Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare

Chapter 12

Megs took a break from reading,set the journal and the recorder aside. “I’m not sure how you put up with me for the rest of the summer. What did you call it? The Summer of Blue Balls. Once I discovered that I had the power to turn you on, I used it. I guess it felt empowering—a change from being abused. You have the patience of a saint, Mitchell James Ahearn.”

She remembered that recon hike up the slabs—what climbers now called the Death Slabs. Once they got there and looked up at the route, she’d known they could do it. They’d already put up several first free ascents, climbing all over the Valley, and she wasn’t going to let anything stop them.

They’d hiked back to Camp 4 that evening, fired up by the new challenge and hungry for supper, only to find Gridwall and Accardo there.

“You told them that if they violated my space or said anything disrespectful again, you’d beat the shit out of them. I thought Gridwall was going to cry. He all but got on his knees to apologize.”

Mitch’s gaze was turned her way again, his eyes more focused.

Was she imagining this?

“Mitch, can you hear me?”

The hand she was holding tightened as if he were trying to squeeze her fingers. It lasted only a second, almost like a twitch. But that hadn’t happened once in the four days she’d been here. Had he done that on purpose?

Megs’ pulse spiked. “Mitch, can you squeeze my hand?”

His grip once again tightened. It was stronger this time, though still fleeting.

Heart racing, Megs pushed the call button.

Fabiola had just gone home, and Kim, an RN she hadn’t yet met, walked in.

Doing her best to stay calm, Megs explained what had happened. “I can’t be sure he squeezed my fingers in response to what I said. It could have been a reflex. But he hasn’t moved his hands at all before now.”

“That’s interesting.”

Megs had expected the nurse to sound more excited.

Kim checked Mitch’s various monitors. “Radiology is on its way to do another chest X-ray. I’ll let his neurosurgeon know. I think his pulmonologist is making rounds soon, too.”

Megs went to the cafeteria to grab a coffee and some yogurt, then went back to Mitch’s room to find radiology had gone and Mitch’s pulmonologist, Dr. Aulakh, examining Mitch. He shook Megs’ hand and jumped right in. “The chest X-rays show improvement in both lungs.”

Thank God.

“That’s good news.”

“His lungs aren’t yet clear, but the antibiotics are doing their job.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He turned and put his hand on one of Mitch’s monitors. “The system we use for ventilators tracks a variety of readings that are crucial for patient care. Mitch is breathing above his set rate, which is encouraging. That means he’s taking some breaths without the prompting of the ventilator. Based on that data and other factors—his blood gases and the improvement he has shown overall—I’m hopeful we can begin weaning him off the ventilator as soon as his pneumonia has cleared.”

Megs then described what had happened. “He hasn’t squeezed my fingers once these past few days. Also, he’s been turning his head toward the sound of my voice.”

She tried to prove this by speaking with Mitch, but this time Mitch didn’t move, his face turned away from her.

Had she imagined it earlier?

She tried not to feel discouraged. “Are you trying to make a liar of me, love?”

Dr. Aulakh chuckled. “That’s the frustrating thing about the minimally conscious state. Sometimes they respond, and sometimes they don’t. It can be very discouraging for family members who are hoping to see quantifiable progress. Did Dr. Schwartz give you the brochures? You should ask him for one the next time you see him.”

Damn the brochures anyway! Couldn’t people just talk to her?

Then it hit her. “Wait. Did you say minimally conscious state?”

Wasn’t that the next level of recovery?

But Dr. Aulakh had already left the room.

Megs waited impatiently for a good hour or so before Dr. Schwartz appeared. When she saw he was wearing surgical scrubs, her impatience vanished.

Mitch isn’t the only person whose life he’s trying to save.

Dr. Schwartz spoke with the nursing team at length, read through Mitch’s chart on a computer at the nurse’s station, then finally walked into the room. “I hear there was some excitement today.”

Once again, Megs described what had happened, Dr. Schwartz listening, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Is he in a minimally conscious state now?”

Dr. Schwartz examined Mitch, then turned back to Megs. “I believe we’re seeing a steady progression toward consciousness. His intracranial pressure continues to decrease. He’s taking some breaths on his own. This is good progress. We’ll be watching him closely—with your help. Keep doing what you’re doing. I saw there was progress with his pneumonia, too.”

Megs had to ask. “When will we know his life is out of danger?”

“We’re not there yet, but everything is moving in the right direction. You need to prepare yourself for the long haul.”

Mitch pulledtheir haul bag up to the ledge known as Big Sandy, set protection for it, then took a long, deep drink. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so exhausted or excited. “Look at this view.”

They’d taken turns leading and were now seventeen pitches up Half Dome, a mere six pitches from becoming the first people to free climb the Regular Northwest Face. They’d had a few hairy moments, but they’d taken their time and worked through them. They would bivouac here for the night and head for the summit of Half Dome early tomorrow morning.

Roped in, Megs sat, dangled her legs over the edge, water bottle in her hand, the sunset turning her hair to gold. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Beautiful.” He checked his protection and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “I’ve spent three summers climbing here in the Valley, but this has been the best summer of my life. You showed me I’m capable of doing more than I knew.”

She rested her head against his arm. “You respected me and accepted me when the others saw only a girl.”

He kissed her hair. “I think they’ve come around. You’re a girl who can climb.”

A helicopter flew by in the distance, stopping to hover when it came parallel with their position.

Megs stared. “Are they filming us?”

“I think they are.” Mitch chuckled. “We’re going to be on the news.”

They waved to the helicopter, then broke into the haul bag for some calories and water, talking about the day’s climb as they ate and drank. Then for a time, they sat together in comfortable silence.

“You know how the world goes quiet when you’re climbing? One moment you’re aware of everything, and the next, it’s like you’re floating in sunlight. One move leads to the next. Your body gets lost in some kind of dance with the rock. You’re not who you were a moment ago. Now, you’re breath and sweat and movement. And all the struggle, all of the fear and bullshit—it just disappears.”

Mitch looked at the beautiful girl beside him, her words putting a hitch in his chest. She’d just described the sublime experience of climbing in a way that he, with his reading and college education, couldn’t. “Walt Whitman must be getting to you.”

She laughed. “Maybe.”

They watched the sunset, then turned on their headlamps and set up their bivy for the night, checking their protection before stretching out beside each other, the ledge just wide enough for them to lie down side by side.

Mitch drew her against him, his chest her pillow, the feel of her precious. He didn’t need sex to feel close to her. Somehow, it was enough just to be with her, talk to her, hold her.

God, he was going to miss her.

He hadn’t told her yet, but school started in a few weeks. Soon, he would have to drive back to Stanford and settle in for his senior year. He would much rather remain here, living like a dirtbag, if it meant he could spend every minute of the day with Megs.

“Look at the stars. They’re so bright here. I can even see the Milky Way.”

He pointed. “There’s Venus. That’s Cassiopeia over there.”

They talked about the stars, UFOs, and NASA’s decision to end the Moon missions last year. But they were both fatigued from today’s climb, and soon the conversation stilled.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“I want this summer to last forever.”

He held her closer, kissed her temple. “So do I.”

They both fell into an exhausted sleep.

Mitch woke at first light,smiled to see the sky above him and the Valley below. There weren’t many people who’d spent the night on Big Sandy.

Beside him, Megs stirred, opened her eyes, kissed him. “Good morning.”

They ate a quick breakfast, slamming down as much water and as many calories as they could, talking about what stood between them and the summit. Megs would lead Pitch 18, and they would alternate to the top.

“I think you should take the last pitch. You should be the first one to top out—provided we make it. This was your idea.”

“Are you sure? It doesn’t matter to me.”

“I’m sure.”

They packed up, sorted out their protection, and left Big Sandy behind.

The next three pitches were tougher than they’d imagined, both of them struggling for holds on the granite. After that, they came to a small ledge.

“Thank God.” Megs worked her way along it to a tight chimney that was anything but secure. She stopped, caught her breath. “I just need to think this through.”

Once she found her footing, she battled her way up it.

It was like watching an artist at work. Her motions were efficient and graceful, her breath catching every so often.

Then it was Mitch’s turn.

He could only be impressed as he grunted his way up. “This… isn’t… my… favorite… part… of this … climb.”

He led the next pitch over an exposed and insecure slab, switching to a belay stance so that Megs could lead. “Finish this.”

As she neared the top, Mitch could hear the voices of tourists on the summit.

“Oh, my God! There’s a woman climbing up here! Look!”

“How is she doing that?”

“That makes me dizzy!”

Then came Gridwall’s voice. “Move back, everyone. Give them room! Get away from the edge! Come on, folks!”

Megs topped out to applause, then belayed Mitch. Adrenaline rushing through his veins, he finished the pitch, dragging their haul bag up behind him.

When his feet stood on solid ground, Megs jumped into his arms. “We did it!”

He held her tight, kissed her deep and slow, the moment too sweet for words.

Tourists. Photographers. A microphone in their faces.

“How does it feel to be the first people to free-climb Half Dome?”

Megs glowed. “It feels great.”

Mitch couldn’t quit smiling. “It’s another beautiful day in the Valley.”

“Give them room! Come on!” Gridwall stepped forward, a huge smile on his face, a large paper bag in hand, the other dirtbags trailing behind him. “Way to go! I figured you would be hungry and thirsty, so I brought sandwiches and water.”

Megs cracked open her water, chalk on her nose, sweat beaded on her forehead. “Gridwall, you’re not such a jerk after all.”

Megs held Mitch’s hand,the joy of that memory bringing a bittersweet ache to her chest. “It means a lot to me that you wrote more about the connection between us than you did the nuts and bolts of the climb. That’s what I remember, too.”

The two of them lying side-by-side on Big Sandy, talking about the stars. Mitch holding her all night. Gridwall bringing his peace offering.

“That’s the climb that set the Valley on fire.”

As a result of the news coverage, new faces had begun to arrive in Camp 4. Inspired by Mitch and Megs’ success on Free Spirit and Half Dome, the dirtbags had started finding their own routes and putting up first ascents all over the Valley. The free-climbing revolution was on.

“We ended up in newspapers and on television. We both thought that was the end of it, but we were wrong. It was the beginning of…”

Megs’ words trailed off as Kim walked in, a bag of IV antibiotics in hand. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I read the news article about Mitch. You two are famous. What an incredible life you’ve had together. I can’t imagine traveling to all of the places you’ve been or doing the things you’ve done.”

Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid of heights.”

“You save lives for a living. That does more good for the world than climbing.”

Kim shook her head, checked the subclavian line. “The world needs people like you to inspire us. The rest of us sit at desks or slog our way through the workweek. You give us reasons to dream. You take us places we would otherwise never go.”

“Thanks.” Megs had never thought about it like that. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“What was your toughest climb?”

That was easy.

“Without a doubt, it was K2. That’s the world’s second-highest Himalayan peak after Everest. That trip nearly broke me. It was so cold, and the climbing was brutal. I wasn’t sure we’d make it.”

Almost 30 percent of climbers who attempted K2 died.

“Why did you do it?”

“Good question. We’ve been sponsored by various climbing gear companies since our twenties. Part of the deal is coming up with exciting projects. Mitch and I tried not to let our egos drive us, but we just had to tick the boxes and climb all of the eight-thousand-meter peaks.”

“Which was your favorite?”

“Everyone expects me to say Everest, but Everest is overrated—too many people, corpses, oxygen bottles, and trash.” Megs thought about it. “Honestly, I think it was our first ascent of the Regular Northwest Face on Half Dome that I was just reading to Mitch. It’s not that difficult, really, compared to other projects. But there’s nothing like being the first to do something when others believe it can’t be done.”

That’s when Megs noticed. Mitch was looking right at her. “Mitch?”

There was a grimace on his face, as if he were in pain. He bent one leg, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.

Megs’ pulse raced. “Tell me you saw that. He bent his leg, and he was looking right at me. Then he opened and closed his eyes. I think he’s in pain.”

“Yes, I saw it.” Kim hurried out of the room. “I’ll page his doc. He might need pain relief now.”

Mitch grimaced again, moaned, stretched out his leg.

Megs held tightly to his hand. “I’m so sorry, love. I bet you’ve got the world’s worst headache. She’s going to get the doctor. I’m right here, okay? They’ll give you something for pain.”

Could he understand what she was telling him, or was he trapped inside himself, confused and aware only of pain?

It took the neurosurgeon on duty a brief eternity to answer the page. When he arrived, he went over Mitch’s chart and then examined him.

“Though there’s some disagreement, there’s good evidence that people in a minimally conscious state can feel pain. I’ve ordered morphine for him, though we want to be careful not to overmedicate him. That can have adverse effects that set him back.”

“We don’t want that.” Megs also didn’t want Mitch to suffer.

“We’ll do what we can to keep him comfortable.”

“Thank you.” When the doctor had gone, Megs stroked Mitch’s arm. “They’re bringing you pain meds. You get the hard stuff.”

Kim walked in with a syringe and injected the morphine into his line. “This should bring immediate relief. We’ll monitor him closely.”

Within seconds, Mitch’s face relaxed, his eyes drifting shut.

Megs let out a breath, relieved. “You rest now, love. I’m right here.”