After an hour of strenuous climbing, Garret was on top of the world. Almost literally. He was close enough to see Chay’s feet dangling, sitting, waiting, and acting as his belay. Another twenty minutes of climbing and he’d be there.
He planted his ice axe solidly in the holes Chayton had already formed and pulled. The ice stretched into space, falling into rivulets and spreading out across the entire rock in wavy patterns. A glance below revealed a two-hundred foot vertical drop, going nowhere but to hell. He swung his axe again, digging into the ice, using it as a lull to quiet his crazy nerves. His muscles stretched and flexed like the ice fencing him. He focused on that, letting it be the restraint for his thoughts.
Reaching the top, Garret swung his body over the summit of the ice and sat beside his brother, assessing the expanse of ice and rock, white and blue. He opened a gel pack and Chayton handed him a thermos of hot honey tea.
They sipped their tea in silence in an almost meditative state as the static air dusted them with ice crystals. In this section of the world, Garret imagined everything could be okay. Experiences like this had led to his interest in gems, which led him to work in the jewel and gem theft program. As the sun glittered like gold off patches of ice and snow, he felt surrounded by precious stones. The stones would grow fragile and brittle after a long, dry summer, requiring extra care.
He felt that way with Reagan. Like she was a precious stone who deserved respect, not an investigation.
“You ready for the next one?”
Garret tightened the lid on the thermos and packed it into his bag. “Yeah. What are we doing next?”
Chayton nodded and Garret followed his gaze to a rock cloaked in chandeliers of ice. Garret whistled. “Nice.”
They shuffled over, Chayton playing anchor this time.
For the next hour Garret sweated, swore, and sliced his way up and over cliffs of ice, placing his screws, making sure everything was in place so nothing happened, and avoided ice daggers. He used this time to clear his mind, even with Reagan, Ray, and Chris invading his thoughts. The weatherman promised negative teens today, but the sun shimmered like crystals in a pale blue sky.
He kicked out his foot and planted the metal spikes solidly into the ice, glanced up to survey his next move, and swung the axe. It missed. He strained again, sheeting away several layers. A large chunk of ice broke, and he used his helmet to block it from striking his face. Finally, his axe cleaved to the ice and he tested it to confirm he had good placement before making his move.
He unearthed a spot and rested, savoring the smell of ice and freshness surrounding him. Chayton was probably growing antsy below, ready to start the climb, but smart enough to trust his partner. They’d been climbing together since Chayton was eight. Garret was six years older and was climbing higher peaks without Dad’s help.
After resting a moment, Garret began his climb again. Slivers of ice stroked his cheek, fresh and clean. His muscles burned, but in a good way.
He focused as he struggled over the ledge, found a safe belaying spot where he could still see his brother, and anchored himself so that Chayton could start his climb.
Garret and Chayton had established a routine while they climbed. Since the distance between them was long enough that they may or may not hear each other, Garret yelled “off” to indicate he had successfully established his belay, then hit a button on his walkie-talkie twice.
He thought he heard something, the boom of ice falling, and though he listened for more, everything was silent.
That’s what was so peaceful about being out here, in the middle of nowhere. Silence. Nothing. Nothing but you and the sun, the weather, the nature, and maybe a cloud or two in the sky. Mountains loomed up and around him, waterfalls of ice drooping between caves and dips. He was his brother’s anchor, and would do whatever necessary to ensure nothing went wrong, but he need not worry. Chayton was a strong climber, always had been, and the two of them worked well together.
At that thought, something did go wrong. Chayton slipped, cried out, and slid down the ice. The rope vibrated, whistling, voicing its terror. Garret struggled to stop it from feeding. Chayton kept falling, falling. Garret mustered every fiber in his body to keep the rope tight. His body ached. He stopped breathing. Realizing that would only worsen the situation, he released his breath in a long hiss of air. He would be no help if he passed out and plunged over the cliff, though the oblivion might be welcome.