I’m startled when I realize she’s looking directly at me, causing me to stand a little straighter. My shoulders are protesting, screaming at me that slouching is allowed right now, but I won’t. I meet her glare with an unflinching stare. I might be here on a whim and a prayer, but I will not cower.
She raises her right eyebrow slightly, seemingly surprised by my small act of defiance, before shifting her attention back to the group. Her voice rises so the people in the back can hear her over the howling wind. “You’ll follow me to the top. Stay in asingle file line.” Her glare pins us to the spot, like she’s speaking directly to each one of us, challenging us to disobey. “Or don’t. You’ll fall, and your bones will join the others who also couldn’t follow directions.” She gestures to the deep drop-off to the right of the narrow pathway leading upward. I’m assuming that’s where said bones lie. She doesn’t ask whether everyone heard or if they understood before briskly turning and stalking back through the gates she had opened.
The fact that she mentioned falling makes my skin crawl. There’s only one thing I hate worse than most people, and it’s heights. I try not to let the fear show on my face as Finnley joins me.
The other candidates whisper among themselves, either questioning their sanity or trying to build themselves up for the remaining climb. Our limbs protest and beg for a respite, but there isn’t one to give.
I wring my hands together to try to expel some of the nervous energy flowing through my body. This is going to suck on so many levels.
Finnley’s gaze passes over me. He can clearly see my discomfort at the situation. “I’ll go first. You follow.”
With a bow of my head, I don’t argue and follow him. Pride has no place in trying to stay alive. I realize this is it, the point of no return. Once I’m at the top, I’m fully committed.
No turning back.
Following his lead, I grab onto the rope that’s anchored into the side of the mountain and start the treacherous climb up. The pathway is so narrow that the only option is to put one foot in front of the other and hold on to the rope for dear life.
The wind batters us with its brutal intensity. I tuck my chin, trying to escape the onslaught, and make the mistake of looking down. My vision starts to blur, and my stomach feels like it just fell out.
Why would I look down? Everyone knows not to look down.
“Don’t look down,” Finnley yells over the wind in front of me.
Pulling myself together, I keep putting one foot in front of the other and stare straight ahead. I’ve got this.
A raindrop lands soundly on the tip of my nose. Thunder cracks against the sky like a whip, causing me to jump and slip on the cold, damp stone. My left knee twists during the quick motion before slamming into the ground with enormous force. I panic and let go of the rope with my right hand, trying to find balance as my leg dangles precariously over the side of the mountain.
Pain shoots across my palm as the skin tears, the rope burrowing into my flesh as my full body weight is now being supported by one hand. Regardless of your size, it doesn’t matter when you’re hanging by one arm. It’s all dead weight at that point.
The rain is getting heavier, making everything more difficult. I try to pull myself back up, but I can’t find any leverage on the slippery stone. It doesn’t help that my upper body strength is severely lacking.
I probably should have worked on that sooner.
My leg keeps slipping every time I try to get a steady grip on my boot. If I wasn’t looking down before, I’m definitely looking down now.
The person behind me makes no move to help me—and why would they?
They’d be just as likely to join me in slipping off this damn mountain and have their bones added to the collection below us. What does it matter if I live or die to them?
In short, it doesn’t.
Out of nowhere, a hand reaches out and grabs my flailing arm, pulling me slowly and steadily back onto the path. After my heart stops trying to beat out of my chest, I wipe the hairand rain from my eyes as the downpour continues in a steady torrent.
I’m not dead.
A borderline hysterical laugh escapes as I look myself over. Blood drips from my palm where the rope dug in, and my knee is going to have a nasty bruise come tomorrow, but I’m alive.
A low whistle escapes Finnley’s mouth. “We’re going to really have to work on your self-preservation skills,” he yells over the wind and rain.
It appears I’m going to have to work on a lot of things.
I nod my head in thanks. “That was a close one,” I acknowledge, even though he can’t hear me. The shock and adrenaline are wearing off, and exhaustion is settling in. I want a hot shower, a warm bed, and the promise of nothingness.
Not necessarily in that order.
An hour later, we reach the top, and my night goes from bad to worse.
Chapter three
