The world spun in a whirlwind of rock and air.
Chelsea’s arm hit a crag jutting out of the rock. She grabbed at it, missed, kept falling.
Her stomach hit something. A branch. She spun over it like an out-of-control gymnast, fell forward, head first. She grabbed at another branch, the rough bark cutting into her palms.
She swung down, gravity trying to rip her away. Somehow, miraculously, she hung on. After a brief pause to breathe, she swayed and lifted her other hand to grab the branch. Then, she dangled in the silence and tried to catch her breath.
Someone had tried to kill her.
Below, jagged rocks. They gaped like the open jaws of a hungry monster.
She forced her gaze up. Focusing on the rock face in front of her, she tried not to think about the painful death awaiting her if she fell. Thanks to the jutting crag that had slowed her fall and the tenacious tree growing inconceivably from the face of the cliff, she had a chance to survive.
So far, she’d gotten lucky.
Lucky?
The word whispered across her heart, His voice as familiar as her own.
Okay, so it hadn’t been luck. The Lord had spared her. Surely He had a plan.
What now, Father?
If Chelsea could swing her legs up, catch them on the branch… But no. Her hands weren’t so secure that she could swing about without losing her grip. The branch, though… It was connected to a trunk that was secure against the cliff.
She inched one hand across the bark, then followed with the other. Her palms protested the scraping, but she kept her grip. Slowly, she made her way until she thought she might be near the trunk.
She closed her eyes, swung her feet toward the tree. Nothing but air.
She wasn’t going to look to see how far she had to go. Based on the distance to the cliff—maybe three feet now—the trunk had to be close.
She slid a few inches closer, reached with her foot toward the tree, and touched… something. Maybe the trunk. Maybe just a branch.
She inched closer still, her hands screaming in pain, and then swung her legs.
Yes! She caught the trunk, hooked her leg around it.
Pain shot up from her foot. Had she injured it during the fall? She ignored it. She’d deal with that later.
Now she was hanging awkwardly, one leg on the tree, two hands on the branch. This wasn’t better. She slid her palms toward the trunk. Another limb pushed up from the joint between the trunk and the branch that had saved her life, making it impossible for her to get any closer. If she could just get her hands from the branch to the trunk, she could wrap her arms around it and give her poor palms a rest.
Her other leg reached the tree. Not close enough to hook around it, but closer. If she wanted to get to the trunk, she was going to have to let go of the branch.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, breathed a prayer for help. Then, she pushed herself toward the trunk. Her left hand missed, but her right arm swung around it and caught her weight.
She hugged the tree koala-style.
Thank You, thank You.
She wasn’t safe yet, but this was better than hanging like a monkey.
Now what?
If she’d brought her cell phone, she could call 911. But she’d wanted to put off the day’s business a little longer.
Who could have predicted that the day’s business would include an attempt on her life?
She could yell, hope someone would hear. But what if the would-be killer was above, waiting for her to come up? What if he knew she hadn’t hit the rocks below? All he had to do was find a view of the cliff from another vantage point, and he’d see her.
She gazed at the lower part of the mountain with its thick forest. Was he there now, watching her?
Maybe someone else would see her and send help. But no. Even if someone from town were to look at the cliff, they wouldn’t notice her in this tree. She was too far away and too high up.
There had to be another way.
She studied the cliff face. It wasn’t as sheer as it looked from the lake below or as steep as it looked from the rocks above. There were handholds, but she was no mountain climber.
Should she sit there and wait, or risk it?
Lord?
As she breathed prayers, she studied the tree and rocks surrounding her.
The tree grew out of a ledge a foot or so wide. The ledge led to the far side of the cliff face. She couldn’t see around the corner, but a tree-lined slope was there. She’d seen it all her life. If she could get there, she could climb out. That was a big if.
If she reached the bottom of the tree that had saved her life and felt she couldn’t make it, at least her feet would be on solid ground.
That seemed a better idea than gripping the trunk for dear life hoping for rescue. Besides, though it had been years, she’d climbed her share of trees. As long as she didn’t think about the fact that this one was suspended hundreds of feet in the air, she should be fine.
She loosened her hold on the trunk and slid down. The rugged bark dug into her hands, her arms, even her stomach through her thin T-shirt, which was already aching thanks to the blow it had taken when she’d smacked into the tree. Thank God she’d worn jeans, socks, and sneakers. Not every part of her body would be scraped at the end of this. When she reached a branch below her, she settled her weight on it for a moment, allowed herself to breathe, and then continued to the bottom.
Finally, her feet touched solid ground, and she stood.
And nearly fell. Her left foot screamed in pain. She’d forgotten that. It must have smacked something hard in the tumble. Was it bruised or sprained?
Broken?
She tried her weight on it again. The pain was sharp, and she lifted it. Moved it around. Okay, maybe something was broken, but feet had a lot of bones. She’d just have to rely on the healthy ones.
Was that possible?
When she put her foot down again, pain shot up her leg. But it held her weight. She could do this.
Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d start to believe it.
The ledge wasn’t as deep as it’d looked from above. Eight inches, nine. Not wide enough to sit on. If she perched between the rock wall and the tree, she could almost rest. But she didn’t want to rest. She wanted off the mountain. Immediately.
She pressed her back against the rock and inched to the side. Bad idea. If she started to fall, she’d have nothing to hang onto. Using the tree to keep her steady, she turned so she faced the rocks, then found a handhold for each hand. The rock was jagged enough that there should be plenty of crevasses to grip. Slowly, she made her way along the ledge. Each time she put weight on the left foot, it protested.
The sun beat against her back. It was a cool morning, but, thanks to exertion and terror, sweat dripped down her spine. She continued, inch by torturous inch, until she reached the bend in the cliff face. She couldn’t see beyond it and prayed she was right and the other side would be gentler and have something to hang onto. The ledge was growing narrower, the handholds slick. She could go back, except she didn’t think she had enough strength to return to the tree, and if she did, then what? She’d wait, hope for rescue, and pray the murderer didn’t come back?
Lord, please help me.
She felt around the bend for a handhold, a foothold, on the far side. Her foot touched nothing. Her fingertips skimmed… leaves. She could get there. She inched a little farther and reached around again.
She found a branch. It was skinny but hopefully thick enough not to break. She grabbed the branch. Her right hand found a good handhold, and she hopped her right foot closer.
Her left hand got a better grip on the branch, but she still couldn’t see it.
She was going to have to trust it.
Trust Me. Let go.
Easy for You to say.
She shook off the attitude. Sorry, Lord. You’ve gotten me this far. I trust You.
With no other choice, she tightened her left hand and released her right. Her feet scrambled for a foothold as she swung her body around the corner.
The branch was thin and bent with her weight. She swung low, her stomach lurching as if she were on a roller coaster.
And then she smacked into another tree trunk. She wrapped her arms and legs around it. It was on the mountain’s slope, not the cliff face.
Thank You, Father.
She scrambled down the tree, then climbed, one painful step at a time, up the steep hill.
She didn’t climb all the way to the trail. The murderer might be there. Instead, she found a branch, used it as a makeshift crutch, and picked her way through the woods to the hidden path to her home.