Scattered Graves by Beverly Connor Read Free Book Online Page A

had expected. Her muscles felt good at the moment—the stretching and exertion al ways felt good. She’d been afraid Harve had sprained her arm, jerking her around the way he had, but other than being sore, it seemed fine. This would work after all. She started moving again, putting one hand in a crack and another on a protrusion of rock. She pushed on the rock with one foot, finding a toehold with the other.
As she moved along, she began hearing scraping sounds overhead. What now? she thought. She turned her head and looked up, but her view was obstructed by an overhang. She stopped and listened. He was climbing down. The crazy bastard was climbing down the rocks.
She started descending again. After several feet, Harve came into sight. He was making his way down a large crevice between the ledge she had climbed down from and the adjacent rock. It looked to the untrained eye like an easier route, but it was decep tive. It was difficult to prevent your feet from becom ing wedged in the crevice.
‘‘Are you nuts?’’ Diane yelled at him. ‘‘You can’t climb down here.’’
‘‘Scared, little girl?’’ he shouted.
‘‘ You should be scared. You’re not a rock climber,’’ she yelled back.
‘‘How do you know? I do this every weekend,’’ he sneered.
‘‘No, you don’t,’’ Diane said under her breath. ‘‘I know all the climbers and cavers.’’
She wondered whether he had a backup gun. No, he would have used that instead of throwing rocks.
‘‘If you can do this, I can,’’ he shouted.
So that was it, she thought. He wasn’t going to let a girl best him. Well, he was wrong. Diane was in her element. She felt calmer than she had since he’d dragged her out of her vehicle.
She moved horizontally on the rock face, heading toward an easier path. A few feet from her was a slab of rock that looked vaguely like a sheep’s head plastered sideways against the cliff. Climbers called it Ram Rock. It had several creases and protrusions that were like features—eyes, a nose, an ear, and a horn. All made easy hand- and footholds. She had it in her mind now to climb back up to the top and run for her car, since Harve was down here.
‘‘I played football,’’ he yelled. ‘‘I could’ve gone pro.’’
He sounded closer. She looked over at him. He was perhaps twenty feet to her left and above her position. He was working his way down the crevice and having a difficult time, going too fast.
‘‘Did you play ball on a vertical field?’’ said Diane.
He didn’t respond. She watched as his foot slipped and slid down the crack. He grabbed at the rock. He stopped with a jerk when the crack widened to a tiny ledge. He looked startled, then scared. After a few moments he apparently thought he was safe, because he grinned at Diane. He pulled a knife out of his belt and pointed it at Diane, making small circles with the blade.
‘‘You don’t have time for that,’’ said Diane, calmly. ‘‘You need both your hands.’’
‘‘I’ll teach you to fuck with me,’’ he said.
Then he looked down. He shouldn’t have. Below them at the bottom of the gorge was an old car some one had long ago pushed off the edge of the cliff into the canyon. At this height it looked like a child’s toy. The tops of tall pine trees swayed in the wind four hundred feet below them.
Diane saw his face change. He grew pale, his eyes widened, and she knew his pupils were dilating. It hap pened so fast. He was panicking.
Harve hugged the rock, not moving. Diane thought she heard him moan.
‘‘Stay calm,’’ she shouted. ‘‘Don’t let go of the rock. Hold on with both hands.’’ Why am I helping him? she thought. Let the bastard fall.
    He whimpered.
‘‘Breathe slowly and evenly,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Help me,’’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘‘Help me.’’ Diane had seen people panic on the rocks, but they
    were tied to ropes. If his panic got out of control, he would free-fall to the