Chapter 36: Note to self; one of those times; "What happened to me?"; any landing you can walk away from;
Zuma Rock, Nigeria, January, 2015
Reese wrapped a length of rope around his waist and pulled it through an iron ring anchored in the wall, then back again to his waist and down around his thighs. Then he pulled the rope in a quick tug to check it. Secured, Reese lowered himself to his belly at the cave opening. In the darkness, he pushed himself out onto the ledge. Wind whipped at him out there and tried to drag him closer to the edge. The rope held him from sliding, and he inched himself close enough to look down. So dark, you couldn't see the wall below the edge. The moon didn't help either, tonight; in and out, but mostly hidden by the clouds. In his Ranger days, they'd always planned their missions with the moon in mind. No such luxury here.
If Zuma was half a mile high, this cave was fully half that, like looking down from the top of the Empire State Building. Climbing down from here, even in broad daylight with two good legs, would have challenged him. Attempting it like this was suicide.
Reese pulled himself back from the edge, and rolled onto his back on the floor. This wouldn't be the way out for him. And now, no time for delay. He'd seen their camp off to the south, near the highway. They'd flown a chopper out and then back with the box from the cave. He was betting the missing Nigerian was there, too. But for how long?
There were documents and other finds from his search that needed a better look. And he'd need to talk with Finch again, too – before heading out for that camp. The tunnel was the only way back.
Reese got himself up from the floor, pulled the rope off him, and re-wound it over an arm. As he limped back to the porthole wall, he thought about the trip back. Getting down through the tunnel might be worse for him than the trip getting up here. More treacherous. A lot more painful. His training had kicked in, and he compartmentalized the pain now. It kept it from interfering with what he had to do.
To a point.
On this trip he'd be heading downhill; so the good news, he wouldn't have to work so hard. On the other hand, there'd be parts of the tunnel so steep he'd be picking up speed, literally sliding downhill. He'd need to brake himself to control it. For one thing, he could come shooting out the end of a run of tunnel, and fall into one of those caves with the ladder. Normally he'd be able to brake with his arms and his legs, but with the knee like this, braking with his legs on the sides of the tunnel wouldn't work so well. It would only tear things up even more inside. And he still had to make his way to their camp – to rescue the Nigerian. He couldn't afford to do more damage.
The plan would be to go headfirst in the tunnel, so he could use the headlamp to see where he was going – and then use his hands and arms to slow him down. He could have tried towing the black bag behind him on a rope. But in the steepest parts, it'd slide forward and push him faster through the tunnel. And if it snagged back there, he'd have to leave it behind til he could turn around somewhere and come back for it. Reese decided he'd have more control wearing it on his back.
He ran his hands over himself in the dark, checking for loose flaps, belt-loops, anything that could catch on the tunnel. He checked his pockets, and buttoned them closed. Then he slid the black bag closer and ran his hands over all the surfaces, cinching and tucking anything that could catch. The rope from his jaunt outside he stashed in one of the pockets for easy access.
He'd thought of one thing he could do to make this trip better. Reese reached into the top of the bag. In a small pocket inside, he felt for a piece of cloth, hoping it was still there from last time. It was a large square of wrinkled cotton, an old neckerchief he carried to keep the sun off or the dust out of his face. Reese snapped it in the air a couple of times, then pulled his water bottle out of the bag. After a quick douse with water, he wiped his face with it, then around to the back of his neck. It felt cool on his skin. Then he poured on more water and squeezed it out on the floor. Almost ready.
Reese took a few long drinks from the bottle and then re-packed it. One more time he ran his hands over the bag for any dangling parts, and satisfied, slid it over his shoulders onto his back. If he'd needed to, he could've chucked some of the gear out the cave opening to lighten the load, but in the bush like this he hated to part with anything that might come in handy later on. And leaving anything here in the cave would signal someone had been here; Reese didn't want to give up the element of surprise.
On the floor, the headlamp he'd worn was waiting. He turned on the lamp and positioned it above his eyes on his forehead. Then he stretched the straps over the top of his head to hold it in place. Ready now, he folded the neckerchief into a triangle and tied it around his face below his eyes. That would keep most of the dust out of his nose and mouth on the way down. If he'd had a pair of goggles, he would have put those on, too, to keep the dust out. Note to self, for next time.
Reese bent forward and slid himself into the tunnel. This top part was nearly horizontal for a while, and then he remembered a long steep section coming up; his first downhill slide, heading back. He took it slow, to see how it was with his leg. For now, he could push himself along with the good leg and pull with his arms on the sides of the tunnel. The right leg dragged along. He just had to change his focus, not think about it, compartmentalize.
Soon, though, Reese could feel the tunnel angling down. He felt the weight shifting, too – and then, he started to slide in the tunnel. Reese threw his arms against the sides to slow him down, and unconsciously, he used his legs, too. The knee lit up like fire, and his arms scraped along the rough tunnel wall.
He realized anything steeper than this would strain the limits of his control. This was a 1200-foot drop to get to the bottom of Zuma. By the time he got there, he probably couldn't walk, and he'd have no skin left on his arms.
Reese pushed on ahead.
The approach to the first cave with the ladder wasn't so bad. It had started out steeply downhill, then flattened a bit, so he could slow himself, and then just before the opening to the cave, the tunnel tipped up a little bit, slowing him more. So he got to the opening under good control.
Then it was a matter of rolling head-first out the opening, onto the ladder, without losing his grip and tumbling into the rocky cave. The black bag slipped forward as he leaned out, trying to hurl him over the top of the ladder before he was ready with his handhold. The weight shift yanked his body out of the tunnel.
It was everything he could do to keep from falling. Somehow, he caught himself, with his good leg and an arm on the ladder but his whole body jerked hard. He hung there, the light from the headlamp swinging wildly in the cave, until he steadied. Banging his legs all over the tunnel on the way out had bent the knee the wrong way. Reese stifled a moan.
He made himself stop.
It couldn't go on this way. If he pushed too hard, he could make a mistake and get himself trapped in the tunnel. His body shook from all the effort so far, and from pain in his leg. He was breathing hard through the neckerchief. And the tunnel felt hot and airless.
What he needed now was water and a rest.
Hanging there, Reese held to the ladder until he felt steady enough to lower himself to the bottom. He could stand in the cave, but didn't want to, just yet. His legs felt weak, and his muscles were cramping. Signs of too much sweating and muscle effort, not enough electrolytes. He'd been losing fluids and salt in his sweat, but drinking plain water. That's all they'd had at the airport shop before he'd left for Zuma. There was juice in a bottle in his duffel bag, but he hadn't brought it along because of space and weight.
Reese pulled the black bag off his shoulders and sat it down in front, where the headlamp lit it well. There might be something he could do. Inside the zippered top, he pulled the water bottle and spun the cap off. With his fingers, he pulled the neckerchief down and swiped over his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were dry. For now, a small amount of fluid was best, so he didn't make himself ill. Then he rummaged deeper into the pockets of the bag, looking for some packets of salt and sugar. There were two of each in a pocket. He held up the water bottle in the light. Two sugars and one salt ought to do. He carefully ripped the paper packets open; his hands were shaky. Then slowly, he poured the contents in the bottle, recapped and shook it. This would help with the muscle cramps.
At each of the ladder stations ahead, he'd make it a point to stop and re-hydrate with the solution. He drank some now. It tasted sweet and a little salty. Reese was thinking he should be hungry by now, too, but the heat and the effort in the tunnel had shut down any desire for food. Maybe that was another reason he felt shaky.
All through his training and career, Reese would usually just push himself through all the hurts and fatigue. But there was a time to pay attention – not to jeopardize the mission. This was one of those times.
Safe-house, Midtown Manhattan, January, 2015
That was the oddest dream. She could only half-remember it. Hmmm. That's funny. When she tried to go back to the part she remembered, it wasn't there after all. Kind of just an impression was there, a faint feeling of something that happened.
Didn't matter, anyway.
Faint light sneaked in around the blinds. Must be really early. She wasn't sleepy any longer, so she'd get herself up and get some breakfast. Tea sounded good, for starters.
Root reached for the blanket to throw it off her, and she couldn't move her arms. They were all bound up in something.
This is crazy, she thought, and tried again. Couldn't move.
"What the – ?" She started to struggle then. She really couldn't move – like she was encased in something that wouldn't give. She was starting to thrash when:
"Root! Stop!" And then there were hands on her, holding her down. That wasn't gonna happen! She wanted to lift her arms, defend herself, punch their lights out!
"Root, it's me. Cut it out!"
That voice sounded familiar.
She held up for a minute and tried to see who it was. But there was something in the way, like she was at the bottom of a tube and couldn't see out.
"Who's there?"
A hand came into view, and then there was the sound of a zipper, and the view changed, like something peeling away so she could see. It was a woman. Dark hair. That's all she could make out in the darkness. She tried to move her arms again, but they were held tightly. She bucked herself on the bed, to see if she could get it off her.
"Root."
That woman's voice. Familiar, but she couldn't place it.
A light snapped on; just about blinded her. And she squeezed her eyes closed. She could feel the woman's hands on her, pulling at something on her chest.
"What's going on!" And she tried to open her eyes, blinking, blinking in the brightness. She bucked again and the hands grabbed her blanket and lifted her up.
"Stop!" Root was waiting for the strike she was sure was coming.
It didn't.
So she stopped moving and started looking around. Walls. Bars on her bed. Bags hanging over her head. And that dark-haired woman staring at her.
"Where am I?" she said, first.
"You're safe now, Root. We've been taking care of you. You had an accident."
"I can't move my arms."
"I know. It's okay. You have some pads around you. We'll get them off in a little while."
"What happened to me?"
Zuma Rock, Nigeria
Hours later, he was finally down to the last run. Once he'd almost lost it in that first ladder station, he'd started to smarten up. He was thinking more clearly, and made a change in his strategy. He'd decided to change the way he braked himself on the steep spots. Instead of sacrificing his arms and hands on the walls to slow himself, he used the neckerchief, wrapping it around his right forearm to protect it. He used his left leg and his right arm together to slow him down.
It took a little time to get the right amounts of pressure for each, but he got it pretty quickly and then he was better with the control on the steep down-slopes.
Reese kept to the plan of stopping at each ladder station to re-hydrate. And he needed it – he'd given up his neckerchief to wrap his arm, so the dust got sucked into his nose and mouth. But this was definitely better than the first part of the trip down. The salt and sugar helped with the muscle cramps, and he wasn't so shaky, like before. Not hungry yet, but Reese was sure that once he could get out of the tunnel, into the fresh air, he'd be starving.
The sound changed in the tunnel. It meant he was coming to the end. This would be a tricky dismount. There were stairs carved from the rock wall. No railing. And a long fall to the rock floor. It was worth thinking this through and not rushing. When he got to the opening, he stopped there. It was wide enough for him to reach down and release the black bag straps. He reached over his head and slid it off his back, and forward out of the tunnel. He could lower it down to one of the steps and lean it against the wall there.
Once the bag was gone, he had more space to work with. He let himself out of the tunnel enough to pull his legs forward. The left one he swung out and to the side, dangling it over the rail-less side of the steps. Reese turned himself on the top step, so his back was against the wall, and his left leg dangled. The right leg was a problem. It was pinned under the left one, at an angle.
Carefully, so he didn't lose his balance and fall down the steps, he used his hands to lift the right leg out from under the left and dangled it over the edge like the left one. His face showed the strain. It was a few long minutes of breathing hard til he could compartmentalize.
Now that he was sitting, he could turn and face himself down the steps. Then, one step at a time, he could lower himself, until he got to the bottom. The black bag he lowered alongside him to keep it safe.
Ten minutes later, he was down.
Reese leaned back on the wall and looked up to the top of the steps. He breathed a sigh of relief. Which started a coughing fit again. Dust in his airway. Reaching for his water, he swished and spat the first swig, then drank some down in a long guzzle. His arms felt heavy and he was starting to feel shaky again. This hadn't gone as planned, but some luck and some improvised methods got him through, and down to the ground.
Like they said, any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.
Reese finished off the water in the bottle and a few minutes later, he was ready to try standing. He bent and straightened his left leg a few times, and then planted it on the cave floor. Pushing off with his hands from the step, Reese felt his weight shift to the leg. It held. And he reached a hand out to steady himself on the cave wall. The right leg he slowly lowered, until the toes touched the ground. Carefully, he shifted little increments of his weight onto the right side – to see what it would bear.
The knee was so swollen, it felt stiff now. It didn't like to bend, and it wouldn't straighten, either. There was pain, but he could manage. Reese half-hopped, half-limped a step. It wasn't pretty, but he did it. The black bag had enough gear inside it, so he could swing it out a step ahead, then lean on it a little bit on his right side, like a short crutch, while he limped forward. Little by little, Reese got himself out of the cave, then through the scree field next. He could sit on the bigger slabs and rest when he needed to stop.
It was another hour later, when the spot where he'd left his duffel bag came into view.
When he finally got there, he went down in a heap, next to it. Reese was chilled now. The temp at night dropped into the 60's here, and with the breeze and his wet clothes from sweating in the tunnel, he felt cold. Reese pulled the duffel bag nearer and opened the zipper. On one side were a few emergency clothes, and he pulled out a fleece jacket he'd packed just for a situation like this. He didn't even bother with the neckerchief on his arm, but pulled on the fleece over the cloth. Just having it on made him feel so much better.
And inside his duffel, that juice he'd been craving was staring at him. It was warm from sitting on the rocks all day. He twisted the cap and took a long, healthy drink. It felt like energy tingling all through him. Then he reached for the bread next and pulled some off the loaf. With the knife in his pocket, Reese peeled more of the meat stick he'd sampled before and sliced off rounds of it to stuff into the bread. All of it, so satisfying.
That gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach was finally getting what it wanted. Food.
