Lost Canyon

by Nina Revoyr

  Gwen wasn’t so sure—this is exactly what Tracy had said before. Maybe there was yet another canyon beyond these peaks. Maybe the mountains went on forever. But what she said was, “And what are you going to do?”

  Tracy shrugged, or tried to; every movement brought a grimace. “Stay here in the shade with Oscar. Get more water at the stream if we need it. And keep an eye out for Todd.” She managed a pained smile. “This has been great, Gwen. The best trip ever. It’s just like I always imagined.”

  Tracy was losing it. Or maybe she had lost it a long time ago. But the thought of Todd catching up to them eased Gwen’s mind a bit—their one other unhurt member.

  “Should we all just wait for Todd?” Gwen asked. How far behind was he? Two hours? Three? But there was no way to know which way he’d cross the canyon—he might miss them altogether. Then she looked at Oscar, curled on the ground, the dried blood dark on his shirt. He didn’t move and she stared for ten, twenty seconds before she saw that he was breathing. There wasn’t a minute to waste.

  “All right,” she said finally. “I’ll go.” She struggled to get up and then swung her pack on. There wasn’t much weight to it anymore. But even if there had been, even if it was full, she had a feeling she’d be able to handle it.

  “Good,” Tracy said. “And take the gun.” She reached for her waistband.

  “No, I don’t want it.”

  “You need it, Gwen. You don’t know who you might run into.”

  “I don’t know what to do with it, Tracy.”

  “What do you mean? Just use it if you have to.”

  “No way. I’d probably hurt myself.”

  Tracy paused. “Then at least take the bear spray. Or you’ll be totally defenseless.”

  Gwen stood for a moment, considering. Finally she reached over to take the canister that Tracy held out and stuffed it into the lid of her pack. When she was ready to go, she looked down at Tracy and Oscar. Tracy was huddled over again, Oscar was on his side, both lost in their private worlds of pain. Gwen’s eyes filled with tears. Would they get out of this alive? “I’ll see you in the Owens Valley,” she said.

  She left the trees and walked back into the open, using her single pole. She was now at the base of a slope even steeper than the one they’d climbed that morning. It appeared to be solid granite and as she looked back and forth, she thought, No way. She felt alone, more alone than she’d ever been—even the dog, after taking a few tentative steps, had turned back and stayed with the others. But as she studied the wall she realized it wasn’t really vertical. Steep, yes, but with rock steps and little plateaus; if she picked her way carefully, she could climb it.

  She started south, the wall of mountain to her left, the canyon to the right. She stepped onto granite ledges as big as truck beds, as patios, and onto narrow flats of dirt and rock between them. There were stretches of twenty or thirty feet where she was able to walk level, scanning the rocks above her for an entry. Then she’d step onto the next shelf, or pull herself up, finding footholds or cracks that she could squeeze between, broken-off bits of rock to use as stairs. At first she was conscious of how big this all was. She had always been with Tracy or Devon when she’d ventured outdoors, had never gone for a hike by herself. And now here she was, completely alone, deep in the Sierras, trying to scale a slope whose top she couldn’t see, with the lives of her friends in her hands. It was ridiculous, unthinkable. She’d never be able to do it.

  But as she slowly gained elevation, moving left and right, she began to forget their predicament, the lack of food and water, even the men who’d been after them with guns. She was absorbed in the challenge of what she was doing, solving puzzles, gaining five feet by moving up between two rocks, ten by walking diagonally across a broken slab of granite. Once she reached a huge boulder that had been split right down the middle. It looked like a Venus flytrap or two clamshell halves, which might lure her in and then clamp shut. She walked around it and moved on. At times she’d have to reach up and grab onto a bit of rock, and she was surprised by how her arms looked, dirt-streaked and darker and lined with muscles that hadn’t been there a week before. When she looked behind her, she was amazed to see how much height she had gained, the basin now well below her, the trees like scrubby bushes on the ground. This gave her confidence—if she’d gained this much elevation in so short a time, maybe she could make it to the top. She stopped and breathed deeply and was surprised to find she wasn’t tired. There was new energy coursing through her, her veins seemed filled with fresh blood; her lungs took in greater gulps of air. Standing there, staring out over the canyon, she had an image of what she looked like—ragged and dirty, yes. But solid and strong. A human being at the height of her physical strength, working with and not against her surroundings.

  She moved northeast now, taking what the mountain gave her. Fifteen minutes later she reached a dead end. A sheer vertical cliff, unscalable, angling out so she couldn’t get around it. She looked left, no way around. Right was no better. It was like a door had slammed down, closing off any forward path. She tilted her head back and peered up, shading her eyes with her hand. The cliff was more than fifty feet high, dirt and rock, no obvious footholds. A set of roots dangled out the side of it, like the frayed ends of a wire. She cursed herself for not taking the rock-climbing class that Tracy had told her about, for not learning how to read this cliff face like a sheet of music. Just looking up at the top of it sent a shiver through her body. She would have to retrace her steps.

  Shaking her head, cursing, she headed back the other way, moving over ground she’d already covered. Then she reached the place where she’d chosen the route that led to the wall. She remembered why—the other way did not look promising. A steep rock face she’d have to shimmy across in order to gain the next ledge. She surveyed the scene in front of her: Directly up was another vertical wall. Down and around might get her to a better vantage point—or lead her all the way back to the canyon floor. Going right seemed like the best bet, but it did not look very inviting. Rock outcroppings, like bulbous growths on the side of the mountain, brown and red, maybe volcanic. It looked like a giant pile of porridge, and about that stable too. There were places to step, sure—it was not a flat wall—but only small ones, with a sheer drop of a hundred feet. And her toes were so swollen and painful she didn’t trust them to hold her. If she fell or got hurt and couldn’t go on, they might all be lost. Gwen could see, though, that if she could get beyond the outcroppings, there was solid granite shelving above.

  She collapsed her one pole and stuck it into her pack. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Then she took one step off the flat rock and onto a three-inch ledge. It held. With her hand she grabbed onto a piece of jutting rock and slowly brought her left foot over. She shuffled sideways, stepping carefully with her right foot and putting her weight down, then reaching out with her right hand, repeating the movement with her left. She ventured out ten feet, twenty. Her fingers were raw from the popped blisters but she ignored the pain. Then a rock broke off in her right hand and pulled away from the wall, and she gripped tight with her left and held. The rock bounced off the wall just past her foot; she heard it falling down the side of the cliff. She glanced down despite herself and saw open space; the rock finally crashed to a stop somewhere below. She found a solid hold with her right hand and hugged the rock face, breathing hard; her heart beat so violently she thought the force of it might push her off the wall. This was a bad idea, she thought. Maybe I should go back. But when she looked left she couldn’t remember exactly how she’d gotten to where she was; it was as if the holds had made themselves visible only for the moment that she’d needed them, and had since been reabsorbed into the rock. She looked above and found an overhang; no passage there. She looked to her right and saw some possible holds—but after her near fall, how could she trust them? She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the panic welling up in her chest. Hold it together, she thought. Hold it together. You’ve made it this far,
you’ve got to trust yourself.

  She looked left again, then above and right. There was no clear way. But she had to move, for the sake of progress and to quell her own panic. So she took a tentative step to the right, finding a two-inch ledge and stepping down on it, first with a little weight, and then with more. It held. She reached out with her right hand and found a protruding piece of rock. She pulled, and it stayed firmly in place. She found small ledges for her left foot and hand and moved onto them; they were solid. Slowly, carefully, she made her way across the rock face, looking up at the granite landing every once in a while to make sure it was really there. She felt alternatingly terrified and powerful—amazed to be doing what she was doing, and then disbelieving. Never, never could she have imagined herself like this.

  Just then an image of Robert came up in her mind, from the last time she had seen him. He’d visited her office and sat slumped in a chair, a strange, wry smile on his face. Later she understood that he had come to say goodbye. She’d been so sad this last year, but now she knew how much she still had to fight for. She wanted—she wanted very much—to live.

  Gwen’s feet were throbbing, her hands hurt, and her arms and legs were burning. But she was confident now that she’d make it. She’d learned to bend her legs to lower her center of gravity, and that helped her keep her balance. After the near fall she knew not to look down. She looked only where she was going and then at the granite slab again. Just a bit farther, she told herself. Just a bit more and I’ll be safe.

  Suddenly it was as if a path had opened up and the rest of the way was clear. She knew which way to go, she followed it, and then she was lying facedown on the slab, holding onto the warm rock with outstretched arms and limp with relief and exhaustion. She pulled herself up and peered back over the edge at the cliff face. It was steep, nearly vertical, rugged and unstable. There was no way she could have made it. But she did.

  She retrieved her bottle of water and drank several large gulps, then looked out over the landscape. What a view, she thought. What a view! The whole basin, which had seemed barren from the other side, was beautiful and grand. An amphitheater of jagged granite, with a gleaming blue ribbon of water winding through it. On the other side she could make out the peaks they’d crossed earlier, which they had thought made up the eastern crest. Two sharp peaks, one gray and one volcanic red, curled toward each other like mirror images, like yin and yang, partners in a graceful millennial dance. Another mountain was shaped like a sail—the top and bottom corners held in place, the body blown taut and triangular. And everywhere, the mountains were half-draped with snow, housing three or four small pockets of ice that she realized were glaciers. The sight of them took her breath away. This glorious landscape, forged by the forces of geology, by the movements of earth, by God, was its own justification, perfect in itself.

  She glanced back, up to the top of the ridge, and saw open sky beyond it. She knew now that the top was within her reach. Tracy had been right—she could do this. There was so much she hadn’t known she could do.

  She rested for ten minutes and ate part of a protein bar. Then she stood up, took out and adjusted her pole, and started walking again. The mountain was giving her a route to the south, so that was where she headed, picking her way up through the rocky slope again. The rocks were full of color—how wrong she’d been to think the landscape was colorless!—dark blue, orange, metamorphic red, purple, pink, sage green. Some rocks were primarily one color and shot through by another; others were as mixed as bouquets. As she passed an intricate pile of boulders, a small gray creature with a rabbitlike head ran in front of her, squeaked, and then scurried away.

  She was approaching a jutting-out wall of rock, a corner of the mountain. If she went around it she’d be out of sight of Tracy and Oscar, but it appeared to be the easiest way to go. She held onto the rock with both hands and shuffled around the corner, onto a ledge that looked out at another canyon. She took a few steps farther out and her heart skipped. There was a sheer drop-off of at least two hundred feet and it was windier here; she’d stay close to the wall until she got to safer ground. Ahead of her, another slope, with a large field of snow. Below her in the distance, at the bottom of the canyon, she saw a faint line across the ground. A trail? She remembered the smooth area they’d crossed just before they reached the trees—they might have walked right over it. If it was a trail, maybe someone would come along and find Tracy and Oscar. Someone who could help.

  It was colder here because of the wind, so she dropped her pack to pull out her jacket. When she stood up again, A.J. was standing in front of her.

  “Funny meeting you here,” he said.

  Her heart leapt into her throat and she let out a gasp. How the hell did A.J. get here? His cheek was cut and swollen and there was a smirk on his face; his voice sounded intimate and mean. He held a gun in his right hand, and it was pointed at her chest. This can’t be real, Gwen thought. This cannot be happening. She turned and pressed her back against the rock and a small sound of terror escaped her.

  “You guys left without saying goodbye. It hurt my feelings. I thought we were friends.”

  Gwen stood straight and tried to back up farther. But there was no give, just the warm hard rock. She looked at the gun in his hand, the glasses on his face.

  “I’ll bet you’re wondering where I got this stuff,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You really think I’d come out here with only one pair of glasses? I had a pack with me, remember? I left it at the camp. Once I got loose from your amateur little tie job, I just went and found it.”

  “You . . . you got loose by yourself?”

  A.J. grinned and a kind of spasm went through his shoulders; he seemed to be enjoying himself. His face was burned red and his hair was wild, as if it had been whipped by the storm.

  “Yep, all by myself. Don’t get me wrong, it took a minute. I had to find something sharp enough to cut the rope. But there was a nice little stub sticking out of the tree, and once I twisted around and found that, I just rubbed until the ropes cut. But I got a bit of my arm too. See?”

  He held his left arm out toward her and she saw the scrape mark just above the wrist, where you’d hit a volleyball. She also saw again the swastika tattoo embedded on a red and black flag. Despite the heat, she started to shiver.

  “Then I had to figure out where you guys went. At first I thought you’d finish the loop, but I have to give it to you, you were smart. No telling who was waiting at the trailhead. Or what happened to your Volvo. Nice car.” He grinned, and there was a strange maniacal light in his eyes. Behind him, ridge after ridge of mountains extended into the distance, gorgeous and impersonal. Is this where she would die? she wondered.

  “I saw your footprints up the ridge from the trail,” he continued. “All that loose scree held the tracks like snow. So I went up to the top, and there you were, plain as day, making your way through the valley. With that damn ungrateful dog. After all I’ve done for her, she follows you! The little traitor! Fuck border collies. Next time I’m getting an Australian shepherd.” He screwed up his eyes and jerked his shoulder, as if trying to shake something off. “I just headed to the south of you, parallel the whole way. It was pretty easy to track you, I have to say. But even I was surprised when your friend got shot. It wasn’t me, I swear, and it wasn’t my brother. Maybe it was one of the kid’s friends. And hey, if that’s what happened, it’s kind of perfect, don’t you think? Their Mexican got your Mexican!”

  He laughed again, eyes wild, and kept pointing the gun at her chest. She felt the heat of the rock against her back and could not think what to do. If she rushed him he would shoot her. But if she did nothing he might shoot anyway. She was frozen with fear and helplessness. At least on the cliff face her fate had been in her hands. Here there was nothing to do.

  “Look, why don’t you let me go? We won’t tell anyone what you’re doing back here, and we won’t say a word about the kid.”

  A.J. shook his head exaggeratedly, l
ike a young child hearing an answer he didn’t like. “No, no, no, Gwen. That! Won’t! Work! You’ve seen too much, you know too much, you all have to go. First you, ’cause you’re the leader now. Then your friends.”

  Gwen realized with horror how helpless Tracy and Oscar were. And they believed that A.J. was dead.

  “I’m impressed you made it this far by yourself,” he said. “I wouldn’t have picked you to be the one to hold it together. But maybe you’re the toughest after all.” And now he had a different kind of smile, and a chill went up Gwen’s spine. “I sure did enjoy watching you in the river.”

  She thought of their rest at the edge of the creek, how good it felt to wash off several days’ worth of dirt and sweat. Now, knowing that A.J. had been watching, she felt violated, naked. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Why don’t you take off your clothes for me?” he said, voice rough and low. “I’d sure like to see you up close.”

  Gwen shook her head no and squeezed her arms tighter.

  “Come on.” He stepped forward and touched the gun to her chest; she could feel the hard metal probing through her clothes. “Show me what you’re good for.”

  Gwen didn’t move. Now lust and anger darkened his face. He raised the gun to her temple and grabbed her breast. His hand went under the fabric and pinched her nipple hard, then moved up and squeezed her throat. She felt the roughness of his hairy arm scraping her chest. “Undo your pants,” he said, “or I’ll undo them for you.”

  Suddenly he jerked away and cried out in pain. There was a flash of white fur. He was dragged back a couple of steps and the gun fell from his hand. The dog had sunken her teeth deep into his calf, and she was whipping her head back and forth, growling, tearing through the flesh. The blood splattered on her muzzle and onto the rocks.