Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern Pt 8 (Patreon)

Part Eight: Plans and Schemes

[This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Accord
Sunday Morning

The plan had come together like clockwork. If he was being honest with himself, they were all easy to construct, but this particular one had been more than usually satisfying to create. Perhaps because he had not originated the idea in the first place?

No matter the reason, he had finished it and it was ready to send. In giving it a final polish, he noted that (as he had earlier suspected) there were aspects about it that could slot very easily into his ongoing planning efforts. In fact, looking more closely, if he took that plan and that plan and that plan, and moved those elements around, this plan could drop into place as if it had been intended that way all along.

… which would, he ascertained after going through the numbers in his head, improve the efficiency and efficacy of all the associated plans by a good seven to ten percent, perhaps a little more if the tolerances were tweaked. This would increase the cost of implementation a little, but the back-end gains would be more than sufficient to offset that by a wide margin. And given that the automated water collectors were specified to be based on mundane technology rather than Tinkertech, there was no single part of the plan that could bring the rest to a screeching halt due to an unrecoverable failure. Also, there was nothing stopping him from using those same water collectors in some other sections of his plan, where clean water was hard to come by.

Collating the finished plan into its final format, he opened an email tab and sent it through, along with a note informing Victor of a five percent discount in his fee. Moments later, he received the verification ping from the other end, then the notification that Victor had paid the adjusted fee. Satisfied, he set to work adjusting his other plans to integrate the new one into the overall tapestry. He wondered if the person who had come up with the original plan had other ideas of the same sort; while he’d had to do significant work to bring it together, the core concept had been solid.

If Victor happened to bring any more plans of this type to his attention, he would most definitely be interested.

<><>

Taylor
Hebert Household
Late Sunday Morning

I tapped the open atlas with the eraser end of my pencil. “Wouldn’t it be a better idea to stage the whole thing out of Alexandria? Large city, lots of infrastructure already in place. And the prevailing winds are more or less going in the correct direction to carry seeds onward.”

Greg shook his head. “‘More or less’ isn’t exactly correct. Setting up multiple staging points along the north African coast allows for easier recovery if one or another runs into an obstacle.” He showed me a map on his phone, with wind direction arrows marked out. “Also, the wind actually comes down from the north and northeast for the most part.”

I studied the image. “Damn it, you’re right. Okay, multiple staging points it is. And what about north of thirty degrees? The wind goes back the other way. We’d have to stage that one out of Morocco.”

“Hmm, yeah—” Greg broke off at a knock on the door. “You expecting anyone, Taylor?”

“Not exactly,” I said before my brain caught up with my mouth. “Unless it’s Justin. He said he’d bring his friend’s work on our assignment around today.”

“Awesome.” Greg jumped up and followed me through the living room, where Dad was perusing the paper, into the entrance hall.

I opened the door to find that yes, Justin was indeed waiting on the porch, along with Tracey. Justin’s car sat at the curb; I was no good at telling what make a car was, but it was bright red and looked fast.

“Hey, guys!” I said brightly. “How are you? Come on in, Dad wants to meet you both.”

Well, that wasn’t totally true. Dad had expressed happiness that I was in a good work environment, but he hadn’t actually stated that he wanted to meet the people I worked with. But I wanted him to meet them, to show … I wasn’t sure what I wanted to show. That I could make connections outside of home that didn’t totally suck? Greg had made a good start with that—he and Dad had gotten off on the right foot straight away—but Tracey was my boss, and a really nice person besides.

I thought Justin’s eyes flickered for half a second on the verge of ‘we’ve really got to get going’, then Tracey said happily, “Sure, we’d love to!”

And just like that, Justin went along with it. He followed Tracey into the house and handed me the bulky Manila envelope he was carrying. “All yours, kid,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

Whoa, I thought, hefting it in my hands. What is this? I just wanted a few pointers, not a whole novel. But I couldn’t look at it right then, not with Tracey and Justin in the house. So I passed it to Greg, who carried it back into the kitchen where we’d been sitting at the table.

Dad got up from the sofa and shook their hands. “Danny Hebert, pleased to meet you,” he said. “And you’d be Taylor’s work colleagues?”

“Yeah, this is Tracey,” I said. “She’s my boss. Justin’s in the department of advertising and stealing my coffee.”

“I see.” Dad’s eyes twinkled as his lips twitched. “Is the coffee she makes really that good?”

“Absolutely,” Justin declared boldly. “Did she tell you about Mr Anders?”

“She did not,” Dad said with interest, and all three adults looked sideways at me. I blushed involuntarily. “This is Max Anders, correct? The big boss himself?”

“It is, yes.” Tracey giggled. “So Taylor’s managed to impress Mr Anders himself and save the company hundreds of thousands of dollars … she did tell you about that at least, right?”

Dad folded his arms and gave me a look. “Strangely enough, she didn’t. I hear chapter and verse about how much she’s enjoying working there, and how she’s going to be actually paid to intern with you, but nothing about her saving the company money. Please, go on.”

It was weird. Knowing what I’d done was just fine, and even having Greg know about it was cool too because we’d been beat up by the same people. We had each other’s backs and we knew it. But I’d hesitated to tell Dad about … well, any of the stuff that I got praised for at Medhall because …

… I didn’t know why.

Maybe because it didn’t feel real once I left the building, or maybe I didn’t feel like I’d earned it. Whatever the reason, I hadn’t told Dad anything more than the fact that I was enjoying it and that everyone I worked with was really cool. Just like I hadn’t told him about the work clothing, or the fact that the first batch had been stolen.

Secrets. Once you start keeping them, it’s really hard to stop. And I’d been keeping secrets, about Emma and how badly things were going for me at Winslow, for far too long.

“So she’s just come out with coffee and she put it down to shake Mr Anders’ hand,” Justin narrated cheerfully. “And he saw the cup and he’s like for me? Thank you very much. Picks it up and walks out with it.”

“It’s a little mean of us to laugh about it,” Tracey conceded, giving my hand a supportive squeeze. “But seriously, your face, Taylor. It was amazing.”

“I’m certain,” I said, trying not to sound too grumpy. “But if you can make sure nobody else shows up to steal my coffee, I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, I already said I was dealing with that,” Justin said, his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ pose. “Your coffee is safe. Except from me.”

“And no more attempts to poach her,” Tracey reminded him. “Those so-called ‘experts’ who went through the files screwed up the scanning and OCR so badly that she had to redo about half the ones they’d supposedly completed. She’s the first competent assistant I’ve had in too long, and I saw her first.”

“Better do as she says, son,” Dad advised with some amusement. “I learned a long time ago that when a lady uses that tone of voice, it’s best to say ‘yes, dear’ and stop arguing. Otherwise, you’ll be in for a world of suffering.”

Justin sighed. “I’m not gonna win this, am I?”

“No, dear, you are not.” Tracey, I could tell, was enjoying this hugely.

Justin looked to Greg. “Help a guy out here? Medhall bro and all?”

“Sorry.” Greg raised his hands and backed off. “I might be clueless, but I know not to get in the middle of that sort of situation.”

“Fine.” Justin let out a huge put-upon sigh and spoke in a sing-song tone. “Yes, dear. You’re right. I have no idea what I was thinking.”

Tracey smirked and raised her eyebrows. “That’ll do … for now.” She gave me a smile, which I returned. “It was good seeing you, Taylor. Looking forward to Monday?”

“Absolutely.” I still felt uncomfortable about the knowledge that I was going to start getting paid before Greg, so I hoped she wouldn’t mention it. “Getting to work at Medhall is the best part of my week, and I’m not even saying that because I get time off from school.”

“Totally,” Greg agreed. “Of course, when people from work show up to save you from being beat up, it’s even better.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t become necessary again,” Tracey said. “Have you heard anything about that one girl who got away from the police?”

Dad frowned. “Sophia Hess? No. Do you think she’s likely to do anything stupid?”

“I really hope not,” I said, though some deep dark part of me was saying, I have a bad feeling about this, and not in a movie-quote kind of way.

Sophia was a violent person; I had bruises to attest to that. She was also stubborn as hell, or maybe just persistent. I’d done my best to be as boring as wallpaper so that she and Emma would leave me alone, but she just kept coming back. Which meant that she either personally hated me for some unfathomable reason, or she’d fixed her sights on me because Emma had decided she didn’t like me, and wasn’t backing off for anything.

In all honesty, I didn’t know which scenario was more worrying.

On the upside, of course, she was just one teenage girl whose face and name were known to the cops. Her choices at the moment had to be an equal match between ‘leave town’, ‘join a criminal gang’ and ‘get arrested’. I was personally hoping for number three, but I could handle number one just fine as well. Either one would suit me, so long as she went away.

“Well anyway, I was just taking Tracey out for a picnic lunch,” Justin declared. “Because my girlfriend is the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful woman in the world and she totally deserves it.”

I had to chuckle at this blatant manipulation, and even Greg got a smirk on his face. “Yes, yes, I get it,” Tracey said with a tolerant smile. “You want to get going. See you Monday, Taylor.”

“Yeah, see you Monday.” Justin nodded to me. “Good luck with that assignment.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And thanks for getting your friend to look at it for us. Have fun on your picnic.”

With another round of handshakes (from Justin) and hugs (from Tracey) they left the house. Justin gallantly opened the passenger door of the convertible for Tracey, then performed an action-hero slide over the hood of the car before vaulting over the door into the driver’s seat. As they drove off he hit the horn, which apparently played a silly tune (because of course it did).

“Well, that was interesting,” Dad noted. “So what was it they were delivering again?”

“Oh, uh, Justin’s got a friend in Boston that he said could look our assignment over and offer suggestions,” I said. “Though with what he gave me, I’m wondering if his friend didn’t just download and print out everything from the internet that’s got anything at all to do with the assignment.”

“Hm.” Dad raised his eyebrows slightly. “Well, it’s nice of them to offer assistance. You’re still going to hand in your own work, I hope?”

“Yeah, totally,” Greg said. “The rules say we’re allowed to ask for outside help, but we can’t just get someone to do it all for us.”

“Good.” He went back to the sofa and picked up the remote. “Do you have any problem with me watching some TV? I’ll keep the volume down.”

“No, we’re good.” I led the way back into the kitchen and grabbed the Manila envelope. It was only lightly sealed, and the heavy contents slid out onto the table with an audible thud.

Greg and I stared at it. “Is it just me,” he asked plaintively, “or is that an actual book?”

I shook my head. “It’s not just you,” I said, and picked it up.

It was letter-sized, with a heavy bound spine and grey cardstock covers. On the front was printed in severely plain type: GREENING THE SAHARA: A COMPREHENSIVE OVERVIEW. I met Greg’s eyes and saw the same uncertainty in his face as I felt within myself. Just the cover looked professional as hell. Who the crap writes something like this up in two days with zero notice?

Taking a deep breath, I opened the front cover. There was no title page, no author name, no copyright information, just a contents page. No hint at all as to who this might belong to.

The contents page was blunt and to the point. Merely from reading the headings, I could grasp the intent behind it, how the plan would lay itself out. There were things there, details that Greg and I hadn’t even thought about or even realised that they needed to be taken into account.

“There.” Greg was clearly looking down the contents listing along with me; his finger tapped the last line. “Summary. I think we need to look at that first.”

“A summary sounds like a good idea to me, too,” I agreed. I had no idea whose PhD thesis Justin had managed to snag, but I really wanted to break this thing down into bite-sized chunks if we were going to understand it well enough to use for reference material.

We turned to that page—thank God, the unknown writer had included page numbers—and started to read, side by side. It was simple. It was brilliant. About one paragraph in, Greg grabbed his notepad and started scribbling in it. I did the same. Whoever had put this together was a pure genius.

When I’d finished reading the summary, I leaned back in my chair to let the concepts percolate in my head. A moment later, Greg joined me. “Wow,” he muttered. “That’s everything we need, right there.”

“Uh huh,” I agreed, then chuckled. “Can you imagine the look on Gladly’s face if we walked up and presented that to him like it was our own work?”

“Well, technically, we started it, but …” He shook his head. We both knew there was no way we could pass this off as ours, even if we’d been inclined to try. “I think his brain would implode about halfway through the summary.”

“If he got that far.” I picked up the book again. “I’m going to have a quick read-through. Use your notes and start marking up the assignment for where we’ve got to upgrade it with the new stuff.”

“Gotcha,” he said. He went back to the first of his notes and bent over the work we’d done so far, putting little annotations to the side to refer to things we had to change.

Once we were finished, I figured I could type up the final copy on my computer and print it out. It still wouldn’t hold a candle to the impressive tome sitting on the table, but it should be good for an A minus or even an A plus, depending on how well we presented it.

The text was easy to read, using language that was simple and clear. Even the formatting, which I hadn’t even considered to this point, was simple and consistent. There were headings. There were references to other sections of the text. And there were actual diagrams of the solar-powered water-collectors that had heretofore only existed in our—Greg’s and my—heads. Also, maps of the Sahara, indicating optimal routes for the greening crews to travel. (Greg had been right, we needed multiple crews.)

Slowly, I put the book down. “This could really happen,” I said softly. “It could actually be done. It’s all here. Everything. Costs. Manpower. Risk assessments. It even covers how much fuel per day a Jeep will use up over specific types of terrain.”

“You know what this means, don’t you, Taylor?” Greg looked up from the thoroughly annotated assignment.

I grinned at him. “That we’re gonna blow Gladly’s socks clean off with this assignment?”

He bared his teeth in reply. “Damn straight.”

We set to work.

<><>

Shadow Stalker

As the car went over its third bump in as many minutes, Sophia resisted the urge to curse, and nudged the tyre iron out from under her ribs.

She’d been lurking in the basement of Hebert’s house, looking to pick up any information she could, when the Veder asshole had arrived. Despite her earlier decision to hit Medhall first, the possibility of nailing two targets at once had been too much to ignore, so she’d waited around to see if Hebert’s father would go out or not. He hadn’t, but then two more people had shown up. It was getting to be a regular party house, with far too many people to silence at once and make it all look like an accident or something.

Sophia had been about to go, when she overheard something from where she was lurking in the kitchen, about how the two newcomers worked for Medhall as well. That made up her mind; ghosting out through the basement window, she’d worked her way through the grass to the curb, then jumped straight into the closed trunk. If she’d delayed much longer, they would’ve caught her at it. As it was, she’d only just gotten settled when they came back to the car.

She didn’t know where they were going, or what she was going to do when they got there, but the tyre iron was giving her ideas. Any friend of Taylor Hebert was an enemy of hers by default; the fact that they worked for Medhall just put the icing on the cake.

<><>

Taylor

Greg and I worked well into the evening, drawing ideas from the Book (as we had taken to calling it). There were layers of detail that we couldn’t possibly begin to address in our assignment, so we were basically just skimming the surface. The unknown writer had even written a section on potential regime changes over the next five years, and how to adjust the plan to account for any specific outcome. I wasn’t ready to deal with potential regime changes, so we decided to skip that section altogether.

What we ended up with, though, was ten times as good as what we could’ve come up with just on our own. We used as much detail as we agreed we could deal with, though we cheated slightly by tracing over the maps that were included in the Book. Greg studied the diagram for the solar water collector and managed to sketch it fairly well, labelling it as neatly as he could.

By the time his mom came to pick him up, we’d agreed that I would type it up and print it out. I was faster at typing than he was anyway, though he was pretty good at sketching. When I praised him on his skill, he mumbled something about ‘anime babes’ and refused to say more on the subject. I didn’t press him; if he didn’t want to talk about it, that was his option. Besides, I had an idea what he was referring to.

After I’d eaten dinner and had a shower, I sat down at the computer and started to type. The notes were easy to read, and I’d already been over the material multiple times, so it went quickly. Page after page went by as I transcribed our collected notes into the new version of the assignment. I finished by about nine-thirty, then spent the next half-hour checking that I had actually typed up everything and fixing a few minor typos. At ten sharp, I started printing out the assignment, turned out the light and went to bed. I knew the computer would go to sleep after it was done printing, so I did my best to do the same.

<><>

Early the Next Morning

“Taylor!” There was a heavy knocking on my bedroom door. “Are you awake?”

I sat up in bed and rubbed bleary eyes. Had I slept through my alarm and missed school? Squinting at my alarm clock, I read it as a bit after five. The predawn dimness outside my window backed me up on that. “I’m awake, yeah,” I called out. “What’s wrong? Is the house on fire?”

“No.” Dad opened the door and leaned in. “That Medhall lawyer, Mr Grayson, is on the phone. It’s something about your friends Justin and Tracey. They’ve gone missing.”

“Missing?” That one word sent a burst of adrenaline through me. Clumsily, I scrambled out of bed then ducked past Dad and ran the length of the hallway to the top of the stairs. I was a little more careful going downstairs, but I was still concerned that Mr Grayson would hang up before I got there.

I needn’t have worried. When I picked up the receiver, the line was still open. “It’s me, Taylor,” I panted.

“Taylor.” His voice was absolutely serious. “Your father says that Justin and Tracey dropped the envelope at your house, then went off for a picnic lunch. Do you have any idea where they might have been? Neither one of them has been home, and they’re not answering their phones.”

For a moment, my mind went totally blank, then I remembered. “Yes, yes, yes,” I panted. “I know where. Justin said they were going up Captain’s Hill.”

There was silence on his end for a moment, then he came back again. “Captain’s Hill?” His voice was intent. “Are you absolutely certain about that?”

I found myself nodding. “Yeah—yes,” I said. “He said it on Friday, and I remember thinking that was a nice place to take Tracey. Captain’s Hill. I’m certain of it.”

“That damn car of his,” he muttered. I supposed I wasn’t intended to hear that bit. “Thank you, Taylor.” I heard his voice, as he moved the phone away from his face, “She says she’s certain about it. Capt—”

Slowly, I hung the phone up, then turned to look at Dad’s worried face. “What was that about Captain’s Hill?” he asked. “Was that where they were going?”

I nodded. “That’s what Justin said, anyway. I’m just worried that he might’ve been driving fast to impress Tracey and had an accident or something.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he agreed, grimacing. “Look, did you want to get dressed and we can go out there in the car and help look for them?”

I stared at him. “Yeah—uh, definitely, yes!” Turning, I dashed for the stairs.

<><>

All things considered, we were reasonably quick getting away. It was only ten minutes later that Dad carefully backed the car out of the driveway. I’d collected the printed-out assignment which was now residing (along with my work clothing) in my backpack. For myself, I was wearing my sturdiest sneakers, jeans and a heavy jacket (it got cold up on Captain’s Hill).

Dad had thrown a heavy-duty first-aid kit that technically belonged to the Dockworkers’ Association into the back seat, and he’d handed me a high-powered flashlight when I got into the car. For breakfast we each had an orange; I peeled his, and he ate it on the drive.

The streets of Brockton Bay were almost eerily quiet at half after five in the morning; all of the night people had either gone home or were on the way there, and the day shift had yet to take over. As we cruised through one green light after another, I couldn’t stop thinking of Tracey and Justin. She’d been nothing but nice to me, and he was goofy but fun to be around, not even considering the favour he’d done to get us the Book.

When we started up the initial slope of Captain’s Hill, it was still half an hour to sunrise. Dad slowed down and I fixed my eyes on the road, looking for wheelmarks or crushed undergrowth as he concentrated on driving. Every time I thought I saw something, I leaned out the window with the flashlight and trained the beam on the trees and bushes. But each time, it was nothing.

We drove on. My eyes ached from trying to get more detail out of what I was seeing than what was really there. Dad quickened his pace as much as he dared, but slowed whenever I leaned forward.

Tracey, I silently prayed. Please be okay. And Justin, too.

And then Dad slowed again. Wordlessly, he pointed forward, through the windshield. There were lights on the road up ahead, of more than one car. There were no flashing police or ambulance lights, so there was only one thing it could be. The people from Medhall.

Medhall looks after its own.

As Dad pulled around the last corner and came to a stop, I saw people silhouetted against the vehicle headlights. One person came forward, moving with a fast, confident stride. Even before our headlights illuminated him, I recognised him just from his walk. Mr Grayson; Alexander the Great himself.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said as he came up to the driver’s side window. “There’s been an accident—oh. Mr Hebert, isn’t it?”

“We came to help,” Dad said. “Is there anything we can do? Direct traffic? I’ve got a first aid kit in the back.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, sir,” Mr Grayson said. “If you could … wait. You said ‘we’. Is Taylor with you?”

“Yes, I’m here,” I said, switching on the internal light so he could see me. “What can I do?”

He looked at me and rubbed his finger over his lips, as though thinking very hard. “Tell me, Taylor. Are you afraid of heights?”

I stared him straight in the eye. I had no particular terror of heights, but I did have a healthy regard for them. “No,” I said. Whatever fear I had, I would just have to get over it if it meant helping Tracey.

I got the impression he knew what I was thinking, but he nodded anyway. “We found her, but we can’t get to her,” he said. “Perhaps you can.”

That sounded ominous, but I scrambled out of the car anyway. I trotted alongside Mr Grayson as we headed for the main group of people; even silhouetted, I recognised Bradley from his bulk and the aristocratic profile of Mr Anders himself. The others I didn’t know, but I figured they were all Medhall employees who knew Justin and each other.

“Tammi—” I heard as I came up to them, then someone shushed the speaker. I didn’t know what that was about, and I didn’t care. If I could help save Tracey, that was all that mattered.

Mr Anders turned and saw me. “Taylor,” he said, sounding pleased and surprised. “You came to help. That’s very forward-thinking of you.”

“I was thinking that Taylor could get to Tracey where we couldn’t,” Mr Grayson said. “She is very slender.”

Bradley nodded. “Damn right. Kid’s got the right stuff.” He turned to face me. “You up for this? Might get a bit scary.”

“Oh, please,” I said, trying to sound off-hand. “I go to Winslow. I can do scary.”

That got me a snort of amusement, then Bradley nodded. “Okay, then. How are you with heights?”

Why do they keep asking me how I am with heights?

<><>

Moments later, I found out. They had a rope that had been tied in a loop and padded with cloth. This wasn’t for me, but for Tracey. The reason it was for Tracey was because she was still in Justin’s car, hanging halfway off a cliff with a whole lot of nothing underneath.

They could get to her, or at least they could get to the car. But because it was hanging sideways off a rocky outcrop, they couldn’t get into the car and fit Tracey with the rescue loop. Also, Tracey was still strapped in, and couldn’t reach the buckle because her left arm was broken.

To my immense relief, I didn’t have to go down alone in the dark. That would’ve been too scary for words. Bradley went with me, holding onto me with one brawny hand and the rope with the other. Me, I was hanging onto the rope for dear life with both hands.

“If shit goes sideways, you get into the loop and we’ll pull you up,” Bradley assured me. “But assuming it doesn’t, you skinny your way into there, get the seatbelt undone and the loop under Tracey’s shoulders, then open the passenger-side door.”

“Why that door?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“’Cause the whole damn car is hanging on that door. It opens, the whole thing goes. This is why you and Tracey need to be on the rope when it does.”

“Uh …” I paused. “What about Justin? Isn’t he in the car too?” Why wasn’t I rescuing him too, I wanted to know.

Bradley paused in his steady downward pace. “Nope. Far as we can see, he’s at the bottom of the damn cliff.” From the tone of his voice, he was inches away from either punching something or shedding a tear. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“Not your fault,” he said roughly. “And you showed up to help. You’re part of the Medhall family now.” He slowed his pace again. Ahead of us, illuminated by the earliest rays of dawn and some kind of high-powered spotlight from the road, I could see the battered and twisted remains of what had once been Justin’s pride and joy. “Here we are.”

“Okay,” I said. The cliff edge was right there; in fact, most of the car was past the cliff edge. Beyond was a vast yawning abyss of endless night. Part of me abruptly decided that I was actually not okay with heights. The rest of me told that part to woman up and do the job we’d come there to do. “What do I do?”

“Just wait a second.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Trace. You still with us, girlie?”

From within the car came a familiar voice. For all that it was filled with pain, I felt tears of relief come to my eyes. “I’m still here, Bradley. But I think the car’s starting to move again. Can we maybe hurry things up a little?”

“That’s what we’re here for, darlin’,” he said. “Just hold tight. You’ll be out of there in a hot Brockton Bay minute.”

Slapping me on the shoulder, he pointed at a gap between the car and the rock. It was narrow, but I figured I could handle it if I took my jacket off. Shrugging out of the garment one arm at a time, I handed it to him, then took hold of the rope and went down to all fours.

If someone had told me even twenty-four hours earlier that I would be crawling on my belly over a rough granite outcrop with wild undergrowth clawing at my skin and clothing, I would’ve first laughed at them and then asked what they were smoking. The chilly rock abraded my skin and sucked the heat out of my body, but I didn’t care. I just kept moving forward.

Wriggling through the gap between the car and the rock was an adventure in itself. I could make it, barely, but I had to exhale each time before I could move forward. And all the time, I had to hold onto the rock so that I didn’t fall, and onto the rope because that was the only thing that would save Tracey. But I made it into the car, which was even darker than the outside had been. The only thing between me and nothing, I discovered, was a perilously narrow ledge.

“What—who’s that?” asked Tracey. “I thought you couldn’t get in that way?”

“They can’t. I can.” I grunted as I squeezed around a particularly intrusive bit of rock. “Hi. Just thought I’d swing by.”

“Taylor!” Her exclamation came with a gasp of pain. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving my favourite boss from certain death?” I tried to make a joke of it. “Okay, where’s your seat belt?”

“It’s right here,” she said with a touch of asperity. “Where are you?”

“Um, here.” I reached out toward her voice, and accidentally touched her face. “Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She grabbed my hand and pushed it toward where she seemed to be hanging sideways from her seatbelt. “I remember hearing something about a rope?”

“I have it right here.” As I spoke, I tugged more of it through the gap. “We’ve got a loop that’s supposed to go under your arms. I guess I’m supposed to undo your seatbelt first?”

“If you unclip my seatbelt, I’m going to fall right out of this car,” she said firmly. “We need a better plan.”

I closed my eyes (not that I could see anything in the dark anyway) and tried to visualise her position in the dark. “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” I said. “Your right leg. Can you move it?”

“I’ll do the can-can if it’ll get me out of here. What do you have in mind?”

“I can’t take your belt off because you’ll fall out of the car. But what if you get your leg through the loop and hang on with your good arm? I mean, sure it’ll be uncomfortable, but—”

“Uncomfortable, I’ll take all day long. Taylor, you’re a genius. Just hold on a moment.”

She grunted and twisted, and in that moment I heard a scrape of metal over rock. I froze. So did she.

“That didn’t sound good,” I said, trying not to sound too terrified.

“No, it didn’t,” she agreed, sounding just as unhappy as I felt.

“Let’s get your leg through that loop.”

“Really, really good idea.”

Holding onto the rope with one hand, I held out the loop in the darkness. “Here.”

“Where?” A moment later, it moved. “Ah, found it. Okay, then …”

The car moved again. The grating sound was more pronounced.

“Taylor!” That was Bradley. “It’s going!”

“We know!” we both shouted from the inside. A second later, she gasped, “Got it!”

The car was still moving. For a split second it caught; on what, I didn’t know. I lunged forward, sliding my hand up her seatbelt to the clip. I felt her arm wrap around my waist. My thumb plunged the clip open and it released. At the same time, I reached behind me with my other hand—the grating loud in my ears—and flicked the door catch open.

A lot of things happened in a very short time. The seatbelt unclipped and whipped across from between us. Tracey fell sideways from her seat, her right arm wrapped around me and grasping the rope. I grabbed her as the seatbelt came away, then as the door came open I wrapped my other arm around her.

There was a solid thud on my shoulder that I figured would leave me bruised for days, and then with one last malevolent scrape and a whoosh of air, the car was gone, falling free. Long seconds later we heard it hit, smashing over and over in the detritus at the bottom of the cliff. Slowly, we swung back and forth at the end of the rope.

In the silence that followed, I heard Bradley’s voice clearly. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” I called. “We’re here. Pull us up. Night-time rock climbing has lost all its charm for me.”

As Tracey clung to me, I felt her chest heaving and knew that tears were running down her face because it was pressed next to mine. But for the life of me, I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

<><>

When we reached the top of the rocky slope, two police cars were on site and the officers were talking to Mr Anders and Mr Grayson. I didn't care in the slightest, as Dad was there to greet me. He wrapped me in a hug like he never wanted to let me go, even as Diane Grayson began to look Tracey over for injuries.

“Are you alright, Taylor?” Dad’s eyes were worried behind his glasses. “I should never have let you go down there.”

“Dad, it was Tracey’s life, and my choice to go down. If I hadn’t, she’d be dead by now.” I tried to make my voice firm, but wobbles kept creeping in.

“And you could’ve ended up dead with her,” he insisted.

That was the last straw. Turning away from him, I leaned against a convenient rock and threw up. Fortunately, I hadn’t had more than an orange, but that was nasty enough coming back up. When I finished, he handed me a bottle of water and stood watching as I flushed my mouth out.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, sitting down on another rock. It was hard and cold and uncomfortable, but my scrapes and bruises were starting to really smart by now, and my knees didn’t want to hold me up anymore. “I could’ve died. I get it. I just … I didn’t want to let her die without actually trying to save her, you know?”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, I know. I just … can’t help remembering how your mother died.”

In a car crash. Damn it, me. “I’m sorry,” I said meekly.

He nodded slowly. “I know. And I died a thousand deaths while you were down there at the end of that rope. But I’m glad you saved her.”

“Me, too.”

“Want a hand up?”

I considered getting up, and didn’t like the idea. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

In the gradually increasing light, I didn’t need headlights to identify Mr Anders as he strode over to see us. “And how’s the hero of the hour?” His voice was upbeat, but with a serious note—we’d only saved one of two, after all.

“Not feeling real heroic right now, I gotta say.” I gestured at where I’d thrown up, and he stepped around it.

“I beg to differ.” His tone became firm, no-nonsense. “You didn’t have to go down there and yet you did anyway. You had a near-impossible job in front of you, and you carried it through with style and panache. Afterward? Nobody’s going to think any the less of you for reacting that way.” He extended his hand down to me. “Well done, young Taylor.”

In a daze, I shook it. “Uh, thanks?”

But he wasn’t done yet. “Tracey may be in the hospital for a few days until they’re sure she’s alright. If you want, Mr Hebert, I can have Taylor booked into our in-house clinic to make sure she’s okay as well?”

I didn’t know if Dad had ever met Mr Anders before, but he was definitely taken aback by the man’s charm. “Well, uh …”

“Say no more,” Mr Anders said warmly. “The offer will remain open until you indicate otherwise. I bid you good day. And once more, Miss Hebert; well done.”

We watched as he went back toward his limousine. Before he got there, a couple of hefty 4x4s, bigger and more imposing than the one that was already on site (I suspected that one belonged to Bradley) came rumbling up the road past us. It looked to me like they were outfitted to do what we’d just been doing, but properly.

“Well,” Dad observed as Mr Anders went and started talking to the driver of one of the trucks. “It looks like the professionals are here.”

“Good,” I said. “I think I can get up now.”

Slowly, I climbed to my feet, and we walked back to the car. As I climbed in, we could see that the Medhall vehicles and the police cars had pulled back out of the way, and the 4x4s had lined up side by side at the road’s edge. Huge winches were starting to unspool, allowing climbers to make their way down the rocky slope with a lot more safety than I’d been feeling.

I hoped they’d find Justin alive, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Tracey had only survived by the sheerest of flukes and the fact that I’d turned up, after all. I was just happy she was alive.

Dad turned the car around, and we started back down Captain’s Hill.

“Wow,” I said softly. “Look at that sunrise.”

It really was a very nice sunrise.

Part 9