Garry quickly kicked loose dust from underfoot and brushed it some more with his gloved hands. Then he leaned over and reached for Patch’s clinging hands. He slid his own hands below Patch’s wrists, closing his fingers about those wrists for dear life.
“I’ve got a good hold, Patch,” Garry panted. “Brace your feet and help me as I try to pull you up. Ready?”
“Ready, Garry!” came Patch’s weak voice.
Making sure his feet were well anchored, Garry pulled with all his might. For an instant Patch’s body resisted him like a dead weight. Then, with an almost superhuman effort, Garry was able to hoist him up ... up ... up and over onto the ledge safely. Then both of them slumped exhaustedly on the rocky brink.
The boys were quiet for several seconds as they caught their breath in the pitch darkness and considered how close it had come to being all over for Patch.
“Garry,” his grateful friend managed to say finally, “I’ll make it up to you. If we ever get out of this alive, I’ll make it up to you.”
“Never mind that,” Garry said. “You didn’t lose anything when you fell? You’ve still got the extra oxygen tanks?”
A dead silence followed, and that silence caused Garry to feel a clutch of dread.
“You lost them, didn’t you?” he asked with a hopeless groan.
Garry heard a faint sob over his helmet receiver. Then Patch fairly wept out the words he next spoke: “Yes, yes, I did! Push me back in, Garry! Push me back in! We’re lost for sure now!”