Scattered Graves by Beverly Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

bottom.
    ‘‘Harve, listen to me. You’re standing on a small ledge. You can stand there for a long time until I get help. Try to stay calm.’’
    ‘‘I can’t,’’ he whimpered.
What a change , she thought.
‘‘Concentrate on holding on. Don’t look down,’’ said
    Diane. ‘‘Look up. Look how close you are to the top.’’ Harve brought his gaze around and looked up. They
were no more than fifty feet down. He whimpered
again. It must look impossible to him . She was sure
the tension in his muscles that panic brought was mak
ing them ache.
‘‘Listen to me, Harve. Breathe more slowly. Relax
just a little bit. You’re in a good place. You have a
place to stand. Just stand there and I’ll get help.’’ ‘‘I can’t,’’ he whimpered.
‘‘Yes, you can. Concentrate on something else. Why
did you come after me?’’
Harve was silent for a long moment, and Diane re
peated the question.
Silence again. He wasn’t talking.
‘‘Harve, can you talk?’’ she asked.
Harve squeezed his eyes shut. ‘‘Oh, God, oh, God,
oh, God,’’ he whispered.
‘‘Breathe,’’ she said. ‘‘In and out. You are in a good
place. You could stay there all day if you had to.’’ He was paying attention. His breathing didn’t sound
so ragged.
‘‘You sound good. Just keep calm. Panic is your
enemy, not me. When you panic, you’re in trouble,’’
said Diane. ‘‘When you feel better, I’m going to go to
call for help. Rescue will come and get you out of
here, but you have to hang on.’’
‘‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’’ he said. ‘‘Have
me waiting here while you go get help. Pretending to
be my friend.’’
‘‘I’m not pretending to be your friend. Obviously
we aren’t friends. But I don’t want you to die out here
either,’’ said Diane.
He looked up, apparently reassessing his situation,
deciding maybe he could climb back up after all. ‘‘I’m not going to die. You are.’’ He took aim with
his knife, preparing to throw.
‘‘Don’t do that,’’ shouted Diane.
He grinned, reared back, and threw the knife hard
at Diane.

Chapter 6
    Diane flattened herself against the rock face and watched in horror as the knife whizzed in a spinning blur toward her. She had no way to dodge it, nowhere to go. She threw one arm up in a defensive move just as the deadly blade struck the rock next to her abdo men and glanced off her waist.
    The sudden move, the twisting of his body from throwing the knife, had shifted Harve’s center of grav ity, spoiled his aim, and left
himself upright. The laws of
him struggling to hold physics are hell when
    you’re balanced precariously. His grip slipped on the rock. His arms flailed wildly, and his foot became caught in the crack. Diane heard the ankle break as his body fell backward, headfirst, his foot trapped in the fissure. He screamed, hung there for a moment; then his foot slipped from the crack and he fell five hundred feet to the bottom of the gorge. Diane didn’t look. There was no way he could survive; there was nothing on the way down that would break his fall, nothing to grab on to, no help, no hope. Diane winced when she heard the thump of his body impacting on the rocks at the bottom. She felt sorry for him, living his last moments in terror.
    She didn’t move for several long moments. She felt drained, her energy gone with Harve. Her heart beat faster and she felt sick. She couldn’t throw up. Not here. After a couple of minutes, her nausea subsided, her head cleared, and she moved again. She climbed over to Ram Rock and up to the top. It was an easy climb for her.
    She walked to her car to call for help. Her cell lay on the pavement, smashed beyond use. She walked back to Harve’s vehicle and called dispatch on his po lice radio.
    ‘‘Who is this?’’ the female voice interrupted. ‘‘Diane Fallon,’’ she said.
‘‘You’re a civilian. You aren’t allowed to use this
    channel,’’ the voice said.
    Diane started to