Canyon Sacrifice by Graham Scott

Author:Graham, Scott [Graham, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781937226312
Publisher: Torrey House Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

5 p.m.

Chuck choked and sputtered, coughing blood. Liquid trickled down the back of his throat, thick and dark red in his mind’s eye. He gagged. Spat weakly. Clawed his way to a sitting position, eyes still closed. Felt something pressing at his back. Tried to shove it away.

He heard voices. A voice. Found he could take in a word or two at a time.

“. . . heat . . . ridiculous . . . can’t believe . . .”

The voice was familiar. More liquid filled his mouth, welcoming this time. So what if it was blood? It was delicious. He gagged again. Managed to swallow. Took hold of whatever was pouring the liquid into his mouth: a bottle. Grasped it with both hands and pressed it greedily to his lips. Water, that’s what it was. Not blood after all, but water, blessed water.

Chuck opened his eyes. His head spun, then cleared. He looked around him, regaining his senses and remembering. He was seated on the Chalk Stairs, his legs splayed before him. The sun, dropping in the western sky, still blazed down on him. The air temperature remained sizzling. He’d been out for an hour, maybe two.

Someone’s hand pressed at his back, steadying him so he could drink.

He rotated his head woodenly and found himself staring into the accusatory eyes of the uniformed student ranger he’d left at Hermit’s Rest a few hours ago. He maintained his grip on the young man’s proffered bottle and drank deeply. Life flowed back into him with each swallow.

The student ranger replaced Chuck’s hat on his head and his sunglasses over his eyes, centered his daypack on his back, and helped him to his feet, catching him when he toppled sideways. Wasting no time, the young man tucked his empty bottle in his own daypack, snugged his arm around Chuck’s waist, and set off slowly up the trail with Chuck held securely at his side.

“You saved my life,” Chuck croaked, barely managing to stay upright and hobble up the sloping limestone.

“Nah. Somebody would have found you later this evening. They probably would have had to chopper you out by then—which would have cost you a fortune, I might add—but you’d have been okay.”

“I can’t believe—” Chuck began.

“Don’t worry about it,” the young man cut in. “I figured you’d make it to the creek all right.”

“I didn’t go to the creek.”

“No kidding. I’m just glad I saw you coming out. Stumbling is more like it. I watched you from the rim. You were hanging in there ‘til you went down. It was clear you weren’t getting back up.”

“Ran out of water.”

“’Course you did.”

“Too hot.”

“I told you that.” The young man’s tone was surprisingly mild.

“For a student ranger, you’re not so bad.”

“We prefer interpretive-ranger-in-training.”

“Better yet, you got a name?”

“Conover. Hansen Conover.”

“Hansen? What kind of name is that?”

“I just walked a mile and a half into the canyon in this heat to save you from your own stupidity, and you’re hassling me about the name my parents gave me?”

“No, no.

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