Family Climb

Wind howled in Devin’s ears. He tried to tell himself it was just the wind. The cold attacked every joint, seeking out every seam of his cobbled together gear. Part of his mind wanted to let go and fall into the abyss. He screamed back at the wind and forced his arm to swing the adze another foot higher, another foot farther.

“Mom!” he screamed downward, “You’ve gotta try! Keep climbing!” 

Wind or no wind, he should have heard her response. She should have yelled something back, however defeated or demoralized, one of her trademark watered down swears at least. The weight on the safety rope told him she was no longer climbing, not even supporting her own weight. His mind veered away from the implication, and he stared into the ice and rock in front of him.

“Only punters give up,” he whispered to himself and surged for another foot, a bit less maybe since he was swinging his left hand this time. Progress was progress though. Higher was better, farther away from the horrors in the valley below. It had seemed so perfect, the find of a lifetime after a scenic family climb in the Alps. Bizarre looking trees, snowcapped but lush, had dotted the narrow landscape. Their shadows had so conveniently hidden the multitude of threats.

A murmuring growl echoed up on the wind accompanied by a burst of frantic scratching. Of course, one of them was following. Was it hunger driving the beast at this point? The thrill of novel pray perhaps? Could something so monstrous comprehend revenge for the four beasts the family had managed to kill? The thought flashed through his own mind of hurling himself onto the creature, sinking both adzes into its slick flesh, taking revenge of his own.

“Mom, we have to move! We have to keep going!” No response. No lessening of the pull on the rope. She wasn’t climbing. She wasn’t helping. 

Again his conscious refused to follow through the logic, and he powered through one, two, then three painstaking pulls upward. His eyes never strayed more than a foot or two upward, defying years of training in regards to route selection and avoiding the dreaded gronk. He didn’t want to see how far he had left to go. His gaze never ventured back down, which was at least not bad climbing form. He didn’t want to see how close the predator was coming. And the other matter.

As the thought glanced his awareness he swung again, barely six inches of gain, the safety rope cutting into his midsection, robbing him of breath and momentum. Swearing under his breath he swung his leg violently to chip into a bit of ice for a better foot hold. He didn’t need to kick it so many times, but he needed to hit something. He needed to do something different. Devin breathed in. Devin breathed out.

“Mom.” He was speaking loudly but not screaming. Tears welled in his eyes. On account of the wind, which was very cold and dry. “I can’t do it, mom. It’s too much. Tell me what to do, mom. I can’t get us both up the mountain.”

Devin closed his eyes. Immediately the faces of his father, older brother, and sister came to mind. The images faded away, erased by the shadow images of their deaths. His father, leaping in front of the family to face the first monster they’d encountered. His sister, dragged backward into the underbrush; the only remains they found were a boot and her pink handled adze. His brother, diving to protect their mother, snatched by the back of the neck and shaken like a rag doll.

Finally, his mother’s face came into view, so full of life as at the beginning of the day, green eyes shining and a broad, toothy grin plastered to her face. The image morphed across her expressions of horror as the misadventure progressed until settling on the gaunt, pale visage that faced him at the base of the cliff such a short time ago. She had been shaking with fever but swore she could make the climb. Her eyes had gone red with bloodshot but still sparkled pale green at the center. Her words had been encouraging save for that one last thing, that one last request. Her final demand of her son.

Though the words tinkled through his brain like a music box tune on endless loop, still he called out, “I can’t do it, mom. Don’t make me do it. Mom. Mom? Mom, wake the fuck up and start climbing!”

No response. No lessening of the pull on the safety rope. Again the murmuring growl echoing up from some point below. Wind. Cold. Pain. Fear and hopelessness settling in along with the cold.

He fought hearing the content and meaning of her words as they ran through his memory, over and over again. Happier memories vied for attention. Climbing mantras came and went, weak to the point of pitiful in the current circumstance. Words of reassurance spoken so often by parents who had urged him to be his best, achieve his best, and always move forward couldn’t quite make it to the surface. Even the concerns and aches of the moment paled in the face of the words that willed themselves to be heard.

Inevitably, his mother’s final plea broke through, stinging his ears, “Devin, promise me, if I stop climbing, you cut me loose and get up that route.”

Sobbing, with no reserve to choke back the emotion, Devin freed his right hand from the adze strap to retrieve his knife. Slowly, with only partially mustered commitment, he began sawing at the safety rope. The vibrations traveled up, reverberating and recriminating around his waist. His hand trembled, but he kept moving the blade back and forth as the nylon began to give, layer by layer.

Now most of the way through, he whispered hoarsely, “Goodbye, mom. I’m sorry.”

His body lurched, and his left arm felt nearly tugged out of his socket as the weight on the safety rope suddenly and violently doubled. His right hand jerked, whipping the blade across the rope one last time. He flopped against the cliff face, rocks and ice scraping his cheek. He hung limply from one arm. He didn’t look. He couldn’t look. All he he had left to do was climb.

He brought his left leg up and kicked into the cliff wall. He brought his right leg up a little higher and found a convenient foothold on a jutting rock. To the great relief of his left arm he wriggled his right hand back into the adze strap where it was still stuck into the ice. One more bracing breath, and he began, one limb at a time, one foot at a time.

As he struggled and heaved, the loop in his voice changed. First his father’s voice, repeating the usual climbing advice. Then his sister’s voice, nagging and teasing but encouraging at the same time. Next his brother’s voice, calmly assuring him that he could do this or anything else he set his mind to.  

Arms trembling he crested the summit, dragging his body over the edge. He crawled away from the valley of horrors, intent on getting far away but unable at that moment to stand and walk. The tears came again, followed by the sobs. He paused in his progress, such as it was.

Amidst the heaving breaths and rampaging heart beats came another voice. Sweet and lilting, his mother’s words came to him. Fear blocked his ears, making it little more than a melody, a suggestion of a message. With great intention Devin slowed his breathing and waited for his heart to slow down.

In the stillness came the words, “It’s okay, Devin. You’ve got this.”

Slowly, robotically, Devin began the hike down the mountains. Hands and mind numb he went through long practiced knots to set up repels down the steeper portions. Legs barely more than jelly, he staggered into the mountain town from which they had started.

An old man met him in the street and could barely utter, “Vas?” before Devin collapsed face first onto the cobble stones. Alive. Insensate. Safe. Alone.