The Middle of Somewhere(68)

Before long, Upper Palisade Lake was in sight. As they climbed toward the pass, they could finally see the entire Palisade Range that had loomed over their campsite. The massive peaks, all over fourteen thousand feet, dwarfed everything in the vicinity. The lakes were puddles, and Linda and Paul, now visible along the margin of the lower lake, were ants.

Liz and Dante came over a rise, and he stopped short, pointing with his pole at two figures resting on a boulder a hundred yards ahead. The Root brothers. “We’ll just go past them, okay, Liz?”

She chewed on her lip and said nothing.

The Roots watched them approach. She had the feeling they’d been waiting for them.

“Good morning,” Rodell said, lifting a piece of jerky in the air.

Dante offered a muted hello. Liz nodded.

Payton got up, blocking the trail. “Chilly this morning, isn’t it?”

Dante said, “Not too bad once you’re moving.”

“Well, you’re not moving now, are you, hombre?”

Dante stood straighter. “What is your motivation, Payton? Do you and your brother find sport in coming to this beautiful place”—he gestured at the mountains and sky—“with the goal of bothering people?”

The large man shook his head slowly. “Now, I really did like you. You’re cute. Like those little dogs. What do you call them, Rodell?”

“Chihuahuas.”

“Yeah, them. But maybe I’m changing my mind.”

Liz felt Dante tense beside her. Her eyes fell to one of the Roots’ backpacks. A string of clawed feet, with dried blood and tufts of fur, hung from a strap. She examined what Rodell was holding at his side. It wasn’t jerky at all, but a small charred leg. Her stomach turned and bile rose at the back of her throat. She scanned for a detour around these men, but the slope was steep and clogged with large boulders.

“Let’s drop it,” she said. “We don’t need to like one another. It’s a big place.”

Payton grinned at her and ran a palm along his thigh. A shiver skittered down her spine. “It’s big, all right, but the trail is just a skinny little thing. Doesn’t take much to create an inconvenience, as you can see.”

“Speaking of which,” Dante said, “when were you on the Golden Staircase yesterday?”

“Yesterday? Can’t remember. Do you remember, Rodell?”

He rubbed his whiskers theatrically. “No, no, can’t say as I do.”

“Mr. Hollywood was there, though, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he sure was. Swearing a blue streak the whole way up.”

Payton frowned. “Took the Lord’s name in vain on multiple occasions.”

“We don’t approve, do we Payton?”

“No, we certainly don’t.”

“Daddy used to swear a blue streak. Even on the Lord’s day.”

“He did indeed.”

“Poor Mama. Every swearword was a knife through her heart.” The younger brother pinched the corners of his eyes with dirty fingers. “All that swearing and drinking. And raising a hand to her! Knocked two teeth out once, remember?” Payton rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Rodell exhaled and shook his head slowly. “Came in the door and there she was. Lying on the floor, bleeding and moaning.”

They stood in silent reflection, oblivious to their audience. Liz held her breath. All around, the granite waited.

“That was a good dare,” Payton whispered. “We fixed him, didn’t we, Rodell?”

Rodell patted his brother’s hand and looked up at him. A grin spread like oil across his face. “There’ll be no more swearing from Daddy.”

Payton’s eyes shone with affection. “That was the best dare you ever gave me.”

“So far, Payton. So far.”

Payton had moved toward his brother, leaving a narrow gap, but Liz’s legs were locked solid. Dante reached for her hand, and their poles, which dangled from their wrists, tapped. The sharp clinking sound in the empty morning released her. She tugged Dante’s hand as a signal, then let go and darted forward, squeezing past Payton, brushing his shoulder. Dante was right behind her. Liz hurried up the trail, head down, her breath loud in her ears. She didn’t look back until they were nearly at the pass.

? ? ?

As they ascended the switchbacks below Mather Pass, they discussed whether to talk to a ranger about the Roots. The next station was at Bench Lake, about a mile before Lake Marjorie—that evening’s destination. The problem lay, they agreed, in what to say. The Roots had made no direct threats, nor had they behaved illegally. Even collecting marmot feet was within the bounds of the law, if outside the bounds of good taste.