And still would if they weren’t careful.
They’d fallen onto a lip in the rock barely bigger than the van. The lip jutted out just beyond an overhang, and miraculously the tree hadn’t flipped them like a coin into the ravine below. Instead, as they slid forward, the tree had broken in the middle with the weight of the van and slid them backward, toward the enclave of the rock.
Which meant they had shelter, albeit meager, from the storm. Still, with the temperatures dropping, it could be a long night.
A long and slippery night.
Sam dropped the rope, slick with ice and water, and blew on his hands, wiggling his fingers, trying to steam life into them. But he might as well give up. Although he’d managed to tie webbing around the back axle, attach a carabiner, and then weave the rope through it, the attachment he made to the rock seemed akin to using dental floss to hold up a semi. He’d used one of the larger SLCDs, a good-sized cam anchor, leveraging it into a horizontal crack in the rock wall behind the van.
It might slow down a fall, but eventually, with enough pressure, the cam would rip out of the rock.
They might have a better chance praying for the PEAK chopper to appear in the sky and whisk them all home like Dorothy in her hot-air balloon.
The cold had apparently gotten to his brain. So much so that he’d considered, way too long, just evacuating them all onto the ledge. But the space behind the van couldn’t accommodate all of them, and with the wind and snow driving down on them, they had their choice between hunkering down in the van and hoping the edge didn’t give way and dying of hypothermia.
He should have talked to Pete, told him where he was. At least then the team would know where to start looking. But he’d heard Pete’s voice on the other end of the phone, and Sam had simply stopped thinking. Shut down.
The fight rushed back with sudden, brutal clarity.
He’d asked for Sierra, and when Pete said she wasn’t there, he’d simply hung up.
“You keep feeding that anger, Sam, and someday it’s going to consume you.”
Chet’s voice, in his head. Sam shook it away as he climbed around to the passenger door.
He opened the passenger door and got in, maneuvering over Josh, who was curled up, fighting a shiver.
Willow sat on the floor next to Vi, her forehead against the seat.
The rest of the kids had piled into the back two seats. Sam glanced at Quinn and noticed the kid was awake, his phone glowing as he played a game with his last juice.
He wanted to tell him to turn it off, to save the batteries, but maybe Quinn was feeling just as buzzed, restless, and battered as Sam was.
He could go for a turn at Ian’s workout bag.
Probably, tomorrow, Sam would find the words to thank Quinn for grabbing his hand just as it slipped from the mirror. In short, saving his life.
Josh grunted as Sam finished climbing over him. “How did you do out there?”
“We just need to lay low until morning,” Sam said.
“And pray,” Josh said.
“That too.” Really, it couldn’t hurt.
Although, frankly, Sam had his doubts. He’d tried that route—a few times, actually, starting with his dad and most recently his mother’s cancer.
But if Josh wanted to pray as his way of coping, then, well, whatever it took.
Sam scooted by Willow and sat down behind the passenger seat, his back to the side door. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, giving him room. “You’re shivering.”
He hadn’t noticed, but yeah, he couldn’t seem to stop.
She reached out and cupped her hands around his, the warmth seeping through him. He debated a second, then didn’t pull away.
He needed the warmth in her touch, and with it, calm resonated through him.
Whatever had happened to Willow earlier, she’d reverted back to her normal, positive, hopeful self. Despite sitting in the frigid darkness of a battered van, with hurting, terrified kids on the edge of a cliff.
Sam had always appreciated that about Willow—her cheerful adaptability. Sierra had the world neatly folded and in its place, but Willow exuded an amenability about her; she was almost always smiling, despite what life threw at her.
He finally let go of her hands. “Thanks.”
“I should be thanking you,” she said. “Sorry I freaked out earlier. My shoulder is feeling better.”
“Willow, you took a hard fall. It’s okay to be freaked out. And hurt.”
“No, I’m fine. And tomorrow we’ll climb out of here, get help, and be back to Mercy Falls by dinnertime.”
He could nearly see her smile. “Right. Well.” He didn’t know how to tell her this. “We’re under an overhang of sorts, and I’m not so sure we can climb up.”