litter, stashed off to the side. “If we need it, we’ll use it, but we might have to haul you back up and do it again.”
“If he’s on a ledge, I can get him into a harness.”
“Take your time.” Luiz stepped over to the edge and looked over. “He’s still there. He ain’t movin’.” Luiz turned to the others. “Final rehearsal.”
Luiz quickly walked the others through their use of the assembly of ropes, webbing and pulleys. “The most difficult and confusing phase will be converting from lowering system to raising system,” Luiz said, once again. “We’ll secure the load rope to the anchor, take it out of the rappelling rack, and attach to the z-rig, all while the load is on the rope.”
The load. Jack cringed.
“Are you sure everything won’t go tumbling down the cliff when we take it off the rack?”
Jack turned to see who asked, but all the eyes on Luiz had the same look of uncertainty.
“Trust me,” Luiz insisted. “But there’s no room for mistakes.”
“If I get an itching to go home, don’t go missing me,” Foss said, to Jack. He flashed a smile.
“Quiet,” Luiz said. He turned back to Jack. “You just worry about getting that guy off the ledge without him taking a screamer.”
The guy on the ledge. The big unknown. Would he freak out? The victim—apparently not a climber. Apparently no equipment. Not a jumper—Luiz didn’t think so anyway. Probably stumbled onto a ledge, went too far while exploring, got scared. But how the hell did he get on that ledge? He’s lucky visitors saw him, dark hair, spot on the wall, several hundred feet above the canyon floor. Probably sitting there now, wondering if he’ll ever see another day.
Jack leaned back to look. Too bad there wasn’t enough rope to lower them all the way to the canyon floor. Be easier, if it wasn’t so damned far.
“Jack, you ready?” Luiz asked.
“Ready.” Jack locked eyes on Johnny.
Johnny gave a thumbs up.
Luiz raised a hand and held it as if on a control knob. “Let out a little rope. Slowly.”
Jack stepped back, putting his weight on the rope.
Johnny let the rope slip through his fingers.
“Want another bar in the rack?” Luiz asked. “Either of you?”
“I’m fine,” Johnny answered.
Jack checked his eyes. “Uh, me, too.”
“Good!” Luiz shouted. “We’re lowering. Slowly.”
Jack sat back as rope fed out, his butt sinking out over the edge. Sound washed over him from the left. The waterfall. He’d forgotten the waterfall. How had he blocked that out? The rope kept coming.
He glanced over. Hundreds of yards away, Sipapu Falls poured over its hanging alcove, splattering onto the rocks below.
“Stop,” Luiz barked, moving edge rollers into position. “See the guy?”
Jack looked down. Through his legs he could see the man. Black hair, white-shirted shoulders, blue-jeaned knees. Back to the wall, he sat on a tiny section of ledge, a little off to the left. At least he wasn’t directly below. “He’s there.”
“Good,” Luiz said. “Lowering, Johnny.”
“So much for terra firma,” Johnny shouted, as he let rope slip through his fingers.
Jack shifted on the balls of his feet. “Plenty firm. Only vertical.”
Rope speed increased, and Jack dipped below the rim.
Luiz leaned out over the edge, watching.
The wall extended forever. The man was a hell of a long way down.
Jack backed down the rock, descending smoothly, rope in his face, legs parallel to the ground, back parallel to the wall. He ran his eye down the fall line. When he reached the man, he’d have to kick left to fight gravity. Only a little. Shouldn’t be hard.
“Everything feel right?” Luiz asked, his hand at the ready to signal a stop.
“Everything’s good.”
“Johnny, a little faster,” Luiz said.
The pace quickened.
Twenty-five feet.
Step . . . step . . .
Fifty feet.
The amount of wall below him didn’t seem any less.
Step . . . step . . . step . . .
Almost a hundred.
Step . . .
The rock in shadow was cool. Gritty at his feet—like sand-paper. Grains of sand. Thousands of them, staring back. The wall—millions of infinite millions of them.
Step . . .
The radio popped, then carried Luiz’s voice. “Looking good.”
Still a hell of a long way down.
Step . . .
Skies sure are blue against the red rock in shadow.
Half way. Maybe. Maybe not. He looked down. Lots of wall. He looked up. Lots of wall. If not halfway, close. The rope kept feeding out.
Step . . .
A fissure slid past. Feathers. Nesting materials. No sign of a bird.
Step . . .
He looked down. The ledge. Jack couldn’t remember ever seeing it. He looked to the right, where it emerged from a chasm in the wall, hundreds of feet above the canyon floor. A hanging canyon. How did this guy get in there, much less onto the ledge? This guy’s got bad luck.
In the other direction, the ledge ended near Sipapu Falls, below an edge of the hanging alcove, above mist-darkened rock. Never noticed the ledge before. Not from below, not even when sitting there watching the waterfall. Strange.
From below the lip of the fall, water seemed to launch out over the edge.
Step . . .
Nearly close enough to talk to him. A little more.
Step, step . . .
“Hold on, guy,” Jack shouted. “Almost to you.”
The head tilted up, slowly, in jerky moves. A face. Scared eyes. Dark hair. Pony tail. He looked Native American.
“I’m coming
