I lose reception on the call near the trailhead. We sprint up the path, leaping rocks and roots, making the journey in record time. We come into the clearing and my heart stops.
I don’t see him.
“Matt!” I scream, falling to my knees.
The cliff is empty of all but rocks and grass. Matt’s pack and the parachute lie discarded near the lip of the low drop, where we jumped and jumped and always landed safely.
“Oh no,” I moan. “Oh God.” Patrick puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Here!” Janna shouts. She sits on the four-foot ledge, then launches herself over. “He’s here.”
I stagger to my feet. Patrick grabs my arm and helps me over the uneven terrain, because all I want to do is run and I keep tripping.
Matt’s passed out at the base of the small rock wall. I’ve never been so happy to see his drunk ass.
Janna pats his cheeks until he wakes, groggy.
“Leave me alone,” he moans. “I’m trying to die here.”
“Yeah, well, you’re fucking it up,” she says. “Thank goodness.”
We get him sitting up, but he’s barely coherent. His eyes are glowing and dilated like tiny solar eclipses.
“I don’t think that’s just booze,” Patrick says. “I wonder if he took something?”
Beside him is a near-empty bottle of his dad’s expensive whiskey. Janna digs through his pack and finds an empty bottle of prescription pills with his mom’s name on them.
“Shit,” Patrick says. “He could’ve taken those an hour ago.”
“Maybe less,” Janna says. “He was okay and talking to Kermit until a few minutes ago.”
“He wasn’t okay,” I say.
Janna’s tears begin anew. “Yeah, duh. You know what I mean.”
“Come on. We can’t waste time,” Patrick says. “Let’s get him up.”
It takes all three of us to bring Matt to his feet. Sort of. He can’t stand. His eyes are open, but I don’t think he’s conscious. I’m flushed with rage and terror. We got to him. He didn’t jump. And yet it still might not be over.
“I can carry him,” Patrick says, half bending, half crouching in front of Matt. “Get him on my back.”
Janna and I carefully drape Matt over Patrick, piggyback style. But he can’t hold on. We use the parachute like a Babybjörn and wrap them together. Patrick clutches the tarp at his stomach and starts inching toward the trail.
Going down this way is much slower than coming up was. Janna walks ahead and Patrick holds my arm to steady himself. He’s a big guy, but a passed-out Matt’s not an easy load. Less than halfway down, we meet the paramedics coming up. They get Matt on a stretcher and check his vitals.
Janna shows them the pill bottle. “We don’t know how many were left.”
The paramedics hump Matt down the hill double time, like it’s their usual Saturday jog. I shiver to think maybe it is.