Page 139 of Mazywood

“Dad—try over there!” Sharise said. She was pointing to the same spot as Uncle Ricky. They’d shared the same thought, or maybe she could hear him without knowing.

Johnny took a few more steps along the edge of the cliff, watching the patterns of outcroppings and small ledges that might take him closer to the top, where Imani had disappeared. He spotted an approach that might work, almost a replication of the monster’s natural movement—one way a bit, then the other way, gradually moving higher.

“That’s it,” Uncle Ricky agreed. “That’s the way.”

Johnny reached up for the thin ledge two feet above him, curling his bare fingers tightly around the stone at the same time he hoisted his foot up on a lower ledge left of it. His numbing fingertips felt scorched on the rock as he pulled himself up. He thought about asking Sharise for his right-hand glove back, but instinct told him that he needed to feel every inch of these rocks. He pulled off his left glove and tossed it down.

He was only two feet off the ground and felt like he could fall and break his neck. He angled his hip to hike his boot up to the next highest ledge, which was narrower. He reached for a higher handhold closest to his left hand this time, and those warmer fingers felt more nimble and secure, without pain. Whenever possible, he would rely on his warmer left hand, he decided.

Johnny was so focused on his fingers that he got careless with his left foot, which scrabbled for purchase with a couple of sliding kicks that made the rifle bump against his back on its strap and nearly sent him back down to start again. But he held on with both hands.

Below him, Sharise made a muffled sobbing sound; part grief, part relief. She must be petrified that she was about to watch him die.

“It’s okay,” he said. Then, a reminder: “Yell if anything moves.”

With his face pressed against the frigid cliff, Johnny remembered why he had never liked gym climbing walls. Mild vertigo pattered his temples, inviting the return of his dizziness. And climbing was hell on muscles that weren’t used to being taxed. His fingers were trembling at the joints as he clung to the rough, cold ledges scraping his skin.

But he turned his good eye toward finding his next foothold, since his arms were complaining about pulling his weight. The ledge looked wider than most, but it was a high step above his feet, so Johnny took deep breaths before he raised his boot and used his thigh muscles to hoist his weight up. He found a single handhold long enough for both hands, but his second foot couldn’t quite reach widely enough for its closest ledge.

Panic clogged Johnny’s throat. He was already up high enough to hurt himself. He felt an almost overpowering urge to try to jump back down to Sharise. His knees shook.

“Use the ball of your foot!” Uncle Ricky called from above. “Don’t matter if there’s no foothold. Use your foot to brace.”

Shit. He should have thought of that. Holding his breath, Johnny planted his free sole against the craggy cliff face while keeping most of his weight on his foot resting on the small ledge. Brittle rock cracked away beneath his unanchored boot, but his foot stayed planted after a small slide. He was still hanging on! He exhaled in a sudden pant. If someone had told him yesterday that he would be climbing this cliff freehand, or any kind of way, he would not have believed it. He would not have believed a moment of this day.

“Yes,” Sharise said in a whisper full of mingled hope and dread.

“Get your right foot up, see?” Uncle Ricky said, as if he could sense how much Johnny’s knees were trembling from his effort. Johnny glanced to his right and saw a thin wedge of stone. Too thin. “It ain’t big, but it’ll hold you.”

Johnny didn’t quite believe Uncle Ricky, but he decided to trust him. He shifted his weight to his bracing foot to thrust himself to the higher foothold, grabbing a sharp stone with his right hand that sliced at his half-numbed fingers. But he was still hanging on. He shifted his right boot sidelong to fit on the narrow ledge. When he remembered to breathe, he was gasping.

“About ten more feet, Daddy,” Sharise said. “It went to the right.”

“You’ve got a big ol’ crack over on your left,” Uncle Ricky said. “See that? You can get half your boot in there. Then scoot back over to the right like she said.”

“I see it,” Johnny panted to them both.

The gap was luxurious, deep enough for him to wedge in his left boot and relax his right leg for a few breaths. His right quads were tight, roiling with acid. Perspiration stung his eyes. He glanced up and realized he was only a dozen feet from the top of the cliff.

He didn’t dare look down. The notion lurched his stomach.

“I’m coming, baby,” Johnny whispered to the hidden cavern that must have an entrance not far from him. His whisper was for poor Tasha, whose voice he might never hear again. And for Imani, whose fire had warmed him enough to keep going—and who’d had the courage to remind him that he could have prevented this living nightmare.

“I promise you—this time I’ll kill it.”

Imani didn’t hear the Beast following her, so she slowed down. She didn’t want to trip and fall or get lost. (More lost, anyway.) Mom’s calls came from every direction, woven between the passageways, ahead and behind. She would need to help Mom back out toward the muted light she’d seen, but Imani already wasn’t sure she could find it again herself, even if the Beast weren’t planted in their way.

Imani kneeled to rummage through her backpack again, where she found her survival pack’s four glow sticks she had bound with a rubber band. These weren’t the twelve-hour lights she could have splurged on for another thirty dollars, but she’d figured she could get away with cheap party glow sticks from a drugstore. Now she wished she’d bought the real thing, since the green-yellow light was pathetic in darkness. But at least it glowed a little. She stood the thin glow stick against the cavern wall. Three more left to mark her path. Or to help Daddy find her.

“Mom, where are you?” Imani raised her voice only slightly. Yelling sounded chaotic, tumbling in the caverns. She had learned it was better to speak softly.

“Why are you in here?” Mom’s voice called. “Where’s your dad?”

Imani didn’t want her reunion with Mom to turn into scolding, so she said, “Just keep talking. I’ll follow your voice.”

“Imani.” Mom’s voice dipped, more urgent. “Please be careful. Where is it?” It was so disorienting that Mom’s voice was in her ear, but Mom wasn’t in sight.

Imani swung her light behind her to reveal the uneven walls she had just passed. Farther back, the dot of light that was her glow stick. She carefully laid down her second glow stick before she rounded a corner. “I don’t know. Somewhere behind me.”