Home > The Redpoint Crux

The Redpoint Crux
Author: Morgan Shamy

Chapter One

 

 

Dead Point

 

 

Boulder, Colorado, August


Dying wasn’t on Red’s to-do list that day.

At least, not at the top of her list.

If she had been asked if she wanted to die the week before, it might’ve been a different story. Of course, then she had just been pulled from a competition due to an “incident” and banned from the U.S.A. Climbing Team for the next six months. “Breathe and get some perspective,” Coach had said.

It was the only competition in which she hadn’t taken first place in the last five years.

It had been the end of her world.

Until now.

Red stared up at the towering pines and tried to ignore the piece of rock protruding from her chest. She should have been panicking. It would have been the appropriate reaction to falling off a cliff and landing on a series of sharp pieces of granite, but she was strangely calm. She didn’t feel any pain. Probably because it was a mortal wound—it was the deadly ones you didn’t feel.

She shouldn’t have been out there climbing alone. Coach had strictly forbidden it when she left their motel room that morning. It wasn’t like he was her dad telling her what to do; he was just looking out for her. He was four years her senior, and they had been dating for the past year. It was convenient since they were on the road together twenty-four seven. A coach with benefits.

Red hiccupped, swallowing a hysterical laugh.

If she had her phone, she would send the climbing world one last message. It’d definitely make national news. Seventeen-year-old world-class climber, Megan “Red” Tucker dies alone in a freak accident. Reports say that she reached out to her fans just before death, advising them never to climb alone and to always be prepared. She could hear the talk now:

At least she died doing what she loved.

She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

A year before nationals. What a shame.

Red shook the thoughts away. Maybe the wound wasn’t that bad. Maybe the rock hadn’t hit any major organs. She squinted down at the jagged entity sticking up through her purple tank top, the blood around it blending into the deep hue.

Okay, maybe she was panicking.

Her breaths came out in short gasps, and when she coughed, something inside her throat gurgled. She struggled to move, but her limbs tingled, and she started to feel disconnected from her body.

She was dying.

Red peered up at the cliff, her vision swaying. The events of the last hour replayed in her head. She’d had that hold. She’d had good footing with a great pocket on the right. She should have been able to stick that jump. She cursed herself for trying to free solo that thing. She knew better, but all her climbing gear was back at home two thousand miles away.

Cold seeped into the back of her jeans. She wasn’t sure if it was from the damp ground or the blood leaving her body. Another cough—a wet, rattling sound.

A rustle came from the bushes to her left, and Red froze. She turned her head and stared into the dark shrubbery, her heart beating fast. Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe help was nearby.

A lean figure unfolded from the forest. She couldn’t see any of his features, just his outline against the dark green of the mountain. It was a guy, not too tall. Thin frame. Wild hair. His silhouette extended from the trees.

Help! Red tried to scream.

Nothing.

He didn’t move to save her. The man crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest tree. He cocked his head to the side and stood there, like Red was taking a nap instead of drowning in her own blood.

Help me! She tried to scream again. What is he doing? But her voice didn’t work. She should’ve been able to plea for help or give a dying message. If she couldn’t contact the climbing world, then she should be allowed to give her last words to someone—even this stranger. She realized she’d give anything to breathe normally again.

“Would you?” the guy asked.

Red was jerked from her thoughts and stared back at him. He tilted his head further to the side and his stance melted deeper into the tree.

“I’ve seen enough death to know what you’re thinking.”

Red opened her mouth again, not sure whether this was a dream. Or maybe she’d already died and this was her hell: doomed to watch this man do nothing as she bled to death over and over again.

“I can give it to you, you know—life.”

The figure pushed off the tree and loomed over her. He remained nothing more than a shadow, and Red searched for any form of recognition.

The guy bent down, so his head was only inches from her face. She squinted and her vision blurred.

“There are consequences, though.”

“Please. Just—” She broke off into a fit of gargled coughs.

“Shh. Don’t talk. You’ve punctured a lung.”

Red’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed. She reached up and felt the sticky pool of blood that flowed from her chest.

“I need your consent,” he said. “Otherwise, I have to let you die. And from the looks of it, I’d say you have about a minute left.”

Consent? Just call 911! Find a forest ranger. Somebody! Or carry me back to town!

“Do you want me to save you? Blink twice if you want me to save you.” His voice was merely curious—neither urgent nor disinterested.

Blink? Blink? She was clearly dying, and he wanted her to blink?

Spots clouded her vision. Like her voice, her eyes wouldn’t work much longer.

“Tick tock goes the clock.” His voice was almost taunting. His neck bent side to side.

Red gasped for breath. Her airway closed off and liquid filled her mouth. The man spoke again, but his voice drifted far away. Her eyelids fluttered. The last thing she saw were the white clouds as they moved over the tops of the pines. The man’s silhouette hovered over her.

Darkness closed in.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Two Man Stand

 

 

Halifax, Nova Scotia, September


Along the backside of the theater, a small road sat quietly, tucked into the shadows of the city. Small shops lined in rows, squeezed together with narrow alleys in between. Boards covered the windows. Dried flowers hung from upper story balconies. The only light was a sliver of moon slipping through the clouds, the streetlamps having burnt out a long time ago.

Liam kicked a piece of trash, and it rattled down the street. Things had changed since he was last here. Four years ago, this place had been full of life, full of color, full of… hope. Now, he returned to a place more dismal than his mood. Where was everyone? Had his parents run everyone off? Perhaps he shouldn’t have left. Perhaps he could’ve done some good here, instead of going off to that Russian boarding school. He would’ve preferred Julliard, but his parents insisted on a foreign education, and Kirov’s School of the Arts was supposedly the best.

Liam turned down one of the alleyways between the shops, where a red fluorescent sign hung above a plain, unassuming door. Pulling his dark brows together, he gave three sharp taps, waited a few seconds, then gave two more. They better not all be gone.

A man as tall as a lamppost and just as thin opened the door. He wore a hooded cloak that covered him from head to floor. The fluorescent sign cast an eerie glow on his face. Bones jutted from his skin, his long blond hair covering his white eyebrows. The top part of his body bent in half as he leaned down and looked Liam in the eye.

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