The Middle of Somewhere(100)

They stopped for a brief rest and ate some trail mix. From here they could see most of the route above them. No one was there. Dante gave Liz two more ibuprofen and took three for himself. “A poor substitute for beer,” he said.

“As much beer as you want tonight.” Tears stung her nose at the thought of sitting with him, having a drink, being together, with no secrets waiting in the shadows.

“It doesn’t seem possible.”

“I know.”

Two hours after they left the rim of Whitney, the gulley ended and they hiked along a solid path to the lake. The rain had nearly stopped. Liz had to resist the urge to run. As they neared the tents, a bearded man wearing a red beanie crawled out of the nearest one. He waved.

Dante reached for Liz’s hand. She spun to face him. The furrows in his brow were gone. He looked like a little boy. She laughed and threw her good arm around him. They kissed, smiling as they did. Liz no longer felt afraid or exhausted or forsaken. The cramping in her chest, the tightness in her throat had gone. In its place, exhilaration. She was grinning like a fool and couldn’t care less.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO





The man was Joe from Boulder, here to make a bid for the north face of Keeler Needle. He and his girlfriend had been playing Yahtzee, waiting out the rain. “You two look like you been in the Whitney blender.”

In their relief, Liz and Dante quickly told Joe about the Roots, and Brensen. Liz explained her arm was probably broken, and that they didn’t know the way back to the Portal.

Joe frowned. “Holy crap.” He cast his gaze at the trail leading up the gulley. “You think those two followed you down?”

Dante said, “We haven’t seen them since the top, but it’s possible.”

“Holy crap.”

Liz said, “We haven’t run into anyone else in two days and thought the trails might be closed. But you’re here, so . . .”

Joe looked at his feet. “We’ve been here two nights, but didn’t bother with a permit. Figured we’d bag the Needle and be out of here before anyone noticed. This late in the season we didn’t think it’d be an issue since they don’t patrol up here much.”

A woman wearing French braids crawled out of the tent and joined them. She introduced herself as Trina.

She listened intently as Joe filled her in. “We heard a chopper this morning. Remember, Joe? Thought it was kinda late for resupplying a ranger station.”

“We saw it fly over Guitar Lake,” Dante said. “Low.”

Joe said, “Someone’s looking for those creeps, that’s for sure. The weather’s clearing up, so they might decide to come down this way. If I were running, that’s what I’d do.”

Liz exchanged looks with Dante. “We hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Trina nodded toward the second tent. “I’ll wake up Marshall. We should pack up and get out of here, just in case.”

Liz and Dante found seats where they could monitor the trail while the climbers broke camp. Trina spoke with Marshall through his tent door. A moment later he popped out like a spider darting onto its web. A wiry man sporting black-rimmed glasses, he moved with breathless efficiency. He stowed his sparse gear in his pack in minutes, then helped Trina and Joe with theirs.

Joe hoisted his pack and waved to Keeler Needle, its tip buried in cloud. “Next time, big guy.”

Marshall was familiar with the trail and led the way, followed by Trina, Liz and Dante. Joe took up the rear. Marshall hiked well ahead of the group, but Trina set a moderate pace. Liz shadowed her, step for step, allowing herself to relax a little. Simply hiking with four people instead of one made her feel less vulnerable. Marshall waited at difficult junctures for the others to catch up, and he and Joe assisted Dante in helping Liz down tricky sections. In several places the route was indistinct or, to Liz’s eye, completely invisible. If she and Dante had been alone, they could easily have lost their way. As they descended, the air thickened and Liz took full breaths for the first time that day. The knots in her shoulders and neck began to loosen. The way was steep, but the footing was stable—at least compared to the gulley.

They passed Lower Boy Scout Lake and arrived at the edge of a vast granite face. Liz scanned for the route but saw nothing but dead ends.

“Ebersbacher Ledges,” Trina informed them. “Lots of people get tangled up here.” They navigated the steep, circuitous route, and dropped to a streambed where the path was choked with willows. After fighting their way through for a half mile, they came upon a stream crossing. A rustle on the far bank startled them. Marshall paused midstream. Liz clamped her hand on Dante’s arm, her heart in her throat. The willows parted and a woman in uniform appeared—a ranger. She moved onto a flat rock and a policeman pushed through the growth and stood beside her. Dante turned to Liz, his eyes sparkling. Relief coursed through her limbs. “At last,” she whispered to Dante, “saved by a ranger.” He stifled a laugh.