The Middle of Somewhere(98)

A rumble like a freight train overhead. Liz whimpered, bracing for the strike.

Dante knelt, their knees touching. He bent to see her face. “We can make it to the trail. You said it starts below the summit. We’ll find it and go down. Then we’ll be okay, Liz.”

“You go. I can’t do it. Not with a broken arm.”

“You can. I’ll help you.”

She shook her head.

“Liz, no one’s going to rescue us. They can’t fly helicopters in a storm, not this high.”

“I’ll stay here. Leave me a sleeping bag and the fly.”

“You can’t sleep here! What about the Roots?”

She couldn’t explain it to him, but the Roots and the storm were the same thing. She couldn’t control them, couldn’t evade them. She had faced them and been beaten back. They had it in for her. It was ridiculous to think that of a storm, but that’s how it was. Like her, the Root brothers lacked moral structure (as did thunderstorms, of course) but they, at least, had power.

“Liz, listen to me. You have to walk. It’s not far.”

She shook her head again. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Her head pounded and arrows of pain shot down from her elbow. She could not, would not, move.

Dante didn’t want her. He did before, but not anymore. She’d f*cked that up. He was trying to get her off the mountain, but he’d do that for anyone. He’d do it for a cat.

A lightning flash so bright she saw it through her eyelids. She rocked and moaned, waiting for the jolt, the end. The sound of a tree splitting apart. Thunder so near she was sure the mountain would shatter, the ground beneath her crack wide open. Engulf her.

Dante said, “The lightning was in the sky. It didn’t hit the ground. None of them are.”

The storm was toying with her. Cat and mouse, like the Roots.

“Liz.” He cupped her chin. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

She wouldn’t. There was nothing to see except the pain she had caused. She had nothing to show him except regret.

“Elizabeth. I beg you.” His voice had thickened. “Look at me.”

She did. His beautiful brown eyes, awash in tears.

He said, “I’m going to help you get off this mountain. I’m not leaving you.”

She breathed into the small space that opened in her chest. Afraid, she looked away. He lifted her chin with his fingertips, and kissed her softly. Her lips trembled against his. He pulled back and his eyes met hers, asking her to believe. “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”

“But—” A sob choked off her voice. She bit her lip and stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. She wanted nothing more than for him to love her again, but, with the yawning chasm between her fear and mistrust and his principles, her hope was so thin as to be transparent. She wanted to believe in love, to believe in them, but it wasn’t something she could do alone.

Dante’s eyes sparkled like sunlight on a river. She saw he meant what he said. The corners of his mouth lifted and he kissed her again. A sweet warmth flowed through her. She smiled and traced the curve of his cheekbone with her fingers, wiping away a tear.

“Te amo, Dante.”

“Te amo, carina.”

? ? ?

Liz walked in front of Dante as rapidly as the altitude and terrain would allow. Each boom of thunder rattled her, but she kept on. Twice, the sharp scent of ozone alerted her. She dropped into a low crouch on a loose stone with her feet together and hands off the ground. Dante did the same. As she had explained to him, the posture reduced the chance an electrical charge would hit them and pass through their vital organs.

They passed another window, offering up a view to the sun-soaked valley, and approached Keeler Needle, the last peak before Whitney itself. The rain began to fall more heavily. This would have cheered Liz, as lightning strikes were less likely, but she knew rain would make the descent more hazardous. After Keeler Needle, the trail swung downhill before veering east for the final push to the top. Somewhere before the summit, along the north ridge, was the mountaineers’ route.

A half hour later they stood on the broad summit slope. The roof of the hut was visible two hundred yards uphill. Dante asked her to stop. “So how do we find the trail?”

She’d been wracking her brain to recall what she’d read a month ago, when she had no idea their lives would depend on it, but lack of oxygen and the threatening storm conspired against her. Thinking was like moving blocks in her head.