

  I wasn’t so lucky. No shadows here. I stood still as a statue in the hot sun, staring hopefully up at the railing of the deck, willing no one to appear.

  Another failed strategy. The man who looked over the railing was Latino, with long hair in a ponytail. He wore a blue Hawaiian shirt and had a rifle slung over his shoulder. We locked eyes for just a moment, and then I turned to run, tripping over the harness around my ankles and crashing down onto the thin ledge. A good thing, too, as a spray of bullets hit the rocks right where my head would have been. The bad news was that I rolled right off the side and began to plummet thirty feet toward the ground, this time half sliding along the rockface, which had a slight slope here.

  Once again, I was brought up short with a jolt. This time it was my feet, tangled in the harness that stopped me. I was slapped, hard, against the rock, swinging back and forth for a moment, scraping against the cliff, until I came to rest.

  The rope had been longer than the distance from the ledge to the underside of the deck. This hadn’t mattered before, but after Park tied one end to the beam, there was quite a bit of slack before it reached the harness at the other end.

  So it was that I ended up hanging from my ankles fifteen feet above the bottom of the cliff, bruised and abraded, but somehow still alive. I was still doing the math in my head when another round of gunshots rang out, and rocks exploded above me. His angle was all wrong now, but who knows, he might get lucky, and if not, they would surely be sending someone out to look for me.

  I crunched my stomach muscles and reached up and grabbed the back of my shins, then pulled harder until my hands could reach my ankles and the harness. A move I never could have pulled off a year ago. I said a silent thank you to all those hours in the gym. I gently extricated my feet from the harness, holding on with my right hand until I was stretched out, hanging full length from the end of the rope.

  This left only a ten-foot drop to the ground. I was worried about breaking an ankle, one of them was sending a shooting pain up my leg already. But, there was no other option, so I let go and landed on the ground, rolling forward in a summersault to cushion the blow.

  I was completely out of the sightline of the guard now, so I took a quick moment to test my ankle, and to see if I had hurt myself badly anywhere else during my ignominious descent. I seemed to be okay.

  I looked up at the fortress, and the dark underside of the deck where I knew Ellery Park sat waiting. There was no way I was going to get back up there. I looked around helplessly. Unless this happened to be the last day of summer and the setting sun was going to shine upon a magic keyhole and let me into the mountain, I was screwed.

  It was high noon. It was January. There wasn’t going to be any magic.

  Thirty-three

  I took a deep breath, turned, and sprinted into the forest, back toward the motorcycle. I tried to formulate a plan, but who was I kidding? All my plans sucked. There was no way to get Park off that cliff, no way but to finish my mission.

  I reached the bike and wasted no time. In seconds I was zooming down the path, and soon I was back to the clearing where T.C. had dropped us off. I burst out of the trees and into the bright sunshine, squinting my eyes until I crossed to the other side and back into the deep shade beneath the trees.

  The path dropped precipitously here, and I was forced to slow down. I wouldn’t be any good to anyone if I smashed my head against a tree trunk. My legs were tired from climbing, and my muscles protested as I wrestled the bike around some tight curves. I was also acutely aware of the painful stinging across the small of my back. It could be worse; I hadn’t lost any body parts, so this plan was going better than some of my others. So far.

  Unexpectedly I rounded a corner and dropped down an embankment that spit me out onto the paved road. I stopped the bike, taking a second to catch my breath and make sure I knew which way led to the entrance to the mountain. Because that would be embarrassing.

  I took off again. After the constant jolting of the dirt path, the paved road felt like a smooth dream, and I opened the throttle up as far as I could and still manage the many sharp curves.

  A moment later I was approaching a gate that crossed the road completely. There was a guard house, with two men lying dead on the ground next to it. I looked just long enough to be sure that neither of them was Cosmo or Jorge, then averted my eyes. I swerved right and into the gully to avoid the locked gate, then popped the bike back up onto the pavement and rounded the next corner, suddenly confronted by a huge tunnel entrance.

  In for a penny, in for a pound somebody used to say. Probably someone British now that I think about it. I opened the throttle all the way up and bulleted into the darkness.

  As my eyes adjusted, I could see that there were LED lights mounted high up on the curved ceiling, and straight in front of me loomed the wreckage of a big black SUV, laying on its side with its front smashed in, glass everywhere. I could see at least two bodies inside as I whisked by on the left.

  I was killing people, that much was clear, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Sure, I hadn’t pulled the trigger, or whatever, but they were dead because I instigated this attack. Maybe some of them had siblings kidnapped, just like Selena. Maybe there was a better way to do this.

  These bitter thoughts were in my head as I cruised into what had, until recently, been some sort of parking area or loading zone. Now it looked like a mountain had fallen on it. This must have been the explosion that toppled me earlier. Everywhere I looked there were massive chunks of rock crushing cars, trailer trucks, probably people. Most of the lights had gone out, but in the dimness, I could see that one whole wall was scorched black. Perhaps they had located propane or some other flammable and used it to amplify their bombs, or maybe the ceiling was unstable to begin with. I craned my neck to look up, but the walls just disappeared into inky blackness. There was no telling how high up the ceiling was.

  I shut off the bike, put down the stand, and climbed off. Clearly this was as far as this ride was going to take me. I peered around again, looking more closely this time, wishing I had brought a flashlight. Along the far wall I saw what looked like elevator doors and made my way there.

  The silver double doors were scorched, and the one on the right was half caved in, Through the gap I could see the cab of the elevator, the fluorescent light in its ceiling blinking erratically on and off. I looked further to the right and spotted another metal door, this one stenciled with a picture of a stick figure climbing a set of stairs. Great.

  I slipped my hand into my front left pocket and pulled out my brass knuckles, sliding them on my thumb and two good fingers. I reached for my baton but realized I had lost it somewhere along the way. I didn’t want to go into the stairwell unarmed—I was starting to feel like I was in an episode of The Walking Dead—so I looked around until I spotted a long piece of rebar with a fist sized hunk of cement stuck to one end. I picked it up with my right hand and hefted it. It was about three feet long and a little to heavy for my skill set, but it would do for now.

  The stairwell was still lit, presumably the mountains generator had not been knocked out by the blast. Good thing, because the first four flights went straight up, with no exits along the way. It would have been darkest of pitch dark if the power was off.

  No sooner had I though it than it happened. A little bleat escaped my lips as I was plunged into darkness. There was nothing but blackness, and the rasping of my breath, winded from the stairs.

  Anyone who says they aren’t a little bit afraid of the dark would have been more than welcome to take my place. Plus, there was the very real possibility of tripping and falling four flights of concrete steps.

  I reached out carefully with my left hand until it brushed the wall. Using this as a guide I climbed tentatively to the next landing, keeping my touch on the wall, hoping to feel a doorway. No lu
ck.

  I continued to the next landing. As I stepped forward my foot kicked something metal, which rolled across the cement. After being alone in the quiet with my breathing, the sound seemed deafening and I shrieked.

  It was at that moment that the power came back on. I looked down at my feet, which were surrounded by spent shell casings, and then looked up to see a man sitting on the bottom step of the next flight of stairs. He was staring at me with dazed eyes, and blood was pouring from a wound in his neck, but that didn’t stop him from raising his right arm and pointing a pistol at me.

  Time stopped, and then the man died as I leapt forward and lunged with the rebar, smashing the cement end straight into his desperate face. His head snapped to the side, bouncing off the handrail, and then he collapsed backward until he lay across several steps in a horrible, unnatural position.

  I dropped the rebar and grabbed my stomach with both hands, but dammit if I was going to throw up! I struggled to get a hold of myself, but then I heard gunshots from above, and a new surge of adrenaline hit me.

  Thirty-four

  I picked the gun up off the floor. It was one I was familiar with, a Glock. The magazine was empty, but there was a single bullet in the chamber. I searched the man for a fresh clip but found nothing. More gunfire sounded above, and I stopped my search and began to sprint upward, fear for the safety of my friends giving me fresh legs.

  One more flight and I had reached a landing with a door. It had a crash bar so I ran at if full speed, kicking it open with a flying sidekick and rolling into the hallway beyond, coming up quick with the gun in my right hand, scanning my field of view wildly. It was a great move, but no one was there. I was in an empty hallway, one end opening on to a room, the other leading to more stairs leading up, though these were wider, with decorative handrails.