Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

One of the trucks had extended the ladder above the ravine. A basket was attached to it with a winch that the driver controlled from inside the cabin. Inside the basket, a young man held on to its edge with both hands, his helmet appearing too big for his slender body. Seen from up close, that basket seemed large enough to hold three people, but dangling in the air, above the abyss, it seemed frail and a very bad idea.

“Thirteen,” Kay shouted, just as she heard Kirsten say the word. “Way to go.” Then she clenched her jaws and said, “Bring that basket back. I’m going down there.”

Chief Hopper took two steps closer. “With all due respect, Detective, you can’t go down there. We know what we’re doing. And you’re not able to take care of yourself,” he added, giving her immobilized arm a long look.

“Sixteen,” Kirsten said weakly.

“Yes,” Kay acknowledged her, then turned to the firefighter. “And I’m telling you I’m going,” she replied, her impatient glare drilling into the man’s eyes. “She’s exhausted, barely holding on, and about to let go. You need a shrink down there. Please.”

“Nineteen,” Kirsten counted, but this time, Kay didn’t acknowledge.

Chief Hopper shook his head, then turned to look at the sheriff, who’d just arrived, as if to ask for his help.

“You heard her,” the sheriff said. “Might be worth it to take her advice.”

Hopper pressed his lips together for a split second before giving the order in his suit radio. “Bring the basket back.”

“Twenty-two,” Kirsten said, her voice trembling. “When are you coming?”

“Now, sweetie,” Kay replied. “Before you can count to forty, I’ll be there.”

Kirsten whimpered, then, a moment later, as Elliot helped her climb into the basket, she counted, “Twenty-five.”

The basket was solid, welded from thick metallic bars, but seemed dangerously frail. The firefighter next to her attached a belt with a safety cord to one of the edges, using a large carabiner, then wrapped it around her waist and tightened it with a firm tug.

“What’s your name? I’m Kay,” she asked, wondering if the man could see how scared she was. But the firefighter seemed barely twenty, and he didn’t seem to care one bit about the basket dangling at the end of a steel cable and starting to descend.

“Mike,” the man replied, smiling awkwardly. He wore a retainer, his teeth still a little crooked but white. “You should’ve stayed up there, ma’am,” he added, still smiling. “Last thing we need in here is a civilian panicking.”

“I promise I won’t panic,” she replied, wondering if she was going to be able to keep that promise. The movement of the basket unsettled her stomach. She fought the urge to heave, gripping the bar with her good hand until her knuckles hurt.

“Bend your knees a little and let yourself sway,” said Mike. “It’ll be better.”

She nodded, thankful and embarrassed at the same time.

The basket descended a few more feet until it reached the cypress. She could see Kirsten’s body in the strong lights coming from above. The second fire truck was positioned on the other side, its floodlights on, and that crew was preparing another basket.

“I’m here,” Kay said, “see?” She wanted to wave her hand at the girl but didn’t dare take her grip off the bar. Realizing the paralyzing effect her own fear had, even if she was securely attached to that basket with a safety strap, gave her a new level of understanding of the girl’s ordeal.

“Don’t let me fall,” Kirsten cried, turning her head to look at her. She was lying flat, her arms wrapped around the branch and clutching it tightly. Her legs were wrapped around it too, closer to the trunk of the tree. Under her weight, the branch had started to give, no longer pointing up, but down.

She could slip at any moment.

Forgetting her own fear, she grabbed Mike’s arm, drawing his attention, but he was already reporting his findings by radio.

Much to her surprise as well as Kirsten’s, the basket started to ascend.

“Please don’t leave me here,” the girl cried. “You promised!”

“What the hell?” she asked Mike, still holding on to the stiff fabric of his turnout suit.

“We need to come from above,” he clarified. “We’re not going anywhere without her, don’t worry,” he replied, pulling himself free from her clutch and opening a large kit. He pulled a small battery-operated chainsaw and some straps, neatly packed and fitted with carabiners at one end and adjustable buckles at the other.

Kay turned her attention to Kirsten. “We’re not leaving you, I swear,” she said, doing her best to hide the panic she’d been feeling ever since she’d seen how frail that branch seemed, slowly bending under the girl’s weight. The tree’s roots were partly visible, snaking between rocks as they’d grown over the years in that unlikely place.

The basket had stopped climbing, now slowly shifting sideways until it was positioned above the cypress. Mike was kneeling on the floor, holding on to the chainsaw with one arm.

“What are you doing?” Kay asked, horrified. “You can’t possibly think of cutting that tree with her on it. One mistake—”

“There’s no other way,” Mike replied. His voice was somber, sounding more mature, as if he’d suddenly aged a few years. “If you can, keep her calm while we remove some of the upper branches. It will ease the load on the root and allow the straps to reach her.”

Her heart pounded and waves of nausea alternated with chills rushing up and down her spine as she watched Mike wrap a strap around a branch and secure it to the basket, then slide the small chainsaw between the side bars of the basket and start to cut.

The moment the chainsaw started to buzz, Kirsten screamed, and Mike had to stop.

“Kirsten,” she said, keeping her voice steady, calming. “I need you to work with me on this. I need you to stay calm and—”

“You stay calm!” she