stone ground into them, taking skin, leaving pain, throwing them back into thin air. They glanced off the rock, slowed, and swung back.
The spinning. Jack reached for his nose, trying to protect it, subjecting his elbows to blows.
The spinning slowed, then stopped. They slid plum, and settled against the wall.
Bone and skin, shoulders, knees, and hips, it all hurt.
Quiet. No shock waves. Nothing.
Jack pressed his hands to his face.
The radio squawked. “Jack, are you okay? Jack? Answer!”
Damned radio. Miracle it still works. Dizzy and fighting through pain, Jack keyed the radio strapped to his chest. “Stand by.”
He glanced down. Thomas hung at his feet, not moving.
The radio popped. “Jack, what happened?”
“Thomas?”
No movement.
“Thomas?”
The helmet shuddered and tilted up. Bloodied face, Thomas opened his eyes.
“You okay?”
“Hard to breathe.”
“I bet.”
Thomas took a shallow breath. His lips weren’t turning blue, yet. If he passed out, he could easily slip out of the sling.
“Jack, talk to me?” the radio screamed.
Jack keyed the mike. “Yes, Luis, we’re hurting, okay. But we’re all in one piece. Stand by.”
The radio went quiet.
“Thomas, do you still have . . .” Jack stopped and stared.
Red vaporous movement, below them, rising, reaching. Dust from pulverized rock swirled below, slipping closer, slowly, but without stealth.
Jack shook his head. Got to get . . . But what can we do? We’re sitting ducks. We’re helpless.
Dangle. What else is there to do? We’ll smother in the dust. No way in hell they can raise us in time to keep us out of that cloud. Dust that fine, that pervasive . . . It’ll be impossible to breathe, especially for Thomas, bound in that damned sling. “Is the harness still around your legs?”
“I feel it. Got big thighs.”
“That’s a good thing—today anyway. Can you pull it up around your waist?”
“I’ll try.” Thomas struggled. “Can’t reach it with both hands. Have to try with one.”
“Come on, Thomas. You’ve got to get a move on.”
“Don’t rush me. I can hardly breathe.”
He hasn’t seen anything yet. “Just do it.” Come on!
Jack strained to watch. Thomas’ jerky movements pulsed through the webbing and rope. “What are you doing?”
“I have a strap. I’m trying to slide the harness up my leg.”
“Is it moving?”
Quiet, then, “Got one leg. Got to switch arms.”
Jack watched as the cloud reached higher, closer.
“Got to move the carabiner. It’s keeping me from using my arm.”
“Careful. Keep your arms locked down.”
“I’m trying.” He reached up the runner and pulled, lifting against his weight. “Got to move this strap.” He squirmed, inching the carabiner around.
“You’re scaring me,” Jack murmured. “If you raise your arms over your head . . . you’ll . . .” He held his tongue.
Movement shook the rope. “Got it” he said, finally, fighting for breath.
“Quick, cinch the waist strap.”
“I’m trying.”
“Do it quickly. When that dust cloud gets here, breathing will be even harder.”
Thomas’ movement stopped.
Jack looked down. Thomas appeared frozen in place.
“Don’t stop. Get your ass in gear.”
Jack could smell the dust. He could taste it.
Thomas fumbled with the buckle, his breathing growing louder. “I don’t understand this. Where do you put the strap?” Thomas relaxed his arms, throwing his head back and pulled in a long, deep breath.
The radio came on. “Jack, tell me what’s happening.”
Thomas took another breath and lowered his head. He groaned, and fussed with the buckle. “Okay, got it,” he said, sounding relieved.
“Good.” Jack looked up.
Luiz craned out over the edge.
Jack keyed his radio. “We’re getting . . .” He coughed. “The air, hard to breathe. We’re getting Thomas secured.”
“Copy. We’re switching to the raising system. We’ll try to keep you above the cloud.”
“That won’t happen, but give it your best shot. Hurry.”
“Not wanting slow anymore?”
“No, but I do want to kick your ass for sending me down here.”
Jack pulled a runner from the equipment sling, quickly wrapped it several times around the load rope, threaded one end through the other, and pulled it tight. He took another, clipped in a carabiner, and lowered it to Thomas. “Now, we need to get your weight on the harness.”
Thomas grabbed the carabiner. “What do I do with this?”
“Feel the loops sewn into the waist of the harness? There on the front.” He grabbed the ones on his own harness. “These.”
Thomas coughed. “Yes.”
“Clip the carabiner into both loops. Do one, roll it around to where you can get the gate in the other.” Jack held onto his end of the webbing and watched. Specks of red dust hung in the air, settling on Thomas’ helmet and shoulders.
Thomas coughed.
He’ll be coated, soon. Come on, Thomas!
“I think I got it,” he said.
“Lock it down.”
Thomas
