We had been traveling for two days with the Humboldt Column, the pace punishingly fast, driven by Valerie's desire to reach the relative safety of the fortified community before the weather or more hostile groups closed in. The constant tension with Kael and Sam had continued to simmer, reducing our group's status to that of necessary liabilities. However, that perception shattered abruptly on the third morning when the column reached a significant obstacle.
The overgrown fire trail, which had been our discreet route, ended abruptly where a seasonal creek had swollen years ago, washing out a significant section of the old mountain road. The result was a chasm about thirty feet wide, spanned only by the skeletal remains of a narrow, rusted steel culvert pipe that was far too fragile to support the weight of their truck, let alone the crossing of the entire column. We were effectively stopped. Valerie ordered the column to halt under cover of the dense brush and immediately began assessing the problem, her frustration evident.
"We can't detour; the alternate route adds two days of travel through open territory where we'll be exposed to spotters," Valerie stated, running a hand over her close-cropped hair. "We need a way to move the supplies across and then rig a safe passage for the people." Kael immediately proposed cutting down timber to build a log bridge, a time-consuming and dangerously loud process. Sam, meanwhile, was focused on the nightmare of having to unpack and repack the supplies multiple times.
It was Lexi who stepped forward. She spent a minute studying the structural integrity of the culvert and the type of rusted steel involved. "The pipe is too weak, but the supporting steel cables are still anchored deep in the rock on the far side," she explained, pointing to the thick, braided metal that had once held the pipe in place. "We don't need a log bridge for the people. We need a secure highline for the supplies, and then we rappel the people across. It's faster, quieter, and uses less material." Her voice was concise and utterly confident.
While the others looked skeptical, I backed her up. "Lexi has extensive experience with rigging and climbing from her pre-Rot life. We can use the heavy cordage we salvaged, combined with the truck's winch cable and a block-and-tackle system, to create a tension line strong enough for the supply packs." Lexi immediately began pulling out specialized clips and ropes from her pack—items Sam had previously scoffed at as unnecessary weight.
The plan was daring and relied heavily on my coordination and Lexi's climbing ability. I managed the winch and tensioning system on our side of the chasm, while Lexi, utilizing an athletic leap and a precise throw of a weighted line, managed to scramble across the precarious culvert—a heart-stopping moment of pure physical risk. Once across, she secured the primary safety line to the rock face, confirming her expertise and bravery in one stroke.
The rest of the column was stunned into silence. Under Lexi's sharp direction, we quickly rigged a secure highline, allowing us to send the supply packs, heavy gear, and finally the disabled truck's vital components across the gap with the electric winch. The entire process, which would have taken Kael days to bridge, was completed in under four hours, with minimal noise.
Just as the last piece of gear was being secured, a cry went up from one of the flank guards. A young man named Marco had slipped on the treacherous, loose shale near the chasm edge and suffered a deep, bleeding laceration to his forearm. The injury was severe, and Marco was immediately going into shock. While the others froze, Jesse took charge.
"Clear the area! I need light and clean material!" Jesse commanded, his voice ringing with the forgotten authority of his EMT days. He immediately assessed the wound, noting the severity and the need for stitches to prevent massive blood loss. He coolly utilized our salvaged high-grade suture kit and antibiotics, administering immediate pain relief and cleanly stitching the deep wound. His calm professionalism and the effectiveness of his techniques—far superior to the basic first aid the column possessed—saved Marco from permanent nerve damage, and potentially his life.
As the column regrouped on the far side of the chasm, the shift in dynamic was palpable. Valerie approached me, her gaze steady. "That was a masterclass in efficiency, James," she admitted, her tone now respectful. She then walked straight to Lexi and Jesse. "You three aren't liabilities. You're essential assets. Thank you, Lexi, Jesse. Your skills just saved us days and likely saved Marco's arm." Kael, his scar twitching, remained silent, but his hostile scrutiny was replaced by grudging respect. We hadn't just earned a place in the column; we had proven our worth in the most undeniable currency of the apocalypse: survival and competence.