The path swerved to the very edge of the ravine. There they could look down into the gorge and see the tops of full-grown hemlocks. The sight made Angela sick. She turned away and kept to the far side of the path.

Marcia began, "Wouldn't it be nice if there was a waterfall—"

Her voice broke off in a scream. It rose shrilly above the sound of tumbling earth and rocks. Angela stood dazed, not believing.

Below her, the hemlocks reeled. At the edge of the ravine was Marcia's distorted face, her hands clinging to the root of a tree.

The root was tearing. Angela flung herself to the ground, braced her body around a tree trunk and seized Marcia's hands.

The weight was heavy, unyielding. She felt her throat ripped with screams. Saw her own screaming mouth reflected in Marcia's, the face twisted with horror.

"I'm falling!" Marcia's voice was hoarse and terrible. "Help! Help me!"

Angela's arms burned with the strain. "I—can't."

Her hold on the tree trunk slipped. Again she screamed. She was sliding—sliding toward the edge.

"Marcia, I can't! You're pulling me down. Let—go—"

Marcia's nails dug into her wrists.

"Let go!" Angela cried.

Again she slipped. Closer. Closer to the hemlocks in the gorge. And Marcia's face, screaming.

Earth and pebbles showered around her. Under the weight of their bodies, more ground broke away. Frantically she twisted, trying to wrench herself from the death grip. The exertion dragged her forward. Closer.