The truth of the matter

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cliff-hanger I rolled and tumbled, tumbled and rolled-for the longest time, it seemed. It seemed at any second I would reach the edge of the slope and go falling over. Roots and stones cut at me. Tree trunks banged me as I went past. But I kept falling faster, out of control.

Acid fear burned in me as I saw myself plunging toward the edge of the cliff and the sheer drop below it. I looked desperately for something to hang on to. I saw a tree-too far away to reach. But the roots came out of the ground in a great hunched tangle. Maybe…

I grabbed at the roots. I caught hold of a small cluster of them. My lower half kept falling, my legs tumbling past my torso. I clung to the roots as I felt my foot go over the edge into open air. But I had a firm grip. I dangled a second, holding on. Then I dragged myself back up onto the solid ground at the edge of the cliff.

Panting, bleeding, shocked, dazed, I tried desperately to get a sense of where I was. I looked up and saw the road far above me. I had tumbled down a long way. I heard another broken round of gunfire from up there and then the shooting stopped.

There were rough shouts:

“Get out of the car! Get out of the car with your hands up!”

It was the police. The law had won the day, and the two terrorists who were still alive were under arrest.

As I lay there, wincing, I saw a dark figure loom up on the ridge overhead. It was one of the state troopers. He was scanning the ground below, looking for me. I could see by the way he stiffened suddenly that he spotted me where I was at the edge of the drop-off, clinging to my cluster of roots.

I saw him turn away and I heard him shout to his fellow officers, “I see him! He’s down there!”

I knew I had to get out of there, fast.

I looked along the ridge on which I was lying. The slope was so steep, the edge so close, I didn’t think I’d be able to move quickly without falling over. I’d have to keep my grip on trees, on roots, on anything I could find in order to move along. The police would come down and get me easily. Either that, or they might just take a shot at me from the road.

No, the only way out was down-and that meant going over the side.

There was no time to be afraid. That didn’t stop me from being afraid-it just meant I couldn’t worry about it much. Holding on to my cluster of roots, I lowered my legs over the edge. My feet searched for purchase in the side of the mountain. There was soft earth and there were rocks- but I couldn’t tell if my footholds were firm or if they would crumble away underneath me. All the same, there was nothing else I could do. I let go of my handhold. I clutched at the earth under my fingers. I began to lower myself down.

It was a long climb and a scary one. Not a straight drop-not the whole way-but not much of a slope either. There was brush to hold on to, and rocks to brace my feet on. But the brush would tear free sometimes and I would have to grab hold of something else fast to keep from plummeting down. The rocks likewise would break from the earth under my feet and tumble down the mountainside, leaving me dangling helplessly until I could find somewhere else to stand.

But slowly, I made my way. When I looked down after a while, I could see the slope easing off a little bit. I could see a place where I might let go of my desperate handholds and start scrambling again. But I wasn’t there yet-it was still a dangerous fall. And as I climbed down, I began to feel something-something stirring inside me-and I groaned in terror.

It was another memory attack. I could feel it starting. I could feel that horrible writhing dragon of pain coming to life in my stomach.

My eyes filled with discomfort and frustration. Not now, I thought, not now. I paused in my climb, clinging to the mountain face. I clenched my teeth and tried to force the growing pain down by sheer willpower. To my relief, it actually seemed to work for a moment. I seemed to be able to make the clutching agony subside a little and recede-the dragon pulling its head back under cover. I was pretty sure I couldn’t keep the memory attack away forever. But while there was time, I had to keep moving.

Slowly, I continued my climb down the mountainside.

And now, I heard noises on the slope above me. Deep voices calling to each other. Brush and sticks crackling. I looked up and saw dirt and pebbles pouring over the edge. Some of the debris showered my hair.

It was the troopers. They were climbing down the slope. They were coming to get me.

“He was right there a minute ago,” said one voice. “I saw him.”

“All right. Hold on. Take it easy, go slow. You don’t want to lose your footing and go over the edge. It’s a long way down.”

There were two of them as far as I could tell. The other two troopers must’ve still been up top with their prisoners and the dead.

I kept climbing down. The earth kept raining down on top of me as the troopers’ feet dislodged it from the slope over my head.

Then the sounds of brush and branches cracking- the sounds of the troopers’ descent-paused.

“Man,” I heard one of the troopers say, breathless, “this is really getting steep. Maybe we oughta wait for some climbing equipment or something.”

“The kid didn’t wait,” said the other, also panting. “He just went over the side.”

“Yeah, well… the kid’s a kid.”

The other trooper gave a weary laugh. “I know what you mean.”

A handful of pebbles showered onto me as the troopers started carefully down the slope again.

I continued to make my slow way down the cliff. I flinched as another twist of pain flared in my abdomen: the dragon of the memory attack rearing its head. But I managed to force the dragon down again and went on, moving my hand from rock to root to tree branch, working my feet from one crevice in the dirt to another as I descended.

A radio squawked above me. “Bravo-90.”

I heard the troopers pause again.

“This is Bravo-90,” I heard one of the troopers answer. “Go ahead.”

“It’s Rose.”

Now I paused too. Rose! Detective Rose. Was he here? Was he nearby? The idea frightened me.

Holding on to a stunted tree sticking out of the mountainside, I rested my face against the cold dirt. I was exhausted and, no matter how much I fought it, I could still feel that dragon of pain waiting to be born in my abdomen. I strained to listen.

“Go ahead, Detective,” said the trooper.

“Have you got him?” said Rose. I recognized his voice now, even through the static of the radio. “Have you got West?”

“We’re on the chase. He went over the side of a mountain. It’s pretty steep. We may need some grappling equipment.”

There was a pause. Then Rose said, “You have your orders. Do what you have to do. Get him.”

“Ten-four,” said the Trooper. Then, muttering to his companion, he said, “What’s he giving me orders for? Guy’s not even in his own jurisdiction.”

“I know. He’s obsessed with this kid, though. It’s something personal.”

“Yeah, well, not falling off mountains is something personal with me.”

There was a bitter laugh in answer.

The idea that Rose was guiding the hunt for me gave me a weak, sour feeling. I knew the trooper was right: he was obsessed with me. He had believed me when I told him I was innocent. He felt betrayed-humiliated and fooled-when I turned out to be guilty. Now I understood more fully: Rose had been right to think I was innocent. It wasn’t I who had tricked him. It was Waterman and his people, Waterman and his people framing me for murder. No wonder Rose felt like a fool. And then my escape… He didn’t know it was all arranged by Waterman. He was furious about it all, and he would never rest until he had me back in custody.

Fighting down the growing pain inside me, I began climbing again. I looked down and saw that a new slope rolled out under my feet not too many yards below. I was almost there. Even if I fell now, I’d probably only get banged up a little. And at this point, I was so banged, scratched, sore, and aching, that I didn’t think a few more bruises would bother me much.

“This isn’t working,” I heard one of the troopers say above me. He sounded completely out of breath now. “There’s no way I’m going over the side carrying all this equipment. Not without a rope at least.”

“Yeah, me either,” said the other one.

Then, all at once, the first trooper shouted out to me, “Hey, kid! Hey, West! Can you hear me?”

I didn’t answer. I kept climbing down toward the slope below.

“Hey, kid!” the trooper shouted. “Why don’t you do yourself a favor and give yourself up? We’re in the middle of nowhere here. These woods go on for miles. It’s cold. Eventually the sun’ll go down. It’ll be dark. There’ll be bears. Snakes and whatnot. Come on! Starving and freezing to death-it’s no fun. Hey, West! Can you hear me?”

I heard him. And I knew he was right too. I couldn’t see anything beneath me but more forest, more trees. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know where I was going. I had no plan.

But I did have a sort of vague idea of a way forward.

I reached the bottom. I looked up. I could see one of the troopers. He was peeking carefully over the edge of the drop. I could just see his head where it stuck out over the precipice.

He spotted me and shouted: “West! West!”

I began to scramble down the slope away from him.

“This is crazy, West,” he shouted. “We’re gonna get you sooner or later!”

I knew he was right… but I kept going.