Spider Gap

by Kristen Joy Wilks

  Perhaps there were advantages to a more remote location, although, whatever forestry workers maintained the trail, they really should do something about all the creeks.

  Lilly barely missed plunging her shoes into the trickling water on numerous occasions, actually having to jump across stepping stones twice. How many creeks could one trail possibly contain?

  The thin straps of her army pack dug into her shoulders and a deep, persistent ache spread across her back. Lilly began to recognize what Tristian meant when he had talked about the metal frame of her pack board resting so close to her spine. The canvas that stretched between her shoulder blades could only do so much to keep the persistent metal from mashing against her back.

  Lilly hopped across another creek, landed on a slick rock, and submerged her left shoe in the icy flow. Oh, my goodness! This never happened at the park. They knew how to build a trail in Bellevue. Lilly took a moment to imagine those talented park professionals gasping in horror as they stared at this sorry excuse for a trail.

  The nine children in front were leaping across the creek.

  Apparently, she was alone in her dismay. Lilly stumbled to a stop on the other side of the creek to assess the damage. Her shoe was soaked and her spare footwear was a pair of puffy pink slippers meant for wearing at their campsite. How long would it take to dry if she removed the shoe and hung it from a bush? Lilly glanced up.

  The children were gone!

  She dashed down the trail, sucking in breaths through burning lungs and staggering under the weight of the heavy and ill-fitting pack. Strudel’s purse swung crazily from where it was tied and the small dog slid back and forth from one end of the hand bag to the other. The movement was accompanied by several indignant growls and one huffy yip.

  Finally, she glimpsed Emily’s purple hoodie just as the health tracker on her wrist beeped. Thank goodness, she had made it a mile. Time for a two ounce snack and five minute rest. Lilly waved her arms and tried to shout. Her breath caught in her chest. A desperate squeak escaped her lips instead of the firm command that she had imagined. She tried again. “Mr. Calvert.”

  A few of the children glanced over their shoulders but no one slowed.

  “Mr. Calvert. We have traversed a mile and now must rest and consume a small amount of sustenance.” Nothing. “Mr. Calvert!”

  Emily tapped Cloe on the shoulder who tapped Juan who tapped Natasha who tapped Owen who tapped Ben who tapped Jacob who kicked Logan in the back of the leg who shoved Mason in the shoulder who then gave a theatrical gasp and declared: “Stop! Everyone stop! The Virgin Mary has a proclamation.”

  Everyone turned and stared.

  Speech evaded her for a moment. “Ah, yes. We have hiked our first mile, everyone, and you know what that means!”

  “That we have four and a half miles to go and you’re slowing us down,” Mason mumbled over his shoulder to Logan.

  “Hush,” Tristian said, putting a hand on Mason’s shoulder.

  “Yes, but the article I read in City Hiker’s Weekly clearly states that a two ounce snack and five minute rest should occur after every mile traversed upon the open trail.” Lilly pulled her 1/8th cup measuring scoop out of her pocket and proceeded to measure each child’s handful of trail mix.

  They stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, and then slowly extended their hands for the 1/8th cup scoop of peanuts and chocolate bits.

  “Now, I have set the timer on my health tracker. It will beep when we have rested sufficiently.”

  Mason tossed back his head and consumed his handful of food in a single gulp. He then turned to Mr. Calvert and proceeded to converse in a harsh whisper that every single one of them could clearly hear. “Are you insane, bringing her along? It’s been one mile, we’re never going to make it with her demanding snacks and rests and stuff.”

  Tristian met the boy’s gaze without saying a word.

  Silence stretched out and it was Mason who finally looked down at his feet.

  Lilly’s health tracker beeped.

  “You heard the lady. Grab your packs and let’s get going.” Tristian walked back along the line of children, checking packs and adjusting shoulder straps.

  “Miss Park, I’ve got a blister already. Do you think you could…” Cloe held out her backpack imploringly.

  Lilly noted that the girl did appear genuinely distressed. She reached out and took the pack. Goodness it was heavy. Her body lurched forward as she tried to encircle Cleo’s pack with both of her arms. Perhaps for just a few minutes, just to give the girl a chance to recover.

  Mr. Calvert paused beside them. “No, no, and once again, no. You know the rules, Cloe. Everyone carries their own pack, the whole way. No exceptions. Unless you break a bone and it had better be a bone in your leg or foot because…” He waited for the children to finish his sentence.

  Apparently they had heard this before, because all nine students, including Cloe, mumbled the response. “You can carry a pack with a broken arm easier than someone else can carry two packs.”

  Lilly quickly handed the pack back and tried to hide her sigh of relief. Although, the miles ahead took on a kind of grim quality with the knowledge that no amount of injury to a non-leg part of her body would induce an offer of assistance. Yikes.

  “How are you holding up?” Tristian whispered.

  Lilly suppressed a groan as she hoisted the pack once more. “I’m fine, Mr. Calvert.”

  “It’s Tristian, and I’m concerned that this pack board you’ve unearthed will rub your back raw. Let me know if you need a flannel or something to pad it.”

  Lilly nodded. “Yes um, Mr. Cal—Tristian.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where is the nearest restroom?”

  “According to our map there is an out near the campsite.”

  Horror curdled inside Lilly’s stomach. “An outhouse?” Lilly choked out. “Like in Little House On The Prairie TV reruns?”

  “No, no house. This is just an “Out.” You’ll see.” With those cryptic words, Tristian lifted his pack and marched to the front of the line. He waved a hand and just like that, all nine children started out after him.

  Lilly watched his retreating back wondering what on earth an “Out” could be and hoping that it was more elegant and well-built than the terrible little shanties featured in Gran’s favorite show.

  8

  “Good Doggy” Fails

  Lilly stumbled out of the cool shadows of the deep forest.

  The rich scent of moss and decaying wood was replaced by a wash of mountain sunlight and the airy smell of grasses baking in the September heat. The trail opened into Spider Meadows, an irregular shaped alpine meadow with a scattering of wildflowers and occasional gusts of chilly wind that rustled through the long grass and nudged the trees into a steady swaying dance.

  She took her pulse to make certain that she was still alive. Yes, she had made it. Lilly paused to take in the lovely meadow and soak up her sense of accomplishment at having survived with everything she needed for the hike upon her back. It was no use, she just wanted to collapse and relish it at some other time, when she was not about to succumb to a fatal overload of blisters.

  The winding trail had crossed approximately sixteen frigid seasonal creeks. Creeks that should have been dry, but due to a week of unusually stormy weather, had been full and rushing and deadly to sparkle shoelaces.

  Lilly trudged through the waving grasses and stood staring at the patch of meadow where she wished to deposit her pack and set up the tent. Could she even get her pack off without first lying on the ground and taking a lengthy nap for the needed strength? How had WWII soldiers done it? The children looked somewhat fatigued, but none of them hobbled about like an arthritic old woman, except her. She stood gazing upon the meadow for another moment, unsure of how to proceed.

  A harsh whistle broke the stillness of the evening air.

  Lilly flinched and jumped back.

  A creature stared at her from among the rocks. It was
furry and rotund, with buck teeth and an indignant expression upon its whiskered face. The animal shrilled out another call.

  Lilly got the distinct impression that she had just been insulted.

  “Here, let me.”

  The weight cutting into her shoulders lifted and Lilly nearly floated away, she felt so light and airy. Her t-shirt clung to her back like a strip of wet seaweed and she blushed, realizing that she must smell worse than the sixth-grade boys’ locker room. She turned around and found herself staring straight into a muscular chest. She glanced up a little higher.

  Tristian grinned down at her. “How are your shoulders?” His smile faded when Lilly gave no reply.

  She attempted to smile back and make some sage comment about the wilderness learning curve and how surely the next day’s hike would seem trivial after today’s trial by creek bed and tree root. But a wobbly grimace was all that her features could form. She was about to die, after only a single day’s exposure to God’s glorious wilderness, she would drop dead of fatigue, right here in the meadow. The children had realized this, so had their guide, only Lilly, and perhaps Strudel, had deluded themselves concerning her ability to persevere.

  Tristian opened his mouth to say something, but before he could offer his condolences for her shoulders and her delusions of grandeur and make her cry with his gentle tone and quiet understanding that showed in his eyes, Lilly interrupted him.

  “Is this a good place to build my tent?”

  He smiled at the change of topic and Lilly noticed a small dimple on his cheek. Did her determination to forestall her inevitable death-by-wilderness amuse him? Lilly straightened her spine and raised a brow, hoping to go out with just a bit of dignity and perhaps an upright tent as well.

  “Yes, it is fairly flat and once you clear the space of pinecones and sticks, the meadow grass should be somewhat soft. But I would say “pitch my tent” in front of the students, they seem overly critical after your eager concern for their health on the hike here. In fact, why don’t you hand over your measuring scoop and I’ll handle the snacks tomorrow.”

  “Overly critical” was an understatement. The three girls under her care were “pitching” their tent near a small creek that wended its way through the open meadow.

  The boys were diverting themselves by leaping over the aforementioned creek and chucking pinecones at the hillside.

  There was much giggling from both genders.

  Lilly turned away. At least they weren’t giggling at her at the moment. So much for her research easing their way into the wilderness and wowing her students with the innate practicality of mathematics. Lilly yanked her measuring scoop out of the pack at her feet and relinquished it into Tristian’s hands. She still had her first aid flowchart and some very nice graphs concerning oxygenation while ascending Mt. Everest. If she survived pitching the tent and located the “out” without mishap, perhaps she could derive an enlightening mathematical moment from marshmallow roasting or the cook time for ramen noodles at high altitude elevations.

  A small growl sent a jolt of adrenaline through Lilly’s veins. She whipped around, expecting find a rampaging bear or wild boar charging down the meadow toward them. Nothing presented itself.

  “Did you hear something?” Tristian turned in a circle, assessing the forest from whence they had just emerged.

  Another growl.

  Lilly started again and then paused. The sound had come from close by and yet there were no visible creatures to be found. Strudel! “Where are the restrooms located, Mr.—I mean, Tristian?”

  “Ah yes, if you follow the narrow trail right up there you should find accommodations in a small wooded alcove.”

  Lilly glanced in the direction he indicated and saw a narrow, dirt track snaking into an especially dark bit of forest. A scattering of dusty cobwebs stretched across the path and shadows clung around the trunks of the trees. This gave the whole hillside a bit of a Hansel-and-Gretel-walking-toward-the-witch’s-hut ambiance as the sun sank below the horizon and the bats came out to play.

  Right as she opened her mouth to point out the alarming phenomenon, Tristian glanced away.

  He looked across the meadow at where the boys had turned their attention to several of the large furry creatures.

  Jacob picked up a pinecone and crept toward the large rodent on his hands and knees.

  Tristian bolted from where he stood beside her, sprinting across the meadow shouting out something that sounded somewhat like “Absolutely not!”

  Glad that the creature seemed safe, Lilly ignored the twisty little path and peeked inside her pack.

  Despite his dose of “Good Doggy” Strudel had begun to wriggle alarmingly.

  Lilly massaged her aching temples and wondered when the powerful pet sedative would evacuate her system. She still felt slightly groggy and had the beginnings of a terrible headache.

  Had Strudel developed an immunity to the stuff during finals week when she had left a bottle in the medicine cabinet and only later realized that his sitter had little patience for barking, even though she’d come with fabulous references?

  Lilly pulled his purple, canvas booties out of the pack, tucked the small dog beneath her shirt, and proceeded at her fastest hobble toward the shadowy trail. As soon as the thick, conifer forest closed in around them, Lilly sat on a nearby stump and put on Strudel’s booties. His feet got sore if they walked on rough surfaces and who knew what strange wilderness diseases lurked amongst the groundcover. Once Strudel was properly shod, Lilly set him down on the trail.

  He blinked up at her, tipped his head to the side, and staggered into the bushes. “Good Doggy” had definitely been a bad idea. How long would it take to wear off? Strudel’s flowing, floor-length fur brushed across the pine needles and snagged at low bushes and clumps of lichen.

  Lilly grimaced. This restroom trip would mean a vast amount of secretive brushing in the tent that evening. Strudel hated brushing and usually growled, attacking the brush as though it were a very prickly pack of hunting wolves intent upon his immediate demise.

  Strudel lifted his nose and scented the fresh, mountain air. He wagged his tail, ripping it free of a bit of holly that grew against a large trunk. Apparently revived by the high oxygen content of the forest breeze, Strudel shot off into the woods. The bounding little fluff ball zipped here and there amongst the undergrowth. Pouncing on a pinecone, launching over a fallen log, prancing around a crumbly old stump full of ants.

  Lilly stumbled after him.

  He zipped and zigged, leapt and pivoted, snarled and bounced and frolicked.

  Bent over trying to snag the rampaging little canine put Lilly at a distinct disadvantage as her back had seized up after the hike.

  Strudel shot into a hollow log and started digging at the soft interior.

  Lilly braced her forehead against a tree trunk. This was hopeless. She would use the bathroom and then try to tempt the pup back with some organic, grain-free dog cookies.

  A small wooden sign labeled “toilet” pointed the way. Lilly followed the twisting path into a tiny glen. She pressed her hands over her mouth and stumbled to a stop. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then opened them once more. What sat before her was not the rustic shape of a park-style restroom. It was not even a dilapidated little shack as featured on Little House on the Prairie television reruns. It was so very much worse.

  Lilly suddenly recalled Tristian’s words. “Not an outhouse, an out.”

  The phrase perfectly described the facilities within the small glen. A small, wooden box sat in the center of the clearing. On top of the box a toilet seat was situated. Toilet seat on a box. That was it. No walls surrounded the toilet, only the forest and the wind and the sky. Just an out, no house included.

  Lilly crept closer. A rusted coffee can sat beside the terrible seat. After a moment’s hesitation, she popped off the lid. Inside sat a single roll of TP with only a few squares remaining.

  Lilly slammed her eyes shut. How was she sup
posed to go?

  What if someone walked down the path and saw her. Plus, they were at this campsite all night. This was enough toilet paper for a single event, not nearly sufficient for the needs of eleven people. What if there were spiders dwelling beneath the chipped seat? Or bears!

  After another horrified pause. Lilly hastened to the “out.” Despite her trepidation, someone would use that toilet paper and by all that was holy, it was going to be her.

  After completing her business, Lilly shuddered, doused her hands with sanitizer and proceeded to retrieve Strudel from his wilderness jaunt.

  Strudel was maniacal in his enjoyment of the forest and showed no more restraint than before. He jetted here and there, always just out of reach.

  Suddenly, a soft voice broke the stillness. “Hey little guy. Where did you come from?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar but Lilly couldn’t pin it down to anyone in particular from their group.

  Oh, my goodness. Lilly held her breath and pressed her back against the trunk of a large pine. Her baby was discovered. Should she charge in and snatch Strudel away from his kidnapper?

  Laughter echoed through the forest, along with the distinctive sound of someone attempting to defend themselves from Strudels lightning tongue.

  Just as she steeled herself to charge to his aid, Strudel pranced around a tree and sat down in front of her. Lilly scooped him up and crammed the small dog beneath her shirt. Strudel oozed up through the collar and slurped her chin. Lilly hid behind a tree trunk and carefully surveyed the rest of the path. It was empty. Strudel’s mystery friend had vanished.

  Lilly crept back toward camp. How on earth was she supposed to hide him while she set up the tent? Perhaps if she were incredibly fast…She sprinted across the meadow and stuffed Strudel back inside her dog purse. He thrust his nose out but she yanked the zipper shut.

  A small growl sounded from inside the attractive purple handbag.

  “Hush.”

  The growling only increased and the purse shuddered as though Strudel were fiercely attacking the small stock of granola bars she had stashed in the outer pocket.