maybe you could tell me why i am rescuing you.
rescue one -- have located helpless climber, please prepare idiot line for transport, over --
who precariously swings out from the ledge to grab it -- the wire is just out of reach. hal grabs the radio.
this guy showing you a good time?
now, remember -- keep your arms and legs within the vehicle at all times --
ready? did he tell you about the time he almost made it up everest?
well, if he's bored you with that bullshit, then this has to be the best part of a bad date. right?
ready?
yes you can. you can do it. don't look down. the whole way across, don't look down. look at me. just keep looking at me -- and you'll be okay.
sure?
moves back from the ledge.
hold on. i'm coming out to get you.
urgently pulls himself along the line faster, trying not to shake the line. as he gets closer and closer to a terrified susan, his eyes lock on hers --
keep looking at me. hold on --
deliberately lets go of the main line and launches himself at susan --
who can only look down, swaying helplessly on the wire as susan's scream starts --
twists from his safety line, spinning helplessly -- he wants to, but can't, shut his eyes --
falling.
any size, any color, any model.
just under six hours.
this is new.
still find the dead ones the old fashioned way, i guess.
if i did, i'd have to listen to you tell me one more time that it wasn't my fault.
-- if i did everything right, susan collins would still be alive.
do you really believe all that? that it wasn't our fault?
i'm not sure what i wish more, maggie. that you meant what you said, just now -- or that it were really true then.
christ. you're in charge of rescue now?
well, you're a better man than i am, hal. nothing rattles you.
good idea. say, hal? why don't you come with me so we can show these rookies how to death-rig a woman properly?
brushes some of the falling snow away from the marker. he lays down his flowers and pauses for a moment -- then gets into the bronco and drives away.
pulls into the driveway and puts the bronco in park. he doesn't cut the engine, because he's not sure whether he's going in or not. finally -- he cuts the ignition.
maggie?
hi. could you introduce us?
not the tag -- what do you call him?
poachers? bastards.
about four months, right? christ -- it must have been just about his -- i mean her -- first flight --
you can't do that alone --
i'm making her nervous -- you hold her, i'll do the dressing.
got some fight in her -- that's good. what happened to dave?
i thought i came back to see if i'd learned to live with it. well, big surprise. coming back just tore me open all over again, like it all happened yesterday instead of a year ago. nothing's changed. including the way i feel about you. i didn't realize it till i saw you at the airport. but i came back for you, maggie.
no. not here. i want you come with me. start over, somewhere else.
what the hell do you want?
"we"? talk to somebody who's still on the payroll. you've got a half dozen new guys --
during the summer. on a bet.
maybe you missed the headlines -- but i don't do rescues any more. they're bad for my conscience. fuck this one up on your own.
not like i was, pal -- her fingers brushed mine on the way down --
i don't want the responsibility.
just backup.
i'll lead. i left a few bolts last time i climbed this -- i think i can find some of them.
tell you what, hal -- if we're still alive tomorrow morning, i'll give you the twenty bucks back, okay?
anchored!
hugs the ice wall, making himself as flat as possible --
rockslide!
who's seen everything we have, quickly reaches to the piton he's just anchored, and removes the carabiner clip --
has the bolt gun out. he rapidly hooks the rope's carabiner clip to the chambered bolt, and fires it at a solid rock ledge above him --
lashes the rope to his shoulder, bracing for the coming impact by lodging his feet in the ice --
is almost dragged down by the jolt -- he painfully takes most of the impact in his shoulders -- the shock forces his feet through an ice ledge -- but the rope, bolted to the rock above, has held. barely.
anchored -- anchored!
it's kind of hard to resist --
come on -- the hard part's over.
i thought the fuselage was broken. that looks pretty cozy.
something's wrong here --
my ex.
this way.
we don't have to do this. we know these mountains -- they don't. if we can get ahead --
we've got to try something. think we'll get a finder's fee after they get all their "luggage"?
that's not what really worries me.
yeah. once they've got what they're after -- they're gonna need a copter to get out of here.
i'll need the ice axe.
okay. how about some tape?
crampons too.
jesus.
i've got a better idea. why don't you come up and get it?
who has to flatten against the upper ledge -- bullets howl past at twenty per second, sparking against the lip of the rock -- it's cover, but not much --
looks up, sweating it --
come on --
who drops the case and hugs the wall --
-- his hand gropes out -- and with some difficulty, he digs himself out, gasping and coughing. gabe, coated with snow, leans against the wall and rests. alive.
and he barely has the strength to hold on, much less go up. gabe holds himself steady with one hand, gets a foothold, and swings another hand up to slam it against the wall.
a steambath. a steambath -- and a bottle of whiskey. a steambath with a bottle of glenlivet. and a fire. a steambath -- with a bottle of glenlivet -- and a steak. a steak soaked with glenlivet, cooking over a steambath on fire.
is right underneath where the ice flows over the wall. gabe takes his handheld crampon and hammers it into the ice overhead with more force than usual. this one is going to have to hold.
still swinging from one hand, takes the now-freed crampon and slams it into the ice. it doesn't hold -- but the force of gabe's swing, pushing him away, has loosened the other crampon. gabe only gets one more shot at this -- he swings the free crampon up with all his might -- it catches in the same split second as the other dislodges.
sorry, gordon -- i promise i'll have it back tomorrow.
climbs down from his rock perch and rushes toward the tree.
begins climbing down to level ground so he can circle closer to where travers is holding hal -- before he can get far --
is startled as the bullets impact inches over his head -- he jumps the last ten feet to the ground and is running even as he hits the ground -- more bullets hit where gabe was a split second ago --
runs too, trying to dodge ryan's continuing fusillades -- gabe knows this territory, but to him, it's still pitch dark -- he stumbles, and rams against trees --
comes out of the trees and finds he is on another part of the summit. all that's beneath him is
is driven forward by a fresh burst of bullets -- he dives to the edge of the ice field and ducks behind a boulder -- the sole source of cover.
fumbles in his backpack and pulls out something from the douglas exhibit -- an ancient flare that looks like a can of sterno. gabe pulls out his lighter and tries to light it -- it resists and looks like a dud, but finally it catches, and as it ignites gabe heaves it over the boulder at ryan --
bolts out from behind the boulder to rush him --
just runs straight ahead to ryan, getting to him before the machine gun field of fire can intersect his path -- gabe tackles ryan as he manages to get the goggles off -- both men fall to the ground, and --
tries to maintain his perch on ryan, who is screaming and not yet used to the idea of being a human sled -- he isn't remaining still enough to provide a smooth ride -- gabe frantically reaches behind to ryan's wrist to get the ice axe, trailing from a wrist strap, but ryan's arm is thrashing away, threatening to toss off the axe --
finally grabs the ice axe, pulling it off ryan's wrist -- just as they reach the precipice edge, gabe loops the axe to his wrist and swings toward the ice with everything he's got --
smiles with the memories -- then his face brightens with one memory in particular. gabe rushes to a corner of the cave and opens a rock-lid to a hiding place.
please still be there -- oh, please --
mmm. just like -- chicken.
come on -- wait till you're out of range -- don't pull it yet --
turns away -- he can't watch evan hit bottom -- he grimaces and looks up with absolute hate at
don't worry. you will.
pulls out his ancient binoculars, and scans the crack.
puts away the binoculars and wedges himself into the crack, starting the long process of going up -- and through -- the mountain formation.
i didn't need to see that. i really didn't.
should've taken that left turn at albequerque.
blindly pushes to the side, rattled by the difficulty of doing this in the dark.
it's just like any other side move -- you can't see where the fuck you're going, that's all --
exasperated, puts the penlight in his mouth and moves on.
much better.
still cursing, still looking up, still moving to the side -- he gets the opening he wants, but not where he wants it --
is now, literally, in a jam. there are no handholds, no ledges, and the walls are slick. all he can do is remain braced against the crack's walls until his already sore arms and legs give out.
snaps the lighter shut, pockets it, and readies himself.
so much for the easy part.
knows the top is twenty feet away. gabe starts up the easy segment, his back braced against one wall.
appears -- he completes his run toward kynette's back and kicks him over the edge --
yanks maggie to her feet and onto the top. maggie gets a good look at gabe -- his clothes are slashed, he's covered with cuts, and coated with slime and dirt from the crack. he looks like he's just spent a week in hell. gabe doesn't react to her reaction -- he just grabs her hand and runs.
come on --
here.
today, goddamit!
feels the rope go taut -- he yanks the rope down hard --
looks over as kynette bounces past him, a few feet away -- the rope goes slack in his hand as kynette falls below.
this way. i like the outside of the mountain better too, but --
stop.
i need to stop.
i'm glad to see you -- but christ, i wish you hadn't come.
try it from this side. do you still have your radio?
let's give it a try. i'm in bad need of a ride. come in, rescue unit --
-- come in, rescue one --
-- come in, frank --
is there anybody else on the radio?
i take a year off and the department goes to hell. -- come in, rescue unit --
come in, frank -- over --
is knocked down to a point where the crack narrows -- he stops himself by jamming his body against the sides. suddenly, it's quiet. a little dirt whistles through, but that's all.
are you all right?
no -- there could be another bomb up there -- even if there isn't, we could get another cave-in. the only sure way out is through the side.
come on -- we're almost out.
falls back, desperately grabbing at the walls to stop himself from going all the way down -- as he weakly tries to get up --
move!
knock this in the side. make it firm.
bad news. there's another bomb up there. we've got to move quick.
good news. there's a cave down there.
puts away the binoculars and swings back to maggie -- she lets the length of rope drop. it's thirty feet long. not even almost long enough to get to the shelter. gabe leans against the crack wall, drained. now what?
die. i'm sorry, maggie. i'm sorry you got into this.
forget about it. he can't hear you. tie these together. tight.
this is rope from the gordon exhibit. the way guys climbed then, they'd tie on three at a time -- this rope'll take around nine hundred pounds.
yeah, they made it pretty good then. each of these strands ought to hold about 300 pounds before snapping.
depends on how big a breakfast you had. you want to go first?
swing towards it -- and drop!
are you okay?
this. that plane crash -- it's a half dozen guys who were smart enough to steal fifty million bucks, but dumb enough to drop it all over the range. they've got hal as a bird dog -- and right now they're heading for the rest of it.
it's close to the lake -- hal's probably leading them on the slowest possible route down to it. i can get there first -- all i have to do is make it along the north wall to the bitker ladder --
something -- subtle.
no way. you're climbing back down -- try to get to the station or find some help.
and you're definitely not going --
okay. come on --
-- but the second you slow me down, i'm leaving -- -- i'm leaving you behind. understood?
if i don't go first, i might not go at all.
pulls faster -- and reaches the other side. gabe maintains his hand grip and swings his feet onto the ledge, leaning back against the wall to catch his breath.
think you can beat my time?
watches her, grinning. admiration for maggie is washing away bad memories of susan.
shit -- she is in better shape.
doesn't notice and shouts across at maggie, now half way.
quit sandbagging it -- i haven't got all day --
drops low just as maggie starts to fall and swings his arm out towards hers in one lightning-fast motion --
maintains his grip on maggie's hand, but her weight nearly pulls him off the ledge -- maggie drags him down, the window goes out of his chest when it collides with the ledge's bottom, but their grip holds.
that -- tears it. you're not coming any further.
maybe. but i'm not getting you killed. look, maggie. i don't know what'll happen when i catch up with hal -- but i've got to know one thing for sure -- that you're making it off this mountain. alive.
get on the trail and stay out of sight. i'll see you on the ground.
hasn't gotten any lower in the last year. bitker, you cheap bastard. would another four feet have killed you?
who is on a rise behind a rock, watches qualen's futile pursuit from a distance, amused. amused, until --
good thing for qualen you are.
when he comes back, he's going to shoot you and the other guy, grab the money, and take off with travers.
he already blew up one of your pals in that crevice. and i've been in that copter. it goes a hell of a lot farther with two people than with four. am i wrong? give him a buzz.
you've also got all the money. and i can show you how to get off the mountain with it. right now.
it's right over there.
it's a storage locker for the rangers. everything you need to get off the mountain is in there -- skiis, food -- i'll show you --
we'd make better time walking straight ahead. qualen's not going to be hopping down the bunny trail too much longer.
don't fuck up. you still need me to show you a route off the mountain.
bellies ahead, flat on his stomach, testing the snow with the ice axe's staff -- only when he hits something solid with it does he get back up to his feet. but the sound of ice-crusted snow crunching above gabe alerts him that --
is on the run, but it's that lead-footed, slow motion stuff that only happens in nightmares -- with every step, a foot breaks through the icy crust and sinks into two feet of snow -- gabe stays just ahead of the barrage, making it into
who tries to steer away from the line of fire -- gabe is hit in the shoulder -- he slides out of control, and rolls down --
not any more.
quickly reacts, jumping onto another bed-sized chunk of ice floating by, landing on his stomach and braking himself by digging his crampons in -- just as --
struggles to his feet and looks down, wincing --
has no time to celebrate -- the chunk of ice he's on leaves him moments from the same fate. one more time around, and it's down the drain. gabe takes a deep breath. no choice. he leaps --
lands on an ice raft floating towards the bridge. no choice -- gabe lunges off the ice raft and reaches for one of the bridge supports -- his hand catches -- but it's slippery and he's weakened -- gabe slides off, but --
didn't care for the smokey the bear hats, either. that's why i quit. you all right?
hardly seems worth zipping, huh? frank?
may i? they can't talk right now, travers. kristel's busy making snow angels -- and i'm not sure, but i think qualen is still falling. any messages?
maggie --
i've got the money. fly to the lake. and if you touch her --
i have no fucking idea. empty.
why can't anything be easy?
stay over there --
-- what, throw snowballs at him? just -- whatever happens -- get maggie out of here.
thanks for asking. i forgot how much i enjoyed rescue work.
remember that bet you made? about whether i could find the money for you or not? you won.
you do, and the spring thaw's going to be worth thirty million bucks. no rush. i'm sure you've got lots of time.
when she's safe on the ground.
run! run!
now come and get it. my arm's getting tired.
don't you want to count it?
rips open a perforated section of parka and yanks his bolt gun from his waist --
don't spend it all in one place, you son of a bitch.
stares down coldly, waiting for the crash -- but --
as he throws himself flat into the snow -- the front of the skid misses gabe by inches as it blasts over him --
gets back up as the helicopter swings back behind him --
lumbers as fast as he can towards the edge --
as he runs toward the mountain's edge -- it's just a couple of feet ahead, but the copter is a couple of feet behind --
is shaken off by the massive impact -- he falls -- -- landing on the helicopter, half in and half out of the cockpit! as gabe scrambles for a solid hold --
grabs hold of the ladder as
cheer up. it's a beautiful spot to die.
looks down at the burning wreck and clings to the ladder, closing his eyes for a moment in exhaustion. but the whopping of another helicopter makes him look up --
is drained -- from somewhere, he finds the strength to lift his head up --
leans back, gripping the ladder, too tired to move. just the thought of one more climb drains him.
forget it. no fucking way. i'm staying right here. i've spent the night on walls before -- some of the best nights of my life have been spent lashed to walls --
puts the loop around himself and tightens it by rote -- even this action aches.
fuck you --