Fire and Water: a Red Dead story

23

"To your right John, no, your right." Arthur was sweating, watching the two men scrabble for holds, white-knuckle hold in craggy ledges, curses floating their way back up as holds slipped, and for a few pure terrifying seconds, they would drop, caught only by the rope. He paced above them, hands above his head, clutching his hat, and checking for the tenth time in five minutes the knots securing the rope to the tree and walked back to the edge. 

"Javier, ledge on your left, if you can get your foot up there..." He trailed off as Javier pulled himself down, and Arthur felt a rush of relief as he found firm footing. Javier must have heard Arthur's nerves in his voice because he called back up to him. 

"Don't worry amigo, back home, I climb mountains bigger than this all the time!"

Arthur didn't feel any better, caring less about what Javier got up to in his spare time, and focusing on the mountain they were traversing now. "Marston," He barked, watching John bounce against the side of the mountain searching desperately for a hold. John cursed up at him, fingers digging into a small crack, and he hung there for a moment, trying to get his breath back. 

"John?" Arthur watched him, heart pounding in his chest, and John pried one hand off the wall, flipping him off, before carefully reaching out again with his boot. "Below you." 

"Fuckin' thank you." John rasped back, and Arthur watched him drop down to a ledge. His voice was wound up tight, and Arthur knew he was nervous. "How's the rope lookin' Arthur?"

Arthur glanced back at the rope stretched taut over the rocky ledge. The edge had begun to fray under the strain of keeping the two of them up, and he swallowed thickly, mind racing. "Hurry it up, wanna have a rope to climb back up on."

There was a whispered conversation below him, and Arthur watched the rope stretch and roll as they hurried their movements. He glanced back over the edge, breathing a bit easier when he saw Javier clamber down to the ground, quickly unwinding the rope from him, easing some of the tension from the breaking rope. 

John clung to the rock wall, fingers cramping as he searched out a foothold, rope cutting into him. Javier's voice drifted up to him, and he made his way over to where the other had just been, carefully pulling bloodless fingers out of miniscule cracks, wincing when they throbbed when he moved them. He could just barely hear Arthur's nervous pacing above them, sometimes the man would send a little smattering of rocks over the edge, getting rock dust in his eyes, and he would yell up at him to very kindly fucking stop doing that. 

Finally, he felt Javier's hands around his shaking legs, guiding him down until he felt the solid ground under his feet. His hands shook too much to undo the rope, and Javier pulled his hands away, pulling the rope away from him. He gave him a lop-sided grin, pressing hands to his knees, and taking in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down after that climb. 

"We're down, Arthur!" Javier yelled beside him, and he waved half-heartedly up at the man. He was never climbing another mountain after today as long as he lived. Arthur waved back, and the two of them turned to trek across the stony ground to the wrecked stage. Bits of pieces littered the ground, making a sort of morbid path leading to the wreckage, and John kicked the warped pieces away, watching them scatter off rocks. 

The smell of death met them, as they stared at the wreck, and Javier grimaced. "Damn," he muttered, eyes darting over the twisted remains of the horses. He didn't say much after that, just pulling his bandana up over his nose, and working his way into the twisted metal, hissing when his arm got caught on a sharp snag. John followed after him, pulling his own mask up, ignoring the crunch under his feet, and helped the other bend back metal and wood. Javier ducked under the once-coach frame, disappearing for a few long minutes, while John stood, bending back the mix of metal and wood, tired arms already burning.