I could lean against the broken stone, though, and that was enough to let me use my good hand only for balance instead of for holding myself against the wall. I had to rattle every sharp-edged handhold, abandoning the ones that moved, fighting the fear that narrowed my vision and made my ears ring every time I dislodged pebbles. Flecks of mica in the granite glittered in the sunlight, the whole wall rough and fresh. It scraped at me as I climbed, leaving blood on the pale gray stone as I went.

A piece of stone broke under my foot and I almost started sliding, grabbing on with both hands, clawing at the stone. Pain seared through me as if I'd grabbed hold of a branding iron with my right hand. I sobbed as I fumbled for a foothold, tears dripping off my face, every sensation heightened by the adrenaline. My body shook with terror and throbbing agony, wanting to freeze in place as if that would save me from the mercy of granite.

Almost blinded by tears, I forced myself to keep moving upwards, feeling with my left hand as I crept upwards, bracing with the back of my right hand. I kept clawing my way along the cliff, going up and up, and then the wall had a lip instead of more wall. I fumbled over it and wrapped my hand around a solid piece of stone. Panting, agonized, I dragged myself up over the sharp stone edge and onto bare, flat granite. I kicked myself away from the cliff face, belly-crawling away from that horror and towards a little patch of dirt and grass.

I curled up on that dirt in the fetal position and fell apart.

I didn't have any idea of the passage of time as I laid there and shook, blind from terror and sweating through my clothing. By the time the haze cleared from my vision and my muscles ached too much to shiver any longer, the air had grown chilly and the sun was setting. I tried to wet my parched mouth and dry lips, whimpering as the sensation of pain started creeping back into my awareness.

Slowly, afraid of what I'd see, I turned my right palm towards my face and used my left hand to uncurl my fingers. The blood had coagulated, gluing dirt and small pieces of rock to my naked palm, and the scab cracked and pulled as I lifted my fingers. I let them curl closed again, trying not to cry.

I needed shelter before true darkness fell. It often dropped to below freezing at night in the high Sierra, even in the summer. Just last night, we'd zipped our bags together, giggling about huddling for warmth and singing "Baby It's Cold Outside" to each other in warbling voices. I choked on a sob and forced the memories away before I lost more time and water.