"I thought I was going to get the climbing gear."
"You've been having the willies. Stay where it's safer. The attic has no protection at all."
She raised her eyebrows. "That makes me feel better, how? You'll be up there."
"That's right. And you'll be in your room. Just a little while ago you looked ready to fight half the state to keep me from going out by myself tonight, and I listened to you. That's the way I feel right now, in this situation, and you're going to listen to me." His voice was firm, the expression in his eyes cool and clear.
Putting it like that had just frustrated all her objections. She made a face at him and went to her desk in the foyer to get the key. "Does anyone ever win an argument with you?"
"I don't argue. Waste of time and effort. I do listen to opinions, though." He was right behind her and reached out to take the key.
She gave it to him without objection, but as he started up the stairs she asked, "Don't you ever get mad?"
He paused, looking down at her. In the gloom his pale eyes looked like crystal, without any hint of blue. "Yeah, I get mad. When I found that asshole Mellor threatening you with a gun, I could have torn him apart with my bare hands."
Her stomach tightened in a knot of shock, because she believed every word he'd said. She reached out and grasped the newel post, her fingers clenching on the wood. She remembered the look in his eve, the way his finger had begun tightening on the trigger. "You were really going to shoot him, weren't you?"
"No point in aiming a weapon at someone if you don't intend to pull the trigger," he said, and went on up the stairs. "Stay down while you're changing clothes," he called back.
After a moment Cate followed him up the stairs, then turned to the right to go to her bedroom. Obediently, she bent as low as she could manage and still walk. She didn't have the willies now. but that didn't mean anything. Nothing had happened out by the rocks; the night before had been a freaky coincidence, nothing more.
If she kept telling herself that, she might one day believe it. The spooky sensation had been too strong, too immediate.
She shook away all thoughts except those about preparing for the grueling challenge ahead of her. A recreational climb was hard work, but fun, and she'd always known that at the end of the day she would have a hot shower, a hot meal, and sleep in a nice comfortable bed. She'd gone camping once, and hadn't liked it.
When she had been climbing, she usually wore spandex pants and a snug tank top with a sport bra underneath, and her climbing shoes. Her first consideration was her shoes, because climbing shoes weren't for walking. Conversely, walking shoes weren't good for climbing. She had always worn athletic shoes to the site, then changed into her climbing shoes. That wouldn't work this time, because they weren't coming back down. They had to carry their food, water, and blankets as well as their climbing gear, plus whatever weapons Cal thought he needed.
She took a deep breath, not letting herself think how impossible this was. They wouldn't be tackling the vertical climbs; they would be looking for the absolute easiest way up - which would still be hell, but not quite the same degree of hell.
She didn't have any hiking boots, so her only other choice was her athletic shoes. Instead of choosing spandex pants, she prepared for spending probably three or four nights in the mountains, at an altitude that often got chilly at night even in the middle of summer; that meant sweatpants. She had a pair with pockets that zipped, so that was the pair she chose, and laid them across the bed. She added several pairs of socks, plus clean underwear. Maybe she was being silly, but she couldn't face wearing the same pair of underwear for four days. She put both pairs on. A silk T-shirt, tucked in. A hooded sweatshirt jacket, which could be tied around her waist. She tucked lip balm into one of the pants pockets, then fished around in her underwear drawer until she found her old Swiss Army knife; it went in another pocket.
Next she brushed out her hair and pulled it back in a snug ponytail to keep it secure; getting hair caught in any of the gear was painful. She stood there a minute, trying to think if she'd forgotten anything. Maybe her silk long Johns, in case the nights got really cold? They would be too hot to wear during the day, but they weighed nothing and took up practically no space. In fact, they would fit in the pouch pockets of the sweatshirt jacket.
When she thought she had everything, she got dressed. Two pairs of socks, one thin and one thick. The extra two pairs also went into her pants pockets. Then the pants, then her shoes, and finally she tied the jacket around her waist. Experimentally she stretched and twisted, seeing if her clothing hampered her movement in any way. It didn't, so she was good to go.
Next stop: kitchen.
Cal entered the kitchen while she was dividing muesli into zippered plastic bags. He was laden with gear, all the harnesses and belaying devices, the biners and pins and anchors, the chalk bags, plus coils of thin rope. "How old are these ropes?" he asked.
Just like that, her heart dropped into her stomach. "Oh, no," she said softly. "They're over five years old."
Synthetic rope deteriorated over time, even if it had never been used, and these ropes had been used. She and Derek had taken very good care of their ropes, hand-washing them in the bathtub, keeping them out of sunlight, but she couldn't stop the march of time. They couldn't climb with these ropes; it was as simple as that. A rope as old as these could be used for top-roping but not leading, but she didn't want to use them, period.
"Walter has some synthetic rope in the store," he said. "Maybe not exactly what we want, but newer than this. I'll get it now. How long?"