“Thomas?”
No movement.
“Thomas?”
The helmet shuddered and tilted up. Bloodied face, Thomas opened his eyes.
“You okay?”
“Hard to breathe.”
“I bet.”
Thomas took a shallow breath. His lips weren’t turning blue, yet. If he passed out, he could easily slip out of the sling.
“Jack, talk to me?” the radio screamed.
Jack keyed the mike. “Yes, Luis, we’re hurting, okay. But we’re all in one piece. Stand by.”
The radio went quiet.
“Thomas, do you still have . . .” Jack stopped and stared.
Red vaporous movement, below them, rising, reaching. Dust from pulverized rock swirled below, slipping closer, slowly, but without stealth.
Jack shook his head. Got to get . . . But what can we do? We’re sitting ducks. We’re helpless.
Dangle. What else is there to do? We’ll smother in the dust. No way in hell they can raise us in time to keep us out of that cloud. Dust that fine, that pervasive . . . It’ll be impossible to breathe, especially for Thomas, bound in that damned sling. “Is the harness still around your legs?”
“I feel it. Got big thighs.”
“That’s a good thing—today anyway. Can you pull it up around your waist?”
“I’ll try.” Thomas struggled. “Can’t reach it with both hands. Have to try with one.”
“Come on, Thomas. You’ve got to get a move on.”
“Don’t rush me. I can hardly breathe.”
He hasn’t seen anything yet. “Just do it.” Come on!
Jack strained to watch. Thomas’ jerky movements pulsed through the webbing and rope. “What are you doing?”
“I have a strap. I’m trying to slide the harness up my leg.”
“Is it moving?”
Quiet, then, “Got one leg. Got to switch arms.”
Jack watched as the cloud reached higher, closer.
“Got to move the carabiner. It’s keeping me from using my arm.”
“Careful. Keep your arms locked down.”
“I’m trying.” He reached up the runner and pulled, lifting against his weight. “Got to move this strap.” He squirmed, inching the carabiner around.
“You’re scaring me,” Jack murmured. “If you raise your arms over your head . . . you’ll . . .” He held his tongue.
Movement shook the rope. “Got it” he said, finally, fighting for breath.
“Quick, cinch the waist strap.”
“I’m trying.”
“Do it quickly. When that dust cloud gets here, breathing will be even harder.”
Thomas’ movement stopped.
Jack looked down. Thomas appeared frozen in place.
“Don’t stop. Get your ass in gear.”
Jack could smell the dust. He could taste it.
Thomas fumbled with the buckle, his breathing growing louder. “I don’t understand this. Where do you put the strap?” Thomas relaxed his arms, throwing his head back and pulled in a long, deep breath.
The radio came on. “Jack, tell me what’s happening.”
Thomas took another breath and lowered his head. He groaned, and fussed with the buckle. “Okay, got it,” he said, sounding relieved.
“Good.” Jack looked up.
Luiz craned out over the edge.
Jack keyed his radio. “We’re getting . . .” He coughed. “The air, hard to breathe. We’re getting Thomas secured.”
“Copy. We’re switching to the raising system. We’ll try to keep you above the cloud.”
“That won’t happen, but give it your best shot. Hurry.”
“Not wanting slow anymore?”
“No, but I do want to kick your ass for sending me down here.”
Jack pulled a runner from the equipment sling, quickly wrapped it several times around the load rope, threaded one end through the other, and pulled it tight. He took another, clipped in a carabiner, and lowered it to Thomas. “Now, we need to get your weight on the harness.”
Thomas grabbed the carabiner. “What do I do with this?”
“Feel the loops sewn into the waist of the harness? There on the front.” He grabbed the ones on his own harness. “These.”
Thomas coughed. “Yes.”
“Clip the carabiner into both loops. Do one, roll it around to where you can get the gate in the other.” Jack held onto his end of the webbing and watched. Specks of red dust hung in the air, settling on Thomas’ helmet and shoulders.
Thomas coughed.
He’ll be coated, soon. Come on, Thomas!
“I think I got it,” he said.
“Lock it down.”
Thomas turned the nut on the gate. He coughed deep and hard.
“Cover your mouth and nose.”
Thomas raised his hands to his face.
“Now, my turn.” Jack fought back a cough. He braced his legs against the wall, and pulled. Thomas hardly budged. “Now why in hell did I think I could lift you like this?” He tried again, straining against the load. He sucked in dust, and the stench overpowered him. He spit it out. “You’re more than I can lift. I don’t have any leverage.”
Silence.
“Thomas?”
Silence. Then low, rumbling. “Can’t breathe.”
“Hold on. I’ll do something else.” He felt along the sling and found a short runner. He clipped it into the one coming from Thomas. On its other end, he clipped into the runner hanging from above, on the load rope. “Now you’re tied in. Don’t be shocked by what I’m about to do.”
Thomas coughed and let out a groan.
The dust grew thick. It stung. Jack batted his eyes. Tears welled, and gummed in their corners. He blinked hard. They refused to open. He reached into the mesh bag, and groped along the bottom. Where is it? He slid his finger along something stubby—the knife. Found it.
He fought to open his eyes. Darkness loomed over them, like evening turning to night.
He blew the dust from his lips. “Don’t panic. I’m about to cut you loose.” He grasped the knife with both hands. Can’t drop it. Carefully, he pulled out the blade and locked it in place. Unable to open his eyes, he felt among the rope and webbing. Only the tight webbing. Stay clear of the rope—or we’ll both die. He slid the knife along the tightest webbing. It splayed. He held the blade in the splay and sliced. Threads popped away, abruptly letting go. Dead weight dropped and bounced at the end of the webbing.
Thomas gasped, and broke into a cough.
The radio came on. “Jack, what was that? Everything okay?”
Jack keyed the radio. “Had to cut some webbing. We’re okay. Get us out of here.”