The Middle of Somewhere(34)

“Yeah, yeah,” Payton interrupted, unsmiling. “Sure I remember. But no one wants to hear about that. Not right now.” He stood and reached a hand out to Dante. It was as thick and broad as a slab of meat. They shook.

“Stay dry,” he said, and nodded in the direction of his campsite. “We’re right there if you need anything.”

As soon as the Root brothers left, they climbed into their sleeping bags. It was pitch black inside the tent. Liz lay with her eyes closed, listening. The footfall of someone approaching would have been deafening in the still night, but she listened all the same.

“Dante?”

“Um-hmm?”

“You don’t think those guys are weird?”

“Unusual, yes. But not necessarily weird.”

“Volunteering to be a human lightning rod isn’t weird?”

“It’s not different from swallowing goldfish or tipping cows or whatever else Americans do in college.”

“Except the Roots aren’t wasted when they’re doing it.”

“True.” He pulled an arm out of his sleeping bag and wrapped it around her. “These bags are very unromantic.”

“Sadly, yes. In about two minutes you’ll have an armsicle.”

“Maybe Rodell was exaggerating. No one saw him do it.”

“Good point.”

And that was the problem with the Root brothers. No one ever saw anything.

? ? ?

She awoke and waited for the sun to scale the eastern ridge and provide at least the hope of warmth. The metallic clink of cups and dishes from the other campsite told her the brothers were up. Dante stirred. She kissed him and left the tent. Payton and Rodell were folding their tarp in the minuet of housewives folding a sheet. Fold, step together, touch hands. Fold, step together, touch hands. The good news was they would be well on their way before she and Dante were ready. Odds were the Roots would make camp first, and they could leapfrog past them. Not that it mattered much. In two days they would all converge at the same place: Muir Trail Ranch. Everyone landed there to retrieve supply buckets and enjoy showers, food and Internet access. The last approximation of civilization for the remaining one hundred and ten miles.

She lured Dante out of the tent with a cup of coffee, and began breaking camp. He helped put away the bags and mattresses. She was removing the fly when Payton called out. “See you guys on the trail.” He adjusted his cap and raised a hand in salute.

“Have a good walk,” Dante said.

“’Bye,” Liz said, sweetly. Go to hell. I double dare you.





CHAPTER ELEVEN





Over the first four miles, they descended from their camp at ten thousand feet to below eight thousand feet to reach Quail Meadows.

Liz said, “Sounds like a suburban development.”

Dante nodded. “And I suppose, because I can actually breathe here, we’re about to go up.”

She’d reviewed the map and knew what they were in for. Two thousand feet of climbing over two miles. A whopping one hundred eight-five stories.

The switchbacks began, zigzagging from one side of the slope to the other like a garland on a Christmas tree. She counted each time they made a left-hand turn. At the fifteenth switchback, Dante asked for water. She pulled the bottle from his pack and handed it to him.

“You first,” he panted. “Air, then water.”

She drank and passed it to him.

He gulped down half the bottle. “I was wondering if a story wouldn’t make this easier.”

“Only if I tell it. You’ll pass out.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Any ideas?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. If you wouldn’t mind, you could tell me the story of what happened with you and Gabriel.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, or deflect, but remembered she had started this conversation the night after Red’s Meadow. “I’m not sure I know how.”

“Start with the first time you cried.”

“I don’t cry very often.”

“I know, carina. I know.”

It was easier than she thought. With the empty trail in front of her, she could have been talking to herself.

“Gabriel got a job right out of college as a systems analyst in Albuquerque, which was how we ended up there. I think I told you that, right?”

“Right.”