Starry Eyes(60)

But as I hobble toward it, and Lennon shines his headlamp inside, I lose hope. It’s another cave entrance, yes, but not to the network of tunnels we were just hiking. It’s just a big, wide single cave. As though nature used a melon baller and scooped out a hole in the side of the mountain.

“This isn’t an animal cave, is it?” I say, imagining us waking up some hibernating family of bears.

“It looks clear,” Lennon reports.

We have to duck to enter the mouth of the cave, but once we’re in, the ceiling is high, so we can stand and walk around. It’s maybe a dozen feet wide and twice as deep. There are no hibernating animals. No stream. Not much of anything at all, except a dip in the rocky floor near the mouth that cradles the remnants of burned firewood.

“People have camped here,” Lennon says, bending down to inspect it. “Not recently, I don’t think. But look.” He kicks a discarded, empty can of food in the corner. It’s covered in dirt and bone-dry, so it’s been here a while. “Bastards. What about ‘leave no trace’ don’t people understand?”

I’m having trouble caring about that right now. I turn toward the half-moon mouth of the tiny cave and look toward the valley of trees. It’s like gazing into a framed painting.

“Look, it’s not what I’d planned, but I think we should camp here,” Lennon says. “It’s flat and protected. Seems reasonably safe—it’s obviously been used as a site by other hikers. There’s room enough for us to erect both of our tents inside this cave and build a fire.”

“What about water?” I say.

“I’ve only taken a swig out of my bottle. How much do you have left?”

The entire bottle. I haven’t touched it since we filled up at lunch.

“It’s enough,” he assures me. “I mean, we won’t be washing our hair or anything, but if we’re careful, we can make it until we can hike down to the creek. Or, if you feel up to it, we can hike down there now.” He checks the time on one of the compass dials. “It’s almost six. It will get dark at nine. That should be enough time, but we’ll be cutting it close. And this isn’t a big trail, so it might be a little rough walking it during dusk. We also need to take care of your ankle.”

I debate this. I’d like fresh water. It worries me that all we have is the precious little in our bottles. But I look at my ankle, and suddenly the weight of my backpack seems to double.

I’m tired and hungry and injured.

I want to stop.

“Let’s just stay here,” Lennon says encouragingly.

“What about your map? This wasn’t the plan.”

“No, but it’s workable. The map was just a general guideline. Things happen out here, and you adapt.”

I’m not good at adapting.

“This little cave is pretty sweet,” he says. “And I’ll bet you can see a thousand stars from this cliff.”

He’s probably right. I look at the clear sky above the mountains.

“Come on, take off your pack,” he tells me. “Let’s get you fixed up, okay? One thing at a time.”

Maybe he’s right.

Following his suggestion, I unbuckle my backpack and plop down on a boulder near the entrance of our little clifftop cave while he digs out the first aid kit. I spy my blue Nalgene bottle, and it makes me realize that I’m dying of thirst, but I resist the urge to drink. Must save it. Now I’m wondering if we need to spare water for cleaning my wounds, but Lennon has broken out alcohol swabs, and he squats at my feet to use one.

“Cold,” I say, flinching. “Oww!”

“Hold still and let me clean it,” he says.

“It stings.”

“That’s how you know it’s working.” He cradles my heel in one hand and cleans off the bite. “I once got bitten by an emerald tree boa. Beautiful snakes, but boy, do they have a mean bite.” He holds up his hand and twists it around to show me. A U-shaped line of scars arches around his wrist and the heel of his palm.

“Holy crap. When did that happen?”

“About six months ago. She was eight feet long and this big around.” He shows me with his hands. “I had to go the emergency room and get a couple stiches. The snake was upset about being moved into a new habitat. She was old and set in her ways. I get a lot of little bites at work, but they usually don’t hurt. This one scared me. I was so shaken up by the whole thing, I was scared to pick up another snake for a couple of days.”

“I don’t ever want to see one again, much less pick one up. If I’d known to expect snakes in those caves, I wouldn’t have agreed to go inside.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Don’t quote Monty Python to me right now. I’m mad at you.”

He snorts a laugh. “No, you’re not. You’re just grouchy because you’re in pain.”

“I’m grouchy because you led me into an evil serpent’s nest!”

“Snakes get a bad rap,” he says. “They only attack when they’re scared or hungry. We’re monsters in their eyes. And that snake that bit you shouldn’t have been in that cave. The temperature is too low for a kingsnake. I’m thinking it must have gotten lost in there somehow. I hope it finds its way out.”