Текст книги "Lost Canyon"

Автор книги: Nina Revoyr

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“I do,” Todd said.

“Me too,” Tracy added.

“Great! Then let’s get you set up with your permit and bear canisters.” Baxter smiled. “I’m happy for you guys. There’s so much out here that most people never get to see. But you seem up for doing something different.”

“We are,” Tracy said.

“Honestly, as unofficial as this map looks, it’s probably pretty accurate. Some of those old-timers knew every inch of these mountains. Who knows?” The ranger laughed. “A few of them may even still be out there.”

“I’ve heard about some of them, actually,” Tracy said. “Guys my grandfather knew, who came in from the eastern side.”

“Well, be careful out there,” the ranger said. “These mountains are tougher than people think. We have to send out rescue teams every year. So watch yourselves, all right?”

They promised to watch themselves, and the ranger handed over their pass. Then he gave them four bear canisters—cylindrical, drum-shaped containers of black plastic that would hold all their food and toiletries. They returned to the car, and Tracy swung out onto the road, back in the direction they’d come from. They were all quiet for a few moments, watching the same landscape they’d just passed through nearly an hour before.

Oscar broke the silence. “Did you say your grandfather knew people who lived in the mountains?”

“Yeah, he did,” Tracy answered. “People who snuck out of Manzanar.”

“The internment camp? Really?”

“Yeah. Mostly they just left for a day or two to go fishing. They’d crawl out under the barbed-wire fence at night and hike up to the rivers at the foot of the mountains, then sneak back in the next night. My grandfather went with them a couple of times. The more adventurous ones would travel farther up, to the lakes, and stay out for three or four nights. Finally the guards wised up, though, and people would get beaten if they were caught. So a bunch of my grandfather’s friends just up and left one night and never came back. Mostly men but a couple of women too. For all I know, they’re still out there.”

“That kind of sounds like the Maroons, the escaped slaves in Jamaica,” said Gwen. “They built their own new society in the mountains.”

“Exactly. People fleeing bad situations, and starting over, fending for themselves in the wild.” Tracy paused for a moment. “My grandfather was always jealous that they didn’t take him with them. But he had a family—my mom was five years old and my uncle was just a baby—so maybe that’s why they left him behind. After the war, though, he’d go hiking up here; I think he always hoped he would find them.”

“Did they ever come down?” Oscar asked.

Tracy shook her head. “I don’t know. Not that my grandfather heard . . . I like to think they’re still up here, you know? I’d love to do what they did. Chuck everything and live in the mountains.”

There Tracy went again, off on a tangent. But it was okay, Todd thought—they were back on course. They continued on the road that ran beside the river, winding back up out of the canyon. The sky was noticeably hazy now to the east from the smoke of the fire, and Todd was glad they were driving away from it.

After half an hour they turned right on the small spur road the ranger had pointed out. They passed a sign that informed them that they were leaving the park. Twenty miles farther on they found a jeep road. It wasn’t marked, but there was a big rock formation directly across from it, with a half-circle of big Jeffrey Pines framing the entrance. The turnoff itself was barely visible, overgrown with weeds between the faint tire grooves, and they drove past it and looked at it three or four times before deciding it was in fact the right place. Once they turned, there was a quick, steep climb, and then a bend behind some trees, and just like that they were out of sight from the road. They were truly in the backcountry now, apart from civilization. The road bumped left, right, winding through trees and then reaching a clearing that yielded a glimpse of the peaks to the east. It was the single worst road Todd had ever been on. The potholes seemed to have potholes, and big rocks jutted out, like living creatures poised to rise up and tear through the bottom of the car. Tracy drove a bit too fast for his comfort, negotiating the truck around the rocks and in and out of the potholes, jostling and jolting her passengers.

“No wonder no one comes back here,” Gwen said.

They’d all rolled up their windows to block out the dust, and held on to parts of the interior—dashboard, headrest, handle—to keep from bouncing all over the car.

“Yeah, wow,” Tracy said. “This isn’t fun.” And yet everything about her relaxed posture, the ease of her hands on the wheel, suggested that it was fun, that she was enjoying this bad road, this test of her nerve and skill. You better know what you’re doing, Todd thought. You better not be getting us into something we can’t handle.

After twenty minutes they reached a turnoff to the left.

“That must be the road the ranger mentioned,” Todd remarked.

“Right,” Tracy said. “It looks even worse than this one.”

Just past the junction a small log had fallen over the road, and the two men got out to move it aside.

“I hope we make it,” said Oscar when they were back in their seats. “And I hope the car’s okay. It would suck to be stuck out here, especially if other people don’t come back here much.”

“We’ll make it,” Tracy assured him, and then they were quiet, feeling every bump and jolt as they headed steeply downhill again, trying not to get carsick, maybe hoping their collective fears would keep the car safe until they made it to the end of the road.

Which they did, finally—one last dip and bend and they were there. A break in the trees, a small flat area between the walls of a narrow canyon. There was a clearing and, to their delight, an obvious fire pit. When Tracy cut the ignition, they all just sat for a moment.

“That was something,” Todd said.

“How long did it take us?” Gwen asked, sounding queasy. Todd was on the verge of getting sick himself.

Oscar looked at his watch. “About thirty-five minutes from the turnoff.”

“And how far did we actually go?”

Tracy looked at the odometer. “A little over eight miles, just like the ranger said.”

“Well, at least we know we’re in the right place.”

Then Todd became conscious of another sound, running water—steady and continual, alive. “Do you guys hear that?”

“A river,” Gwen said.

“Sounds like a small one, more like a creek,” he said. “But still. What a perfect spot to camp.”

Todd jumped out of the car and walked through the trees, and after forty feet or so, there it was—a creek running gently through the floor of the canyon, flowing around rocks and under fallen logs. It caught little bits of sun and reflected it back, sharp and bright like shiny jewels. The water was a beautiful blue-green color; it appeared as pure as if it flowed from the center of the earth. He looked up and saw a row of pine trees, their branches all on one side, extending toward him as if holding out their arms in welcome. He felt joy rising in his chest, and his heart and breathing slowed, as if his body was matching the rhythm of the creek. Now he missed his kids terribly and wished they were here—scrambling down to the water’s edge to pick up a shiny rock, or standing on the bank with fishing poles. They needed to do this, he thought, instead of play dates and video games. He’d bring them back up later on this summer.

He returned to find the others unloading the car—they’d taken out the cooler, the firewood, a couple bags of food, the camp chairs that Tracy had brought. Tracy suggested that they pitch their tents upwind from the campfire, and so she drove with their gear over the rough rocky ground and the others followed on foot. About thirty feet beyond the fire pit they came upon the bottom of a huge fallen tree, its root system unearthed and perpendicular to the ground, its intertwined roots flat but intricate, like a Jackson Pollack painting. Behind the tree, sheltered from wind, was the perfect spot. Todd unloaded his pack and set it on the ground. Then, the happy business of making camp—pitching their two tents about ten feet apart, blowing up their sleeping pads and placing them and their sleeping bags inside, leaving their packs in the tent vestibules.

By the time they were finished, it was almost five. The sun had moved beyond the canyon wall, leaving them in shade, and between that and the elevation—reported by Oscar as 6,728 feet—it was suddenly cool. Todd dug his fleece jacket out of his pack and put it on. But before he walked back to the fire pit, he looked at their campsite. It was a pleasing sight. Two tents, his green Mountain Hardwear and Tracy’s orange Big Agnes, against a backdrop of the Pollack tree, the tall shading pines. The canyon was maybe a quarter-mile wide; the steep granite walls must have risen a thousand feet. Behind him, the rippling creek. They were tucked away in a little fold of the Sierras, and he liked how this setup looked, and also how it felt. They were out in the wild, unreachable, and no one except the ranger even knew where they were. He tried to imagine the guys from the country club in this setting, and couldn’t.

By the time he reached the fire pit, Tracy and Oscar had already made a pyramid of logs and stuffed twigs and newspaper into the cracks between them. Tracy struck a match and touched the paper in several places; it blackened and curled, smoke risking quickly, and then the paper and the kindling lit with flame. There was a rusted grate just over the flame, strong enough to hold a pot full of water and pasta. For a moment Todd thought the fire pit was a little too intact, too functional, for a place that hadn’t been used in many years. But he let the thought pass. Tracy tended to the pasta, and then to the sauce, while everyone else retrieved their plates and utensils and set up their camp chairs. When the food was ready, Tracy used a sweatshirt to protect her hand and carefully lifted the pot. After dumping the water thirty feet from the fire, she set both pots on a large flat rock and served everyone their meals.

“Last dinner not out of a bag for three days,” Tracy noted.

Gwen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Last beer too,” added Oscar, taking a swig from the bottle he’d pulled out of the cooler.

It seemed to Todd that this was the best meal he’d had in months. Tracy’s pasta and sauce tasted wonderful, but even better was the setting. They were surrounded by forest, beside a pristine creek, on a small patch of land hugged by canyon walls, which were dark and looming now, like sleeping giants. Through the canopy of trees they could see the first-quarter moon, so bright it was as if what they saw at home was a poor imitation. He felt happier than he had in a long time.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his bottle. “Here’s to our first night in the mountains.”

“Here’s to Tracy for making dinner and driving,” Oscar said. “And for organizing the trip.”

Tracy leaned over and hit him on the knee, and he struck back at her, laughing. “Well, here’s to all of you for stepping out of your normal lives. Out of the gym too—and into the real world.”

“Here’s to getting home safely,” Gwen said.

Todd could hear her nervousness. Would she be able to do this trip? “For sure,” he said, reassuringly. “We’ll get home safe.”

They ate hungrily and washed their meals down with more beer—all except Gwen, who drank Sprite. Then Todd broke out his own surprise—fixings for s’mores—and they roasted marshmallows on switches, slid them between graham crackers that were loaded with squares of chocolate, and ate. With some beer in him, away from the city, Oscar wasn’t so bad, Todd decided. Oscar told stories of his real estate exploits—the times he’d shown houses and walked in on people having sex; the bitterly divorcing couple who’d only speak to each other through him; the mysterious person who frequented open houses and shit in all the toilets. He had them rolling, and even Gwen finally started to relax.

Around seven thirty, Tracy said they should clean up for the night, and so they took some water from the creek and washed their dishes, dispersing the water away from the fire and tents. They stuffed all their food into their bear canisters and covered the empty cooler with jackets in the back of the truck. Tracy reminded them to put their toiletries in the bear canisters too, and Gwen, wide-eyed, asked why.

“Because bears are drawn to anything with scent,” Tracy answered. “Even toothpaste, even deodorant.”

Todd remembered a show he’d watched with the kids on the Discovery Channel, two black bears ripping a car apart as easily as a beer can to reach a discarded Snickers wrapper. “It should be fine,” he assured her. “If no one’s been out here for a while, the bears have no reason to visit.”

“I’ll be all right,” Gwen said gamely. “Besides, if a bear comes down from the mountains, he’ll get to your tent first.”

Todd laughed, happily surprised. “I see how it is. So much for teamwork, huh?”

“I’m just saying.”

“He’s right, we shouldn’t see them,” Tracy said. “But I have bear spray, just in case.”

“Bear spray?” Gwen repeated.

“Yeah, it’s super-intense pepper spray, ursine strength.” She reached into the bag beside her and pulled out what looked like a miniature fire extinguisher—red, cylindrical, eight or ten inches long. “I brought it just for you. I don’t usually carry it on trips in the Sierras—it’s more for grizzly country. But I figured it would make you feel safer.”

“Thanks,” Gwen said, “it does.”

Soon they were sitting in their chairs again, staring at the fire. They heard a small but growing chorus of frogs, singing to each other and the night. They decided on a wake-up time—six—and a departure time of eight. They pulled out the topo map and tried to link it to the hand-drawn map, but the features in the landscape didn’t easily match. Then they followed the trail to Lost Canyon on the hand-drawn map and estimated how far they’d go the next day. If they broke the route into four somewhat even parts, they’d reach Lost Canyon on day three.

Todd felt the reality of the trip setting in. Tomorrow they were going into the unknown wild with nothing but a hand-drawn map. He was nervous—when he vacationed with his family, he plotted out routes and rest stops and stopping points with to-the-hour precision. This trip was different—less predictable, less certain. But maybe their change in plans was a blessing. He’d wanted to see how he would do if left to his own devices. And now here they were. As he crawled into his sleeping bag in the cramped intimate space of a two-man tent shared with someone he’d just met that day, he felt a surge of anticipation and excitement. Tomorrow, he’d be walking farther away from his life—or maybe farther into it.

Chapter Seven

Gwen

Gwen woke to total stillness, a quiet so deep and pure she wasn’t sure that she was really awake. There were no passing cars, no distant sirens, no voices floating in from the street. As she listened with her eyes closed, she realized that the absence of human sound didn’t mean it was silent. Birds were singing—three, no, four different kinds—trees were rustling in the wind, and she could hear the steady murmur of the creek. She opened her eyes and saw that Tracy was already gone. She wiggled out of her sleeping bag, zipped open the door of the tent, and peered out. A clear day—up between the canyon walls the sky was icy blue. But the canyon itself was still in shade, and when Gwen stepped out, she rubbed her arms and bounced on her toes at the cold. There was no sign of movement from the other tent, no sign of Tracy, either. She looked at her watch—5:47—and was glad that she had thirteen minutes before Oscar’s alarm woke the guys up and their morning tasks began. She walked into the woods to squat and pee—her original shyness about this act somewhat cured by long hikes in LA. Then she made her way past the tents and up the creek, where she found a boulder at the edge of the water and sat.

For the first time since they’d left the city, she felt truly relaxed. All day yesterday, she’d been uneasy about the trip. She’d enjoyed the cash store, its cluttered charm and odd people, but had been troubled by how dismissive Oscar and Tracy were, and then later, by Todd’s naïveté. And she’d felt on guard at the ranger station, where she and Oscar had gotten curious looks from some of the other people. This is our wilderness too, she’d wanted to say—but as usual, she kept her mouth shut. And then the change in route had unsettled her, not to mention their drive down the bumpy and deserted road to get to an unmapped trail.

But dinner had helped. Tracy’s competence with the fire, the fact that the fire pit had actually been there, had reassured her. And she was feeling more at ease with the guys, as Oscar’s edge dulled a little and Todd loosened up. But she’d also been aware of the world beyond their circle of light, the deep growing darkness of the woods. And as the evening went on she’d grown anxious again—not only about their trip, but about being so far removed from everything she knew, with no easy way to get back. She remembered how she’d felt when her great-aunt died and she was about to enter foster care—the fear and uncertainty, the sense that no one knew or cared where she was. As the darkness had settled around them, the trees transformed into silent sentinels that looked ready to wake up and move. And when everyone shoved their food and toiletries into the black cylindrical canisters, when they debated about how far away from their tents was far enough to place them, when Tracy put the bear spray right next to her in the tent, fear had filled Gwen’s chest and prickled her skin; she was sure that a bear would appear at any second, at first indistinguishable and then suddenly there, as if formed of the darkness itself.

But there’d been no bear, not even a hint of one. Just the hard, cold ground, with a few rocks digging into her, ground that she realized too late was slightly sloped, so that she always seemed to be rolling left, and when she finally did manage to get to sleep, she dreamed of falling over a cliff. It had taken hours, though, to sleep. She had lain awake with her eyes open, listening to the frogs, jumping at every sound in the woods, while Tracy—positioned head to toe—slept heavily beside her. She’d needed to pee but was afraid to leave the tent, the relative comfort of her sleeping bag. And so she’d stayed in one spot, alert and cold, until sleep finally overcame her. The last time she’d looked at her watch, it was almost one thirty.

Now it was morning, though, now it was light, and the fears of the dark had subsided. She was proud to have made it through the first night—and glad to be awake, and alone. The creek was chattering and lively, making its way past mossy rocks and under fallen branches, rushing in the spots where the banks grew narrow, flowing gently when the shoreline receded. The trees looked harmless in daytime, and in the light she saw the bark, the beautiful parallel downward patterns that moved and flowed like water. Gwen heard the high-noted chirping of one bird, the lower calls of another, the insistent tap-tap-tapping of a woodpecker, which she spotted high up in a tree, its red head a blur against the black of its body. The tree was full of pine cones which dangled like earrings. Across the creek she saw two squirrels winding down around a trunk, tails swishing, both of them stopping just above the ground and nattering at each other. She looked up and saw that the top third of the canyon wall was touched by light, so bright it appeared to sparkle. Huge swaths of granite were broken up by small plateaus that housed hearty, improbable trees. What a beautiful place, Gwen thought. She had never been anywhere like this. She couldn’t believe how different it was from the chaparral and dusty trails near LA.

But even as she appreciated the beauty of the spot, she felt sad about Robert. She just missed him, was all. There was so much he had never gotten to do, and it felt unfair that she was in this lovely place that he would never see.

Suddenly she thought of a story that Devon had told her, about a hiker who’d been killed by a falling boulder. It had taken him a long time to die. The boulder, a bathtub-sized chunk of granite, had caught the man square in the chest and pinned him to the ground. The hiker had two friends with him, but they couldn’t get the rock to budge. One of them stayed with him while the other went off for help. The trapped man’s legs were free, his face unobscured, so his friend talked to him and wiped the sweat off his brow while he slowly bled to death from inside. By the time the rescue workers arrived three hours later, the man was unconscious. It took them the rest of the day to dig him out.

It occurred to Gwen that this was what grief was like. It was like being crushed under the weight of something that she couldn’t get out from under, or remove. And she wasn’t sure, even as she went on with her life, that it wasn’t slowly killing her.

Now she heard voices behind her—Todd and Oscar had emerged from their tent. Oscar was fiddling with his gear, and Todd was stretching, bending over to touch his toes and then leaning sideways. Gwen sighed and walked back to the tents. For a moment she was self-conscious about not having on any makeup, but her concealer was buried somewhere in her backpack.

“Morning,” Oscar called as she approached. He was wearing sweatpants and a jacket and his hair was a disheveled mess, which made him look younger, endearing.

“Morning,” she said. “How’d you guys sleep?”

“Okay. Except I woke up once when I heard footsteps outside, thought it might be a bear. But it was just Todd, out to take a piss.”

“You do look kind of bearlike,” Gwen noted.

“Good morning to you too,” Todd answered. Then, to Oscar: “Wish I’d known you were awake. I could have messed with the tent and really had some fun.”

“Very funny,” Oscar said. Then, to Gwen, “How’d you sleep?”

“Not so great. I kept thinking I was hearing things. But I feel good now. It’s a beautiful morning.”

“It is,” Oscar agreed. “But it’ll be even more beautiful when we have some coffee.”

“I think Tracy’s working on that now,” Todd said.

Gwen looked toward the fire pit and saw that Tracy, who’d reappeared, had a fire going and was placing a pot of water on the grill. “I’ll go help her,” she said.

Tracy was already in her hiking pants and fleece jacket, with her hair pulled into its usual ponytail. She looked happy and awake, not a hint of sleepiness or stiffness, as if she’d spent the night in a luxury hotel.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she called out. “You hungry?”

“I am, actually. Hey, where’d you go?”

“Just up the trail a ways. To see how it looked. I woke up around five and it was already light, and I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep. The trail looks good—clearer than I expected.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it is. You want some coffee?”

“More than anything else in the world.”

Tracy had brought over one of the bear canisters, and now they took packets of instant coffee and made themselves two cups. Eventually the guys came over and they all had bowls of instant oatmeal, which Tracy had brought for the whole group, sitting in their chairs from the previous night and laughing at their nighttime discomforts.

“How is it that you sleep so well outside?” Todd asked Tracy, after it was clear that all the others had slept badly.

“Clear conscience,” Tracy replied.

“How do you manage that?”

“It’s easy. Pure living. Plus, I don’t have kids.”

Both Todd and Oscar groaned, and Gwen imagined they felt the pull of their families. She was feeling guilt too, about not being able to call her sister on her birthday. And she wondered about the group she missed yesterday, about how Sandra Gutierrez was doing. But in truth, she was glad to be away. She suspected that Todd and Oscar felt the same, because they were, despite their momentary outburst of guilt, both giddy and energized. She was relieved that they seemed to be getting along and weren’t trying to out-guy each other.

After they ate, they all washed their dishes and repacked their food. Then Gwen changed out of her sweats and into her hiking clothes. She captured her hair in an elastic band and reluctantly put on a hat; she was not one of those girls who felt cute in a baseball cap.

Then, a flurry of organization. They folded their tents up and Tracy and Todd stuffed them in their packs. They sorted out clothes they didn’t need and threw them into the back of the car, Gwen trying to shake the feeling that she was forgetting something crucial. They filled their bottles from the stream and treated the water with a screwdriver-sized ultraviolet contraption. They adjusted and tightened their hiking poles—all except Oscar, who hadn’t brought any. By seven forty-five, everything was either in the car or their packs, and the campsite looked as clear as it had when they’d pulled in the day before.

“All right, we need a picture,” said Tracy, and so they lined up near the fire pit. They were now in their respective hiking outfits—Gwen in olive pants and an eggplant-colored long-sleeved shirt, Tracy in clay pants and a light brown button-down, Todd in a gray-blue long-sleeved shirt and tan hiking shorts, Oscar in black nylon shorts Gwen remembered from the gym, and a rust-colored pullover fleece. Tracy placed her camera on a tree stump, then ran over to join the group; she hoisted her pack on just as the timer counted down and the camera clicked. She retrieved it, looked at the picture, and held it out for everyone to see. “Off we go,” she said. “Explorers in the wild.”

Oscar looked over her shoulder and grinned. “What a bunch of dorks.”

“There’s just no way to look cool, is there?” Gwen agreed, laughing. “With these big old packs and poles.”

“I think we look pretty studly,” Todd said. “If you don’t mind me saying so, ladies.”

“I agree,” Tracy said flatly. “Carrying forty-pound packs for thirty miles, up to 11,500 feet, isn’t my definition of dorky.”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” Oscar said, shaking his head. “All right, we’re adventurers. We’re pioneers in the wild.”

Gwen knew what Oscar meant. Sure, a thirty-mile loop in the backcountry was a big undertaking. But they were in the Sierras, in a designated Wilderness Area—not too far from civilization. All of them had steady, responsible jobs; two of them had families. They could pretend to be whatever, whomever they pleased. But in the end they were four adults in their thirties and forties, a lawyer and a youth counselor, a trainer and a realtor. They were not extraordinary people.

They walked over to the trailhead—an unobtrusive passage through a thick cluster of trees—and then they were hiking, and Gwen could hardly believe they were on their way. The trail led through forest, then curved closer to the canyon wall. She was aware in a different way of her body itself—the effort of placing one foot in front of the other; the extension of her arm to plant a pole. And she was conscious of the pack on her back, which was like carrying a small child, except it didn’t adjust itself like a child would and simply added weight, so if she leaned left the pack tipped with her, threatening to pull her over; if she stood up straight it pulled her backward; if she bent over the pack pressed her toward the ground. After ten minutes she learned how to use the poles to help distribute the weight, another ten and she developed a kind of rhythm. She was third in line—Tracy led and Oscar followed, Todd brought up the rear. She watched how the others picked their steps and used their poles, and tried to ignore the pressure on her shoulders and hips.

They walked silently on soft trail, through cover of forest. They left the first canyon and entered a larger one. Here the granite walls were more varied—huge rounded domes with clear marks where bits of rock had crumbled off; and cliff walls where the rock had fallen away in squares, leaving shapes like the blunt-featured figures on Easter Island. After thirty minutes, Todd called out, “Hold on for a minute, I’ve got to tie my shoe.”

Oscar sat down heavily on a fallen log and swung his pack off his shoulder. From the look on his face, he was as glad to stop as Gwen was. She found a thigh-high boulder and lowered herself slowly, resting the pack on the rock to remove the burden from her shoulders. The hip straps dug into her stomach and she breathed in relief as she undid the buckle and slipped her arms out of the shoulder straps. She reached behind awkwardly to grab her bottle and then gave up and turned around, pulling the bottle out of the side pocket.

“I forgot how damned hard it is to walk with a pack,” Oscar said, taking off his fleece. His pack, an old-fashioned external frame, looked like a loaded sled set on its heels.

“It’s pretty tough,” Gwen agreed, and she glanced over at Tracy, who was still on her feet, looking up the trail, bear spray clipped to her belt. She stood there easily, bouncing on her toes, as if she carried nothing at all.

“We’ve gone one mile,” Tracy announced. “Only twenty-nine to go.”

Gwen took this in without comment, but her heart sank. They’d gone one mile? With all that effort? What had she been thinking? This was infinitely harder than any hike she’d ever done in LA. How was she going to make it thirty miles with a heavy backpack? Right now, she wasn’t even sure if she could make it another mile.

“Why are we doing this again?” Oscar asked.

“Aw, come on,” Todd said, hoisting his pack back on. “This is great.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Tracy said. “Only three more hours until lunch.”

Oscar looked at Gwen and opened his eyes wide. “You heard her. Only three more hours till lunch.”

Gwen twisted her arms at uncomfortable angles to get them into her shoulder straps, then reclipped the buckles at her waist and chest. She didn’t know how she would stand up again. She tried once but the pack was too heavy; she managed to raise herself about three inches and then sat back down.