I have my arm down now. Butt wriggling, wriggling. Wait, is that a concavity in the rock? Why, yes, it is. Twist, twist, twist. There. My ass is in the depression, which gives me more room. If I grab this jutting piece and then that one ... Shit, that hurt. Rocks are not soft. Or smooth. I don't even want to know how many scratches and bruises I'll have after this.
Wriggle, twist, wriggle, twist.
"Are you turning around?" Dalton calls.
"Trying," I grunt.
"If you're going to hurt yourself, stop. We can figure this out."
"I'm--" I bite back a hiss of pain as my arm scrapes a sharp spot. "Got it. There's a depression that's just enough for ... Yes! Almost--" I bite my lip as a muscle pulls.
"Don't hurt yourself. We'll--"
"Got it. Oh, yeah, I've totally got this. Just..." A grunt and a heave and twist and--"My feet are down. My head is up. I am properly perpendicular."
"Good. Don't try climbing. The rope's coming."
When I look up, I can see Dalton's light and part of his head. He is indeed inside the first crevice and now peering down the drop. Or I presume that's what he's doing. All I can see is the top of his head.
"Hey," I say. "I see you."
"Yeah." A grunt echoes down the crevice as he does some wriggling of his own, until I can make out his eyes. I realize the light coming down is from a penlight, not a headlamp.
"Where's your helmet?" I say.
"Didn't fit in."
"If mine did, yours would have." I sigh. "You didn't cut open your arm again, did you? The last time you came barreling after me, I had to stitch you up."
"I'm fine."
"Tell me that fine means there's no blood."
He doesn't answer. I sigh. "Damn it, Eric. You should have learned."
He still doesn't answer, which means he's not going to learn this particular lesson. If I'm in trouble, he's right behind me. The last time, I'd been exploring a narrow chute with Petra when we'd discovered an arm. She'd screamed--that unknown trauma from her past triggered.
I'm about to joke that at least there aren't any body parts down here. Then I remember who that arm had belonged to--Abbygail--and I stop myself.
"No body parts down there?" he says, and I smile and shake my head.
"Not this time," I say. "Just clothing." Which reminds me that I'm standing on it, and really should be checking that out, not chatting with Dalton. I guess that fall panicked me more than I'm letting on. I'm trembling even now with the relief of having gotten upright.
I look down. It is indeed clothing. A pair of jeans and a shirt. That's all I can make out; Dalton's penlight beam really isn't doing the job. I reach up and smack my headlamp. It flickers on and then off again. Another smack. Nothing. Dalton's stretching his arm down, saying, "You want my light? I'll toss..."
He trails off. I'm peering up at him. He says, "Casey?"
"Yep. Still in the hole." I wave. "See me?"
"Okay. Just keep looking up at..." He trails off again and says, "Fuck."
"Let me guess. Will can't get the rope?"
"No." He inhales. "I'm going to drop the light for you. Before I do, you need to listen to me."
"That's what I'm doing."
"Look at me until I'm done, okay?"