"Up or down?" I ask.
"You can make it up," Cypher says.
"I'd rather you went down," Dalton says. "Please."
When I pause, he says, "It's a crawl with no serious obstacles. It's safer."
I start down. Once I'm securely heading that way, Dalton heads along the cliffside to find a more gradual decline. He'll join me, and we'll see if we can get back to Val. Cypher grumbles about that, but we outvote him.
I make it down. It is not an easy trip. Nor painless or even remotely graceful, as I slide down the last ten feet on my ass, try to put on the brakes, and land in the icy stream.
"It's not a waterslide, kitten," Cypher booms down the gorge.
I wave at him as I get to my feet. Dalton is already down, picking his way along the stream. I wave to him too as I start toward Val. She's still bobbing, her shirt hooked on a rock. I can't get very close. She's on the other side, and the stream is a good ten feet across and moving fast with spring runoff. One wrong foot placement, and I'll hurtle downstream.
"Wait," Dalton calls.
"I am."
I sit on a rock. He's discarded his sling, not surprisingly. He's almost there when his foot slips, and I leap up, my hand swinging out. He grabs it, but only gives it a squeeze and says, "You okay?"
"I am."
He nods, and I feel his assessing gaze, stopping on every gash and rising bruise, his lips tightening.
I hug him. Throw my arms around his neck and squeeze, and that's meant to reassure him, but as soon as I feel him against me, my knees wobble and every muscle unclenches, and if he didn't hug me back tight, I'd have been on the ground.
"You're okay?" he says again as he releases me.
"I'm fine, Eric. But Val . . ."
"Yeah, I know. Bastard." He looks over at Val's body. "I don't see the point, Casey. I really don't."
"With people like Oliver Brady, I don't think there needs to be a point. He killed her because he could."
He nods, as if he understands, but I know he doesn't. He can't.
"Let's just take her . . ."
I'm about to say "home." Rockton is our home; it wasn't hers. I'm not sure it ever could have been.
"Is there some other place to . . ." I'm being foolish when I need to be practical, so I don't finish voicing the thought.
"We'll figure something out."
He looks over at her. "All right. Trick will be getting her free without losing her. I'm going to grab her leg closest to this side." He starts untying his boots. "It looks about a foot deep. I'll wade. Safer than rock jumping."
"There's a clear path just above that rock. Stick to it or even in water that shallow, you can get your foot caught, and the current will take you down."
"I know. If it feels too strong, I'll drop."
He means that he'll fall on his ass and crawl. That's the way to do it. Twelve inches of water does seem like a simple wade, but between the current and the slippery rocks below, it's treacherous. He takes it slow, placing one foot down and making sure it's secure before lifting the other. Twice he just stops and waits until he has his balance.
Seeing Val's body this close up leaves little doubt she's been dead and in the water since not long after she disappeared. Her thin face has bloated, and her slender body strains against her clothing. That amount of water retention suggests he killed her on the first day. I can't see how--there's no obvious sign of injury--but I will once I can examine her body.
Dalton is close enough to reach Val's leg. Then he looks about, assessing.
"If you're considering whether you should drop," I say, "the answer is yes."