twenty-five feet overhead, then another built off that one that is higher and farther out, then a third, even higher, in the opposite direction. It’s like a giant spiral staircase that leads at least fifty or sixty feet in the air.
They all have multiple zip lines, and each one looks more impossible than the last. Please, God, don’t make me climb to the top.
I peek over the edge of our platform. “What do you think of jumping?”
She leans and looks down. “Not a chance one of us wouldn’t break something. Probably both of us, and it could be our legs.”
She’s right. “Anyway, we’re so deep into the woods I wouldn’t have a clue how to get out without getting completely lost.”
“Could we just wait here until morning?”
I consider that but shake my head. “This guy’s a killer and he built this course. He’s going to know how to find us.” I look up again. “But if we go higher, we might see a road and get a sense of which direction to go.”
“And then we ride again.”
I dig up a smile and nod. “Let me consult my instructions.”
As I read, Molly pushes up to stand, swaying a little but holding on to the post attached to the platform. She leans closer to read over my shoulder.
I point to the bottom of the page, at number nine. “I think that’s where we are. See how there are three lines of text? Wild guess, but maybe one for every platform.”
“Maybe. What do they say?”
The first clue is haud passibus aequis. “ ‘Not with equal steps.’ ” I frown. “What the heck does that mean?”
She looks at the wooden rails that lead upward. “They’re perfectly equal in size and distance.”
“Maybe it means not to take the zip line from the platform that has equal steps?” I suggest.
“I guess we have to get up there to find out. What’s the next line say?”
Sweat beading on my neck despite the cold, I study the words: alia tendanda via est. “ ‘Another way must be tried.’ ”
“Great, Yoda wrote the directions.”
I almost smile, more encouraged that Molly is back than by any humor in the situation. “It’s Latin,” I say. “But maybe it refers to the second platform? Let’s climb and see what we find.”
Molly turns and immediately puts her hands on the third rung. “I’ll go first.”
As I fold the instructions to keep them dry, she starts to climb, but suddenly I hear a loud crack and her gasp as she falls backward.
“Molly!” I leap to her but the platform board under her gives way and she tumbles into space. I dive after her, our hands flailing to find a grip on each other before she falls all the way to the ground.
I just manage to snag the sleeve of her hoodie and stop the fall. “Don’t move, Molly,” I tell her. If she squirms, the jacket could come right off.
She looks up at me, dangling in open space, horror in her eyes. “What do I do?” she whispers, as though even talking could end in a fall.
“Hold on.” With strength I don’t even know I have, straining every muscle to its snapping point, I fight to hoist her back up. Her wet hand nearly slips through mine, but I grip so hard I could break her wrist.
I will not drop Molly. I will not let her die. I don’t waste energy talking but pull with everything I have, one agonizing inch at a time, until she can finally grab the wood and climb back onto the platform.
We both collapse and let out a breath I think we started holding when the step fell.
“Well, now we know,” she pants.
“Know what?”
She lifts a shaky arm and points to the ladder. “Why we have to take unequal steps.”
Scrambling to my knees, I nod. “Skip every other step.”
“And pray.”
We do both and get to level two without a mishap, but there’s no clip on the zip line. “So this is the part where we ‘try another way.’ ”
“The way up.” Molly points.
In silence, we climb to the next platform, the wind strong enough up here for the rain, now a light shower, to sting our faces. As I poke my head through the opening to the next level, I get the best view of the woods I’ve had yet. Molly’s already kneeling on that platform looking around.
“Look, Kenz.” She points to a golden glow on the horizon.
“That’s probably the lights of Vienna. Good, that tells us where we