Blake came back with an answer in just a few seconds. “It’s smoke, no two ways about it. Want me to try getting a shot in there?”
“I don’t think you have a clear shot, too much structure between here and there. I know I don’t.”
A minute went by. and Blake was on the radio again. “Negative on the clear shot. Used my binoculars to check it out.”
“What I figured.” Teague settled back on the blanket, once again studying the road and the houses closest to him. An uneasy feeling skittered up his spine. There was something spooky about the place today, but it could have been the grayness of the morning and the low clouds that made him feel sort of hemmed in. The empty road was somehow wrong. He froze, staring. The road was empty, completely so.
The bodies were gone.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked, stared, but they didn’t magically reappear. The bodies were fucking gone.
He picked up the radio. “Blake,” he said hoarsely.
“Come back,” said Blake.
“The bodies are gone.”
“Wha—?” Blake must have then looked for himself, because he said, “Shit.”
Teague kept staring, unable to quite take it in. How in hell—? Creed. Fucking Creed. He’d figured out they had thermal scopes instead of night vision, and devised some way for the locals to move around without being detected. Thermal imaging wasn’t foolproof; going into water to mask your thermal signature was the best-known trick. But if they’d gone into the stream to the right, the water was damn rough from all the rocks and practically impassable; then they would have had to walk a good distance to get to the bodies, and by then they would have been showing a thermal signature again. Likewise, they couldn’t have gone to the left, because that would have put them right in Blake’s front yard, and he’d have seen them way before they got to the stream.
Some other way, then.
He narrowed his eyes, studving the place, then picked up his binoculars and made a slow sweep from house to house, pausing at what, from this distance, looked like a low block wall. There hadn’t been a wall there before. He’d have noted something like that when he made his reconnaissance. Besides, the top wasn’t level. Instead of a wall, it looked more like sandbags.
Well, son of a bitch. The locals had been busy during the night. He felt perversely pleased that they hadn’t just rolled over and played dead; he’d have been embarrassed in front of the city boys if they had. He’d said they were tough, and they’d just proven him right. They were fortifying their positions and providing themselves with a safe way of moving about. Behind those bags, no bullets could reach them.
He got on the radio again. “Blake. Take a look at those sections of low wall. Those aren’t walls. Looks like sandbags to me.” Even as he said it, he realized they wouldn’t have had access to sandbags. Something else, then, something in bags. Feed, concrete mix, something like that. Didn’t really matter; the principle was the same.
Blake looked. “What’re we gonna do?” he finally asked, evidently agreeing with the sandbag assessment.
“Nothing we can do, other than what we’re already doing. Don’t let anybody get by you: keep them hemmed up until they’re reach’ to give the city boys what they want.’” Could take longer than what he’d planned on, though, which wasn’t good. This whole house of cards could come tumbling down at any time if the wrong person decided to come poking around. That was a risk he’d accepted, but he wasn’t going to let this situation drag out indefinitely. He’d stay with his own timetable, regardless of what the city boys thought.
“Belay on?”
‘“Belay on.”
At Cal’s quiet reassurance that he had her if she fell, Cate stretched for a grip on the rock. Cal had searched for a better route, because scaling rock was time-consuming, but he hadn’t found anything that wouldn’t have left them exposed to rifle fire. Going up this rock face was the safest, most direct route. She was glad it wasn’t one of the tougher, higher climbs, since neither of them was in practice, and neither was wearing climbing shoes. She wasn’t in good shape to be climbing, either; her leg muscles were strong, from climbing the stairs she went up and down every day. but her upper-body strength was probably half what it had been when she climbed regularly.
The weather wasn’t great for climbing, either; the wind was picking up, and the clouds were pressing lower and lower. If it started raining, they wouldn’t be able to go back down and wait for better weather; they’d have to press on, even though rain would make the rock more slippery. They’d just have to be extra careful. She thanked God this was what she would have considered an easy climb, back in the day. It was about a hundred yards, maybe a hundred and twenty, to the top—and it wasn’t vertical.
Other climbers had been there before them; bolts and anchors were already hammered into the rock in various places. Some climbers removed them as they went, leaving the rock as they’d found it, others didn’t bother. Generally Cate didn’t like trusting a bolt she hadn’t set herself—or that Derek hadn’t set—but in the name of speed she was prepared to use some of the presets if they felt sturdy.
Both of them were harnessed and securely roped together. Because she had the most experience, she was the lead rope; she set the way, and when she reached, literally, the end of their rope, she would stop and he’d follow. With the belay set, he would catch her if she fell. When she stopped, she became the belayer and would catch him if he fell.
Part of her was exhilarated to be back on the rock, even an easy rock. It was the stretch and play of muscle, her strength and skill against the rock. At the same time, she knew deep down in her bones this would be her last climb—at least until her boys were grown—and the only reason she was doing it now was because of the severity of the circumstances. Because she knew this was the last time she’d experience this particular thrill, she paid attention to every second, every scrape and smell and sound, the whisper of the ropes, the wind in her face, the cool, rough rock beneath her fingertips. Every time she looked around and saw how high she’d climbed, she felt intense satisfaction.
She gained a solid foothold, set a chock, and securely clipped herself to the rock. At her signal, Cal began climbing toward her, following her established route. She watched his every move, her brake hand ready on the rope in case he slipped. The boots he wore were even less suitable for climbing than her sneakers, so every move he made was risky. His upper-body strength compensated somewhat for his boots. Despite the chilly wind, he’d taken off his jacket and rolled it up before adding it to the supplies strapped to his back, so she could see the flex of muscle and tendon in his bare arms. A climber’s strength was sinewy and flexible, like a steel coil, not bulky in the way of bodybuilders’. Cal’s arms looked as if he’d been climbing all his life.
A cold mist swept over them, and in a matter of seconds, visibility was down to about zero as the cloud engulfed the mountain.
She knew he was still there, she could feel him on the rope, but she couldn’t see him. “Cal!”
“I’m still here.”
He sounded as calm as if they were out for a stroll. One day soon she needed to have a talk with him about this; it wasn’t natural. “I can’t see you, so talk to me. damn it. Tell me everything you do, every step. I have to be able to anticipate.”