Nods. Scared-but-frantic nods.
“I’ll go first,” Joe said. “I’ll try to steady each of you when you lower yourself down. Don’t panic, and don’t start thrashing around or you might take both of us over. Okay?”
“Just fucking hurry,” McLanahan said through his mask. Joe could tell his teeth were clenched as he said it.
“How far is the drop to the trail?” Butch asked.
“Seven feet or so, if I remember,” Joe said. “But it will seem farther when you’re dropping through the air.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Farkus moaned.
Joe grimaced as he lowered himself on the shelf to grasp the ledge. His legs and back weren’t as flexible as they’d been ten years before. Even if he dropped safely to the trail cut into the canyon wall, he had no idea if stretches of it-like the ledge itself-had dropped away. He tried to not even think of what it would be like for the four of them to be isolated on the trail itself with no way to get down, their only other choice being to try and work their way back to the top and burn to death.
He turned to face the wall and reached down on either side to grasp the sharp edge of the rock, and backed off until he dropped and was suspended. While he hung in the air, he looked down his shirtfront to confirm the trail was still there below him. It was. Joe said a prayer and let go.
The soles of his boots hit the surface of the trail with a heavy thump, and his knees screamed from the impact. He didn’t remember that from ten years before. Far below, he heard something smack against the rocks, and he realized the phone had fallen out of his jeans from the jump. He wouldn’t be able to call Marybeth for a while, and he cursed.
“Hurry!” McLanahan shouted.
“Okay,” he shouted up. Because of his angle, he couldn’t see the other three above him. “You can come on. The trail is here, and I’m standing on it. Come one at a time so I can help steady you and guide you down when you let go.”
A few seconds later, Joe recognized Farkus’s Vibram-soled work boots dangling above him. Even though the fire was roaring and snapping on top, Joe could hear Farkus mewling with fear.
“It’s okay,” Joe said, reaching up until he could grasp the back of Farkus’s belt. “You can let go.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Farkus cried, still hanging.
“Let go,” Joe shouted.
Farkus dropped and landed clumsily on the trail, and Joe kept a grip on the belt so the man wouldn’t lose his balance and plunge into the canyon.
With Farkus now standing and hugging the wall, Joe shinnied carefully around him. He could feel Farkus trembling.
“Move a few feet down the trail so I have some room to work,” Joe said to him. Then to McLanahan and Butch: “Next!”
“We’re burning up here,” Butch’s voice croaked.
“Then hurry,” Joe replied.
He looked up in time to catch a small rock that bounced off his cheekbone from the shelf above. Then, more quickly than he could react, the entire bulk of Kyle McLanahan flew silently by and vanished into the canyon below.
Joe had seen just a flash of the ex-sheriff’s face as the man plunged past him feetfirst. McLanahan’s expression wasn’t terror-he simply looked annoyed that he’d lost his footing. It happened so quickly Joe hadn’t even had the chance to reach out for him, although if he had, the weight and momentum of the body would have likely taken him down with it.
As he processed what he’d just seen, Joe heard a heavy impact far below that sounded like a bag of ice being dropped on a sidewalk.
“What just happened?” he yelled up at Butch.
“The stupid son of a bitch missed the shelf when he stepped down,” Butch said. “I tried to grab him, but he was gone.”
Joe shook his head to clear it, then said, “Okay, now you, Butch.”
“Here I come.”
Joe tapped on Butch’s ankles to assure him he was there. The fabric of Butch’s clothing was smoking from heat. Then, like he’d done with Farkus, Joe grasped Butch by the belt and steadied him down to the trail. Joe noted that Butch had left his rifle behind, although he still had a pistol shoved into his waistband.
Joe again had Farkus mash himself against the cliff wall while he shouldered around behind him.
“Is he dead?” Farkus asked.
“Probably.”
“Too many damned donuts,” Farkus said, shaking his head.
Hugging the wall, Joe sidestepped down along the narrow trail, calling out hazards such as a break in the trail or loose rocks. Farkus followed, then Butch.
After the first switchback, the trail widened and they were able to square their shoulders and hike down it slowly. Joe kept one hand on the canyon wall at all times. In case he slipped on loose earth, he wanted to fall into the wall and not plunge into the canyon like McLanahan had.
As they descended, the roar of the fire muted, but the sky above was still smudged with smoke. Joe could see no glimpse of blue in it. The light filtering through the smoke cast everything with a dirty yellow tint.
He had never gotten along with McLanahan from the beginning, but Joe felt no sense of relief from what had just happened. He doubted he would ever forget that look of utter annoyance on the ex-sheriff’s face as he flew by.
Joe measured their progress by studying the opposite wall of the canyon as they descended. They were barely halfway down after twenty minutes of trekking. He could make out the trail on the other side as it switchbacked up the wall, although lengths of it looked overgrown by brush.
“I’m looking forward to getting into that cold water,” Butch said with a tight mouth. He was obviously in pain because of the intense heat he’d endured waiting on top for Farkus and McLanahan to lower themselves to the trail. Heat blisters rose everywhere his skin had been exposed.
Joe grunted. He was pleased the trail wasn’t broken, but there was still a long way to go.
They found McLanahan’s body plastered facedown on an outstretched boulder just below the trail. He was absolutely dead. His arms and legs were splayed out as if he were trying to make a snow angel, but his body was oddly misshapen. There was very little blood, but Joe didn’t doubt that most of his bones had been broken on impact. The ex-sheriff’s head sagged toward the downhill side of the boulder like a water balloon propped on a sloping table.
“At least it was quick,” Joe said, removing his hat for a moment. Butch did the same.
“Just for the record,” Butch said, “I didn’t push him, in case anyone was wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” Joe said.
“Not that I’d blame you,” Farkus said. “After all, he did come up here to kill you.”
“If I wanted to kill him, he’d already have been dead,” Butch said.
“Poor fat idiot,” said Farkus. “He should have stayed back in West Virginia.”
Joe hated to leave McLanahan’s body splayed out like that. It wouldn’t take long for the local scavengers-rodents, ravens, even the bald eagles that nested in the canyon-to locate and feed on the remains.
“We’ve got to try and take the body with us,” Joe said.
“How?” Butch asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Leave it, I say,” Farkus said flatly.
Instead, Joe and Butch flattened out on the narrow trail and reached down to the body, each grasping an ankle.
Joe said, “One-two-three. .” and they heaved.
McLanahan’s body was heavy, though, and severely broken. Joe realized to his horror he was pulling on the leg but it was elongating and narrowing as he did so because the bones were broken inside and the trunk of the body wasn’t lifting. Joe grunted and pulled and so did Butch, but all they managed to do was upset the equilibrium of the body until it slipped over the side of the boulder toward the river below.