Part 8
Owen lowered his hand and turned back to Willa. She had slipped onto her knees and was struggling to get her hind feet under her. He reached for the spare training line clipped to his equipment.
He removed his belt without disturbing the harness holding him. With the line attached, the broad belt made a loop he might get around her body. He moved Fern behind his shoulder before trying to cast it across the gap.
The first throw fell short. Willa scrambled, sending dirt down into the passage, and Owen had to wait until she stopped moving before he tried again.
The loop dropped across her chest. As she stepped, it settled behind her front legs, and Owen drew the line in carefully. She resisted the restraint, but when her back feet slipped again he kept her from dropping farther.
“All right,” he said through his teeth. “I’ve got you.”
He could not bring her across safely. Holding her where she was used both his arm and the little purchase he had against the slope. He changed his grip a fraction at a time while water gathered around his boot.
Fern pressed her nose against his wrist. She had done that beside the bed when he lay too still, and now she repeated it between watching him and watching Willa. Owen rubbed her neck with the hand he could spare.
The sensation in his toes was changing. He tried to move them, could feel some response, and made himself pay attention to the radio rather than the fear rising in his chest. Above him, Boone barked into the rain.
At the lower farm, Glen had started a timer as soon as Owen’s text arrived. He set it for eight minutes, leaving himself time to try the phone before the promised ten. The call went unanswered.
He was putting on his jacket when the ten minutes passed. He called emergency services, gave the hill’s location, and described the mine notices and the missing lamb. He had the map reference written beside the telephone from his visit that afternoon.
The dispatcher was still speaking when something struck the front door. Glen looked through the glass and saw Tucker turn away, run toward the yard, then hurry back. The dog’s mouth opened against the wood in another sharp bark.
Glen reported the dog’s arrival and stayed on the phone. Outside, Tucker caught the hem of his trouser leg, pulled once without biting through, and let go. Then he ran a few steps toward the footpath.
Glen took his headlamp, blanket, and radio. He told the dispatcher which route he would use and asked that the rescue crew be sent up the eastern track. Then he ended the call. He was not going to attempt an extraction with a thermos and a dog.
Tucker led him into the trees. Mud and needles clung to the lead trailing from his harness, and he had come out beside Glen’s tool path rather than down the blocked road. When they reached the fallen pine, he took Glen around it through the same brush.
Glen slipped once and caught a branch. Tucker came back to him, barking until he moved again. Farther up, Boone’s deeper bark began to carry through the wind, giving Glen something to follow when Tucker went beyond the lamp’s reach.
Below the ground, Owen was counting the things he knew. Boone remained above; Tucker had gone toward Glen; the text had been delivered. He said them aloud to keep his voice working.
Fern touched his wrist again. He put his fingers in her fur, then shifted them back to the line when Willa moved. His grip was becoming clumsy, and the effort of correcting it frightened him.
A light moved through the trees above.
“Owen!”
“Here. Below you.”
Glen’s beam crossed the opening, then stopped short of the edge. He called down from farther back.
“How many?”
“Me, Fern, Willa. Boone’s tied above. Did Tucker—”
“He’s here. Help’s coming.”
Owen bent his head for a moment. He had heard the words, understood them, and still needed time before his body would accept that somebody else was taking part in the work.
Glen stayed on the stable side, keeping his voice where Owen could hear it. The first rescue lights reached the trees after a wait that Owen measured by how often he had to alter his hold on the lamb. Vehicles stopped short of the damaged ground, and the crew carried the equipment in.
The woman directing them introduced herself as Leah Sutton. Her red helmet caught the lamps as she studied the torn opening from uphill. She asked Owen about the trapped leg, then told him what would happen before anybody started down.
Glen tried to bring Boone farther back. The dog planted his feet after a few steps, unwilling to leave the opening entirely. Glen shortened the line and kept him clear of the working area while Leah’s crew established anchors well above the damaged cedar bank.
A technician moved toward the eastern side. Small stones ticked down the exposed face; Boone rose at the sound and pulled away from that edge with a low growl.
The technician stopped.
A strip of soil broke where he had been about to step. Leah saw it fall, called him back, and changed the approach. One anchor was moved farther south, away from the shifting section.
Glen put a hand on Boone’s shoulder. The dog remained upright, ears forward, while the crew worked around him. Leah kept watching the exposed bank as her crew moved the equipment farther back.
Owen could see only pieces of the work: a lamp, a line coming down, a boot searching for the upper bank. The rescuer who descended introduced himself as Luis Ortega. He was attached to the crew above, and he stayed on the high side until he had assessed the timber.
“Tell me if you hit your head.”
“Shoulder. Hip. The left ankle’s pinned. I didn’t black out.”
Luis checked him without rushing. Owen wanted the beam moved immediately, but the man kept returning to his breathing, his responsiveness, the condition of the trapped leg. Fern watched his hands and stayed against Owen’s shoulder.
“Let me get you secured first.”
Owen opened his mouth to explain the rope already holding him. Then he shut it and let Luis fit the rescue equipment around him. He had called for help; now he needed to allow the man close enough to give it.
Willa bleated across the chamber. Owen lifted the hand gripping her line so Luis could see where it went. The rescuer followed it with his lamp, checked the lamb’s position, and reached for Owen’s closed fist.
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