The Bodies Left Behind

her, try to break her fall. Don’t worry about me.”
    Michelle nodded and boosted the girl up, whispering, “Can you handle her?”
    “No choice,” Brynn gasped.
    The theme for the evening.
    Though the burden wasn’t as great as it could be. She was thinking how thin the little girl was . . . and about the sad fate that had landed her squarely in such neglect.
    They started up the cliff, a foot at a time. Heart slamming, legs burning, Brynn slowly climbed. About fifteen feet from the ground, the muscles in her legs began quivering. More from fear than from effort. How she hated heights. . . . She paused frequently.
    Amy, with her arms around Brynn’s neck, was holding on very tightly, making it hard for Brynn to breathe, but she’d rather the child kept a solid grip.
    Her rubber legs propelled her another five feet, then ten, grasping handholds harder than she needed to, fingers cramping. Even her toes curled, as if she were climbing barefoot.
    Finally, an eternity, her head was over the edge, and she was looking at a flatter plain. In front of her was a huge tangle of forsythia. Not daring to look down, shegrabbed all the vines within arm’s length in her right hand, tested them and, with a deep breath, let go of the rock. She pulled herself halfway over the edge and then said, “Amy, go over my head. Put your knees on my shoulders and climb. When you’re on the top, stop. Just stand there.”
    Brynn was about to offer more reassurance but the girl said quickly, “Okay,” and climbed off. And stood motionless, at attention.
    A child used to doing exactly as she was told.
    Brynn then pulled herself the rest of the way over the top and sat down, breathing hard. She looked over the side—disappointingly, it seemed much less intimidating from this end, as if the effort and fear had been wasted. She beckoned Michelle up. The young woman climbed quickly, despite her bad ankle—thanks to youth and that fancy butt-firming health club of hers. Brynn helped her over the edge and the three sat together in a huddle, catching their breath.
    Brynn oriented herself and, looking around, found what seemed to be a path that led upward. They started walking again.
    Michelle eased close to Brynn. “What’ll happen to her?”
    “If she doesn’t have kin, a foster home.”
    “That’s sad. She should be with a family.”
    “The system’s pretty good in Kennesha. They check on the families real well.”
    “Just nice if she could go to somebody who really wanted her. I’d love her.”
    Maybe one of the problems between Michelle andher husband had to do with children. He might not have wanted any.
    “Adoptions’re possible. I don’t know how that works.” Brynn touched her cheek. It hurt like hell. She saw Michelle’s eyes focused on Amy. “So you’d like kids?”
    “Oh, they’re the best. I just love them. . . . The way you guide them, teach them things. And what they teach you. They’re always a challenge. Children make you, I don’t know, whole. You’re not a complete person without them.”
    “You sound like an expert. You’ll be a good mother.”
    Michelle gave a laugh. “I intend to be.”
    For the moment at least, thoughts of unfaithful husbands and marriages in shambles had faded and the woman seemed to be looking at a brighter future.
    And what about me? Brynn thought.
    Keep going, she told herself. Keep going.

    LEWIS HAD MADE an improvised sling for the shotgun and was carrying the weapon on his back. The men were going straight up the slope as best they could, Hart figuring that the women would be taking an easier route because of the girl.
    Hart thought of the professional couples and their kids he saw at the rock-climbing walls at recreation areas and sports stores near where he lived. He’d wondered ifany of the parents actually had jobs that required them to climb like this. But no, of course they didn’t. They were paper pushers. They made ten times what he did, their lives were never endangered, they never felt the pain that Hart was experiencing. Yet he would never dream of swapping lives with them for any money.
    They’re nothing but dead bodies, Brynn. Sitting around, upset, angry about something they saw on TV doesn’t mean a single thing to them personally. Going to their jobs, coming home, talking stuff they don’t know or care about.  . . .
    They came to a flat stretch and paused, looking around carefully. He wasn’t going to forget that both women had