The Middle of Somewhere(95)

Dante followed her gaze. “Are you worried about a storm?”

“The clouds over Hitchcock moved in really quickly.”

“Maybe the weather is keeping people away.”

“It might discourage a few, but honestly, it’s so unpredictable that most people with a permit would go for it anyway.”

“Trail Crest is only a little farther. We could see if anyone’s coming up.”

“Good idea.”

They set off for the pass, a half mile farther. The narrow trail followed the jagged contours of the mountain, making it impossible to see more than a dozen yards ahead. Liz held her breath as they approached each corner, hoping to see a friendly hiker and expecting Payton Root. Fear coupled with the altitude soured her stomach, and she stopped twice thinking she might vomit.

They came around a tight bend. Ahead was a sign indicating the pass. The wind rushed through the gap, blowing tears from the corners of Liz’s eyes. They paused for a moment, then Dante led them down the other side a short distance to where they could see the trail coming up from Trail Camp and Whitney Portal. From where they stood, the trail veered to the right across a stretch of ice and snow. Steel cables had been installed on the downhill side to prevent hikers from tumbling fifteen hundred feet to their deaths. Past the cable section were the famous ninety-nine switchbacks, winding back and forth across the precipitous face.

Liz stared in disbelief. No one. A chill ran up her spine. “I don’t like this, Dante.”

“Neither do I. Do you think they closed the trail?”

“They must have. But there’s no fire. Maybe some other emergency—”

Dante clamped a hand on her arm. She glanced at him and followed his stare. She gasped. Rodell Root, standing on a slab above them, a stone’s throw away. He waved, grinning.

Dante said, “Come on, Liz!” and stepped forward, making a break for the switchbacks. They had a chance to get there before Rodell could intercept them. Liz dashed after him, slipping her poles off as she went, ready to grab the cables. Every tendon in her body felt spring-loaded and alarms were sounding in her head. The drop-off to her left was too steep to be nearly running. Dante stopped abruptly and she braked just in time, bracing her arm against his pack to avoid a collision.

Payton Root stood in the trail a dozen steps away. He interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms in front of him. “Better watch out, hombre. First step’s a doozy.” From the ledge above them, Rodell let out his pig snort laugh. Payton’s lips stretched into a grin, but the rest of his face was as hard as the stone at his feet.

A voice inside Liz’s head screamed at her to flee, but her feet would not obey.

Dante grabbed her shoulder, spun her on the narrow trail and gave her a nudge to set her in motion.

She ran up the trail as fast as she could, not daring to peer over her shoulder to see if the brothers were in pursuit. Her lungs were on fire. She focused only on the ground in front of her, heard only her own gasping breath. She crested the pass with Dante on her heels and scurried down toward the Whitney Trail junction.

She shouted without turning or slowing. “What do we do?”

“They’re following us! Either we go down the way we came or try to lose them on the way to the summit.”

The spire at the junction came into view. They scrambled down the rough trail.

Liz said, “The way down is too open. We have to hide and hope they pass by. Then we can turn back and get the hell out of here.” They arrived at the junction and veered right along the summit path. Liz’s heart beat in her throat as she navigated the jumble of broken rock and angular boulders where landslides had occurred, interspersed with sections of smooth gravel. The trail snaked between gigantic pinnacles and stacked rectangles of stone, creating shadow patterns that fooled Liz’s eye and made her stumble again and again. She pressed on, the menace behind like a hot breath on her neck. She could find no rhythm. The trail opened up for a stretch, a yard-wide strip between the sloping talus on her right and a sheer drop of two thousand feet on her left, then wended amid the granite formations again, where she was forced to careen from rock to rock. Her lungs squeezed painfully, begging for oxygen. Her temples pounded.

She paused to lean against a boulder, panting. “Are they still following us?”

Dante’s face was twisted with effort. “A minute ago they were.” He scanned around them. “I thought there’d be places to hide.”

“We can’t stop. We have to keep going.” She heard her voice, shrill with distress. She pushed off the boulder and sped up the trail, fighting to control her breathing, searching for a cadence. The footing improved and she took her eyes off the ground to check the sky. Fear stabbed her insides. Gigantic thunderclouds filled the space between Mount Hitchcock and the Whitney massif, blocking the top third of the Hitchcock range. The clouds bore huge mushroom caps. And the wind was blowing them their way.