A/N: Many thanks to Mirlasse for reminding me to continue this story, such as it is.
They reached the ledge, the lead climbers pulling their companions up and moving quickly to where a dark form lay limp and still on the rocks. A medic examined the boy, feeling for pulse and respiration, taking note of the blood on his head and face, staunching its flow with white gauze that seemed to glow eerily in the moonlight. He spoke quickly to his companions, a few words of instruction sufficient, and they worked quietly, assembling a small gurney and anchoring a portable winch and pulley on the ledge.
When the medic gave the word, they lifted the boy gently, strapping him in tightly and stabilizing his head. The dog growled again, barking shrilly, until one of the climbers lifted him and gently strapped him into a medical bag.
They stood on the ledge then, conversing in hushed voices, waiting. The little dog whined, watching his master anxiously. The boy lay in the gurney, unmoving, his expressive face and agile body unnaturally still. Clouds drifted in front of the moon, casting fragile shadows on the cliff face. Far below they heard voices, the words muffled by distance. One of the climbers lit a cigarette, the glow a pinpoint of red in the darkness.
As if by some pre-ordained signal, the climbers began to work again, threading heavy rope through the winch and hooking it to a sling on the gurney. They roped themselves back up, half of them beginning the treacherous climb back down. The winch and pulley creaked sharply as the gurney was slowly lowered below the ledge, swinging a little on the line. One of the climbers reached up and steadied it with a hand.
Inch by painstaking inch, they worked their way down the cliff, the gurney moving steadily on its line. They stopped often, their progress measured meter by meter as the winch was moved and reset time and again.
The moon shone down on them, oblivious to the urgency and the danger. A mere five meters from the bottom, the procession ground to a halt, the line snagged on an overhanging rock. The gurney swung freely, unable to retreat or move forward, its occupant unaware of the dilemma. There was a murmured conversation, then two climbers converged on the winch, bracing their feet and backs against the rock. They took the weight of the gurney between them, feeding out the rope through thick-gloved hands. Below, their companions guided the gurney down with gentle hands, every nerve on edge, every movement painstakingly slow and measured.
When the gurney finally rested on level ground, the world erupted in brief and busy commotion, the ambulance on hand to carry the boy to the infirmary. The climbers gathered their equipment together, returning to the complex maze of vehicle bay and emergency station from whence they had come. Security details patrolled the perimeter, their eyes travelling upward to rest on the cliff face that had played host to the night's drama. Two intruders climbed and ran, dodging patrols and keeping in the shadows until the research centre was far behind them.
And when all was over, the moon sank quietly below the western ridge, its impassive face silent witness to all the world's secrets.