Chapter Two
Chances are, you have never been a mouse trying to drag a half-grown, unconscious squirrel out of a deep hole. As Gadget could have told you, it's no picnic, even when you haven't just scraped most of the fur and hide off your paws, covered a much larger mouse with rocks, and bashed your arm against a wall in the dark. Getting out to fresh air and sunlight would make all this seem like a bad dream, Gadget told herself, though she didn't believe it for a second.
They reached a cleft in the rock that looked like a likely candidate. Gadget could hear the wind whistling, high up above, a hope but no guarantee of escape. It wasn't as though the Rangers had just walked into the tunnels, after all--it had been more of a tumble into darkness that should have killed them all outright. Gadget remembered the feeling of freefall, the scrabble of paws against rock, the bite of the rope around her hips as the weight of the other Rangers and Runner jerked against her harness, her back and arms shrieking with pain--
"Stop it!" cried Gadget, hammering another piton into the rock face. Here was here and now was now, and she couldn't afford to let her mind wander. She rested her sweaty brow against the cool rock, and realized that if she stayed still too long, she would likely pass out. She was reaching a limit of sorts that she'd never really gotten close to before--she was always supposed to be resourceful, bouncy, energetic. Instinct alone drove her now. She reached the ledge she'd had her eyes on for half an hour, heaved her leaden body up onto it, and collapsed.
Her paws were tattered ruins. Fumbling at the straps and buckles, she worked the backpack open and retrieved the blanket. Tearing at it with her teeth, she made strips and wrapped the scrapes as best she could. A part of her mind that would not get tired reminded her of the dangers of infection, and Gadget briefly considered slamming her head into the wall to shut it up. She decided not to spend the energy. She needed every last scrap of strength to pull the limp, dangling squirrel up beside her, using the second line. "Give me five minutes at Radio Shack and I'd have us out of this dump," she muttered, sucking in her breath and straining her back further as she pulled Runner onto the ledge with her.
"If you'd just wake up and help climb, it'd make things a lot easier," she admonished the unhearing squirrel. After all, climbing was what his sort did best. Chipmunks were almost as good at it--but if she thought about chipmunks she was going to cry, so she curled her paw painfully around the hammer and began battering another piton into the rock.
About two-thirds of the way up, it got worse.
The rock was looser up here, and Gadget had trouble finding rock solid enough to hold her pitons. After an excruciating, frustrating hour of hanging on by the tips of her pawpads, she'd made Swiss cheese out of the rock within her reach. Nothing held. Besides that, she could hardly get her arms to do anything but make jerky, uncertain movements, and with each new attempt to secure a new piton, she would miss and smash the hammer into her other paw more often. She saw only one way to proceed, and in her current condition, it was a long shot.
Kicking her feet carefully against the side of the rock wall, hoping for a slightly tighter hold, she let go with one throbbing paw and reached over her shoulder. She loosened the three-pronged grappling hook and managed to get it free and swinging. Her target was a small but solid-looking crevice between two stones, which would have been just barely within reach of Gadget's hook on a good day. It had not been a good day, Gadget mused, and balanced precariously, readying herself for the throw.
Her first throw resulted in a scraping sound as the hook skittered back down the wall at her. She dodged just in time and reeled the line back in frantically, remembering where Runner dangled below. Risking a look down, she sighed in relief. The hook had missed him. As it turned out, once she had the hook back in her shaking paws, it had not missed by much--she bit her lip, blaming herself for the close call, as she untangled a swatch of the squirrel's red fur from the hook.
Twirling the hook again, determined not to let it fall back this time, she launched it at the crevice--sweet Jesus, it held. Cautiously yanking the line a couple of times to test the grip, she put her weight on it and raised her feet. Her slow upward progress finally continued, and she rose above the area she'd tried to pin with a piton. For safety's sake she tried one again--no luck. From here on out, their lives depended on the creaking, shifting hook above--the rock was just too unstable.
There were several moments when Gadget was sure she and Runner were both dead. She heard the hook rock back and forth, gritting closer to popping out--but it never did. She reached for the crevice where the hook had taken hold--reached up--had it. She swayed there for a moment on her line, breathless. She could feel a welcome breeze cross her face, ruffling her fur. They were so close to being out, she was sure, and hope welled in her heart.
Artwork by Keith Elder
She pulled herself up onto one of the two rocks the hook had wedged between. With a sudden rumble and snap, the rock was out from under her, plummeting--she slammed into the other rock, her grappling hook sailing off into the dark. In a flash, she steadied herself and pulled hard on the line connecting her with Runner, swaying him out of the path of the rock--the line jerked in her paws as she heard a faint, sickening thump from far below. Her mouth hung open in horror as she heaved at the line, feeling Runner twist and turn like a pendulum.
Edging the battered young squirrel onto the rock with her, fighting back her fear and self-blame, she saw the damage. Runner was still breathing--a bit irregularly now. One of his arms was badly battered, his left leg was broken, and a welt had sprung up on the side of his head. "Oh, no," moaned Gadget, "on top of everything else, I've given him a concussion!" There was time for guilt later, she forced herself to accept, so she took up more slack and began climbing paw over throbbing paw toward the evening's last light that winked into the hole above. First things first, she thought grimly--a real doctor for Runner, a well-earned but short rest for herself, and vengeance for those dearest to both their hearts.
Guilt was a luxury, and it could wait.
Button images by Keith Elder
