The Middle of Somewhere(76)

Liz said, “We haven’t really had a chance to talk about it.” And her own thoughts on the subject had been muddled. She scuffed her boots in the dirt. It seemed wrong to be concerned with finishing a hike when someone had died, although nothing anyone did or didn’t do would bring Brensen back. Yet the decision was before them. Maybe all she needed was distance from it. A night’s sleep. A new morning, a fresh section of trail. It sounded simple, suddenly, to leave what had happened behind them, to continue as before. Even the specter of the Root brothers had become oddly familiar, as if they were an integral part of the JMT experience, and she might find their names (“Root, Payton; Root, Rodell”) in the index of the guidebook. She didn’t mention them again, however. They seemed to haunt only her.

Raindrops fell, widely spaced, splatting on the ground. The air grew dense.

Paul said, “We’d best get our tents up.”

Dante pulled his wallet from the top of his pack, handed Paul a business card and shook his hand. “In case we don’t see you in the morning. You know where to find us in the meantime.”

“Thanks, mate. We’ll expect a photo of you two on the summit.”

Dante bent to kiss Linda on both cheeks. “I’ll text you if I’ve got reception.”

The image of their summit selfie flashed in Liz’s mind, and the edges of her spirits lifted. The rain began to fall in earnest. She gave Paul a quick hug, then embraced Linda. “Take good care.”

“You, too.”

? ? ?

It was after six o’clock and Liz and Dante were rushing to set up camp. The rain fell from the sky in sheets and the wind off the lake hurled freezing water at them. Liz’s numb hands fumbled with the guy lines, and twice a gust snatched the fly and tore it from her. She shouted at Dante to stop rummaging in his pack and hold down the fly so she could stake it. Once the tent was secure, they pulled rain covers over their packs and took refuge inside.

They jostled each other as they blew up the mattresses and arranged the sleeping bags, too exhausted to care about manners. As they changed into their sleeping outfits, their clothes stuck to their skin, and the tinny smell of ozone mixed with the odor of wet wool and mud. Liz was on the verge of bursting into tears, but fought it off. If she started she would not be able to stop. The shock of Brensen’s death—and worry about its cause—on top of sixteen miles of strenuous hiking had left her shattered. Lifting each leg and reaching forward to put on her leggings was almost more than she could handle.

A crack of thunder made her jump. She lost her grip on the leggings and fell backward onto her bed. Another boom of thunder, farther off, rolled into the distance. Rain pelted the tent. She swiped her wet bangs from her forehead and reminded herself she was safe and on her way to being warm and dry.

Unlike Brensen. Accidentally or by foul play, either way he died a violent death, and a premature one. And for all his kvetching, he’d pulled himself together and accepted, if not embraced, the hike. He would’ve been able to reach for those experiences when he made the film. It might have been his best performance ever, not that she’d seen all his movies. She wondered if the movie would be canned, or if they’d cast someone else. It didn’t matter. Brensen lay in the dark of the woods, encased in his tent. She shuddered.

Dante exhaled loudly as he lay down and cinched the bag around his shoulders. “Can you feel your feet?”

“Not yet.” At last she succeeded in putting on her leggings. She slipped on her socks and hat, and snuggled deep into the bag, facing Dante. Only his eyes peered out between his hat and his cocoon.

“You okay?” he said.

“Probably not. But I’m so beat I can’t be sure how I feel.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe food will help.” He extracted an arm from his bag and selected an energy bar from the pile of snacks between them—their dinner. Too much rain and too little enthusiasm for a cooked meal. He unwrapped the bar, handed it to her, and picked another for himself.

Her mouth flooded with saliva at the first taste of chocolate and berries. She chewed as if it were something she’d never done. Her mouth filled with sweetness. She took several more bites, chewing each with care. “Does yours taste unbelievably good?”

“I never thought I’d say this about a bar, but yes.”

They ate and listened to the rain drumming the fly.

After a few minutes, Dante propped himself on an elbow and drank some water. “What’s our plan, carina? Are we continuing toward Whitney?”