Ghost Reaper Episode 1 by Drew Adams Page B

the treacherous incline ahead of
him. Some dark rock outcroppings peeped through the white blanket, giving the
climb an appearance of being a smooth ramp twisting up the side of the canyon.
He was sure this was not the case. Being an avid hiker and fair rock climber,
he knew that each step could easily become a misstep, that would send him
tumbling down an embankment that had already tried to welcome his death.
Shivers flowed through him like electric currents, but no different than
before. A brisk breeze pushed against brush sticking out of the snow,
disturbing them just enough to announce its presence. There was no way he could
dismiss the fact that the intense cold, wind chill or not, was not affecting
him, no way he could explain the lack of steam forming from his breath, and
number one on his list of hits.
    I
still can't believe how freakin’ good I feel.
    A
procrastinator for many aspects of his life, he commonly followed a philosophy
of not doing today what he could put off until tomorrow.   Of course this applied to things that
he wasn't real keen on doing in the first place. The endeavor facing him fit
into that category. In fact, it topped his list.
    I
really ... really ... really... don't want to do this.
    "Shit!"
    "To
stay is to die..." he spoke out loud. To himself he said to leave is to die more horribly.
    Equipped
with a staff he wrestled from the shelter, Chad put one foot ahead of the other
and began his climb to salvation.
    A
third of the way up Chad stopped for a breather, though he was not tired or out
of breath. The snow was packed harder than he had imagined, supporting his
weight without so much as a hint of failing.   Behind him, his tracks left shallow impressions, more like
you would expect on firmly packed soil. The brush he grasped to support his
ascent seemed unperturbed. In fact, his only complaint was the increasing
weight of the stick he carried. It was not the weight he realized, more like
the effort. A lot of little inconsistencies were starting to pile up, demanding
further thought, more consideration. A hint of anxiety plagued the calm he was
accustomed to feeling.
    It's
not like you're the recent survivor of a certain fatal car crash, and I can't
imagine why the possibility of hypothermia would make you nervous.
    The
chill wasn't any worse, but then again it wasn't any better. He resumed his
upward trek, his confidence increasing, yet not keeping pace with his growing
apprehension. Another break wasn't necessary, but the last 40 feet was nearly
vertical.  
    "Damn...I
wished I had some rope. Climbing shoes would be nice too. Ah hell...might as
well throw in a rock hammer and some carabineers."
    He
scanned the cliff top to bottom and mapped out a course that gave him the best
chance for a safe climb. His love of climbing was tempered by the lack of
equipment and the relentless uneasiness that threatened his confidence.
Cockiness wasn't necessarily a compliment to scaling sheer walls. A healthy
respect for nature, heights and Murphy's law is a better recipe. Still, a lack
of confidence can be a death sentence.
    "Oh
well..." he grunted under his breath "...nothing to it the way we do
it."
    With
a smile he felt was unwarranted, Chad left the staff behind and began to scale
what he figured was the last hurdle.
    Lots
of nooks and crannies in the first eight feet or so. He rested on a perch
knowing that there was not much directly above him that would provide grip. A
horizontal transverse would be best. The surprising thing was how little the
climb was affecting him. At one point he could not believe an affliction of   'Elvis' had not struck him.
    Sure
don't need my legs shakin’, especially since I don't have any gear.
    He
reached left for an outcrop of rock and pulled himself from his safe perch. His
foot found a nook and he gripped a slight bump of the cliff wall with his other
hand. Fingers were all that kept him from falling back, and he wasn't sure he
had enough purchase with his feet