She shucked her backpack and the canteens, and looked at the bridge. She didn’t see how she could cross it now. The iron stakes on her side of the bridge remained in place, but one of the ropes lay draped down the side of the arroyo. Its end remained tied to the rod which had pulled out of the ground; the bent stake lay a few yards from Geisler.
He’s supposed to be the survival expert, Margaret told herself; he’ll know what to do. First, however, she had to reach him. She moved along the edge of the arroyo until she found a spot in its side that looked less jagged than the rest of the wall. She hesitated a moment, then began to pick her way down the mess of boulders and rock ledges, using every handhold she could find during the cautious descent.
Lowering herself fifteen feet took as many minutes, and she needed as much time to reach Geisler. He was conscious now, and he had propped himself up against a boulder. He had ripped open a pants leg, exposing the wires and control pads of his manipulator. He had also tied a gauze compress over his shin, and Margaret saw bruised flesh and drying blood around the bandage’s edges. “What happened?” she asked.
“I was born an idiot, that’s what happened,” he growled. He spat and wiped dust and sweat from his face. “The wind blew and I started to lose my balance, so I tried to grab a rope.” He held up a hand and clenched a fist. “Goddamned controls. I made myself kick like a prima ballerina, and I went over the edge.”
“Can you walk?”
Geisler shook his head. “Ripped out a bunch of wires. At least I can’t feel nothin’ down there.”
“Radio,” she said.
“Already tried it,” he said. He reached out and picked up a twisted plastic card which lay in the dirt. “It gave its life to help break my fall. You can bet I’m gonna write the maker and bitch about their ‘indestructible’ guarantee.”
“We have to get you out of here.”
“Don’t I know it.” He jerked a thumb at the sky, which was obscured by blowing dust. “This wind’s coming from the southwest, and right before I fell I saw black clouds on the southwest horizon.”
“Rain. Coming this way.”
Geisler nodded. “You’ve got one hour, tops, before this arroyo turns into a garbage disposal. The way you move, you have just enough time to get out of here. Get uphill. I saw a rock face up there; it’ll shield you from the water. Stay low to the ground, too. You don’t want to draw lightning.”
He’s telling me he won’t make it, she thought. He was right; there was nothing she could do. That realization made her feel like—like—the way she had when Alan had blamed her for Lydia’s death. Not angry, not hurt. Frustrated, as he blamed her for one mistake, then blamed her for another before she could work her speech icons quickly enough to answer his first accusation. Then left her alone, to bear everything by herself.
Margaret willed down the sudden flood of memories; she had no time for them. “I’m getting you out of here,” she told Geisler.
Geisler made a rude noise. “Maggie, there’s no way I can pull myself out of here with just my arms, and you sure as hell can’t carry me. I weigh twice what you do.”
“Shut up. Think. We have rope.”
“And two idiots instead of one.” Geisler scowled. “OK. Gimme that rope.”
Margaret took the fallen guideline and handed it to him. Geisler untied the end of the rope from the iron stake and looped it under his armpits. “Get up there and pull on the other end. Maybe you can give me enough of a boost that I can make it just climbing with my arms.” He glared at her. “But if I start to pull you down, let go. It won’t do neither of us any good if you fall down here, too.”
“It won’t work,” she said. She knew she couldn’t haul enough weight to help him. Then she saw it. “Try this. I pull on rope with lever. You guide with arms.”
“What lever?” he asked.
“Beam from bridge. Move you a yard at a time up the side.”
“Goddamn,” he muttered. He sounded surprised, as though he understood what she meant and thought it might work. “OK, go.”
Wordlessly, Margaret turned and faced the gully’s ragged side. There was no time to stumble back to where she had climbed down; she started climbing, hoping that she would find adequate footholds and handholds as she went along.
She was barely right. Several times her hands and feet slipped when she misjudged her movements, but she managed to cling to the rocks. Ten minutes later she had pulled herself over the rim. The windblown dust was growing thicker, but she could still see well enough to work.
She went to the wrecked bridge, grasped the end of the wooden beam in both hands, and pulled. Its far end dropped into the arroyo, but she kept her grip on it and continued pulling. Inch by inch, she dragged it up and onto the ground. She laid it parallel to the fissure’s edge, several yards back and with one end lined up with Geisler’s location. She went to the iron stake and fumbled with the knot that held the line in place. Her fingers were clumsy, but after a few minutes she had the knot undone. She took the rope to the beam and tied it around the end.
That was her lever; now she needed a fulcrum. A large boulder set in the ground would have been convenient, but the ground was too clear here. No matter. She took the iron stake in both hands and pulled it back and forth as she worked it out of the ground. It ended in a sharp point, and when she carried it over to the beam she was able to push it six inches deep in the ground alongside the beam. She picked up a rock in both hands and used it as a hammer, pounding the stake deeper into the ground. It went down two feet before it struck a buried rock and stopped.
It would have to do. Margaret looped the rope’s slack around the end of the beam, then went to the other end and sat down by it, facing the gully. She put her feet against the wood and shoved. Reluctantly, the beam began to move, jerking a few inches at a time. When she pushed the horizontal lever as far as she could she got up and went to the gully. She looked over the edge and saw that Geisler was clinging to the rocks, a yard or so from the spot where he had fallen. He looked up and nodded tiredly; his mouth worked, but the wind drowned out his words.
Margaret went back to the beam. She pushed its end back toward the gully, then wrapped the newly-slackened rope around its end until it was taut. She returned to the other end of the beam, sat down, planted her feet against it again and shoved. She repeated the process over and over, while the wind rose to a howl and she felt dust and grit blast against her chin.
A fat raindrop splashed against her eyeplate, leaving a splotch of mud in the dust caking the glass. Another drop followed it, then another. An arm appeared above the gully’s rim, flailed around and clutched the ground, and Geisler hauled himself into the open. Margaret picked up one of the canteens and took it to him. “Goddamn,” he gasped after he had drained it. “Made it.”
“Safe now,” Margaret said.
He shook his head, then pointed to a heap of boulders a hundred feet away. “Let’s get over there,” he said. “When the rain picks up, this ground’ll get muddy. Slippery. Things get bad enough, we’ll get flushed into the gully, and then it’s all over.”
“Will it be dry over there?” she asked.
“No, but we won’t get flooded out. Take the stuff over there. We’ll need it.”
Margaret picked up the canteens and carried them over to the boulders. As she turned back she saw Geisler pulling himself along the ground on his hands. He made good time, she thought as she retrieved the sack of food. The rain swiftly grew heavier, and Margaret began to slip as the dirt turned to mud. She ended up crawling the last few yards to where Geisler sat.