And then a whistle, muffled by the night breeze and the cliff wall, or was it a bird, and all around her the sweet waft of burning wood. And voices that sounded like thunder, but so far away. She tried to move again. If only she could stand, wave her arms, regain her voice and strength, climb the wall before her, but she could not will her body to move in the direction of the voices that sounded like thunder. And the longer she lay there, the more she shivered and her legs tingled, both feet numb now, as if her body were drifting off into a deep sleep.
There had been fireworks. She had heard voices. Yet now, the fireworks and voices seemed so long ago, like a taunting in her mind. She knew then, she was dying. This was what dying felt like. She held her arms straight out to her sides, and in that moment she began to cry. She held her shame like a heavy cross.
I love you, Farrell. She closed her eyes, imagined him fully, and beside him she saw the children, and Moab licking the children’s faces, and she tried to imagine her parents feeling proud of the family Amy Raye and Farrell and the children had become.
As something close to peace moved over her skin and thoughts, she was sure she heard voices again, only this time closer. Her right hand pushed through the edge of sage needles and loose particles of sandstone until her fingers wrapped around a stick at least two inches in diameter. She opened her mouth, strained her voice once more, tried to emit a scream. She banged a rock that lay within two feet of her. “I’m here,” she cried. “Don’t leave me.” She gripped the stick tighter. She beat the rock as if it were a heavy drum.
And somewhere above her and to her far right, she thought she saw a light. Please help me. I don’t want to die. A groan erupted out of her. The light disappeared. She hit the rock again. She tried to scream.
“Hello,” someone shouted.
And Amy Raye cried, “Help me,” and she struck the rock again and again. Please find me. Don’t leave me.
“Keep making noise,” the voice said. “I’m here. I’m going to help you.”
Someone was scrambling toward her, footfall and loose rocks and snapping branches. And more voices. And the light appeared again.
—
At first I thought a limb had fallen, that I had loosened deadfall along my path, that the debris might have tumbled onto the boulders below. But the sound repeated itself like Morse code. “Hello,” I shouted. Again the sound. My feet moved more quickly, as if body memory had set in. I had traversed this trail at least a dozen times. And by now, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and there was the dim light of the moon, despite the smoke that was slowly pushing in, and the occasional glow from Colm’s light as I corkscrewed my way over rocks and scrub brush and dead limbs, and around the trunks of pinyon and juniper, ancient trees whose roots had found water in deep crevices along the cliff wall.
And then a voice, as plaintive as any I had ever heard.
I moved off the switchback trail and toward the voice, toward the rhythmic sound that continued to repeat itself, and as I did, I reached for my radio. “Alpha One, Command, assistance required.”
The noise continued, and as I stepped through sage and edged my way around another boulder, I saw a woman lying on her back, striking a rock with a stick. A few more steps and I was kneeling beside her thin body, and her brown eyes were looking up at me. Oh my God, could this be her? At least three months had passed since Amy Raye had gone missing.
“What is your name?” I asked her.
She might have said, “Amy Raye.” I thought she said, “Latour.”
“Does anything hurt?”
“My leg,” she said.
And then I noticed her bare feet and the odd shape of her left ankle. I also noticed a gash down her left arm, her torn shirtsleeve damp with blood. And the sleeve on her right arm had been burned and was adhering to her skin.
I slid my arms beneath her. “Let me know if anything else hurts,” I told her. “I’m going to get you out of here. We’re going to get you help.” I lifted her against me, her body like a broken bird. I thought I heard her cry, though her eyes were now closed. I carried her up to the trail and began making my way along the switchback from where I had come. I tried to move sideways, to avoid knocking her legs against any branches or rocks.
We reached a pile of boulders. I leaned my back against the smooth surface of one of the larger rocks, held the woman closer to me, used my feet for leverage as I pushed us over the impasse. Colm’s light grew brighter.
“Over here,” I yelled.
And then his light shone in my eyes, blinding me for a couple of seconds before he pointed the light to the ground and my eyes adjusted.
“Command, Dispatch, person down. Request immediate medical assistance.”
And then, “Dispatch, Command, ambulance in the area.”
Colm took the woman from me, and as he did, I grabbed the light.
“You’re going to be okay,” he told her. “We’re almost there.”
It took both Colm and me to lift the woman up the final vertical stretch, approximately six feet, to the bluff’s edge. From there, Colm carried the woman in his arms like a baby while I held the light to mark his path.
And up ahead we saw Dean’s light. Medics were responding. The sirens were close.