It takes me a moment to recover. If I let you go. I like that.
“That’s a pretty good list,” I finally say.
“How much of it is true?”
“All of it. Except that part about being cursed for a thousand lives. That’s excessive.”
“Good answer.”
I feel warmer than I did a minute ago.
She says, “Now for my follow-up question. Who’s your favorite cinematographer?”
“After you?”
“Of course.”
“That would be no one.”
Smiling at me, she says, “The judges are happy.”
And right there, on this cold wet rock in the middle of an unforgiving wilderness, we kiss. It’s only for a moment. Three heartbeats, maybe four. Then we pull apart, and she coughs and coughs. I rub her back under the tarp, pondering that moment and how the rest of this day in the presence of that moment seemed to disappear.
After she settles I say, “I like this rock. It has magical powers. We should visit again when it’s warmer.”
“I’d like that.”
“But now we should go.”
“I’m not ready yet. Give me another minute. Besides, I have one more question to ask.”
“Okay.”
“What did Grahame mean by ‘kittens in a blender’?”
I take a deep breath. It goes all the way down to my frozen feet. Since there isn’t time to get around it, I head straight for the truth. “Ceo did a stupid thing. He put this trip together because he wanted me to meet you.”
“Meet? As in Colin, this is Ellie? Or, Colin, here’s Ellie. You two should hook up.”
“More like the second part. He thought it would make up for what he did at the challenge match.”
“So I was your consolation prize?”
“On his planet, not mine.”
“Were you a part of this plan?”
“Not willingly.”
“What about Grahame?”
“He overheard Ceo tell me when we were calibrating the GPS.” She makes a strange sound, not quite a cough. Like she’s swallowing an ache. I look for her eyes. She avoids me. I say, “You should also know that’s when Ceo told me something happened the night before in the tent. He said I blew my chance. That he was falling for you, hard.”
I hear that sound again. Feel her shaking beside me. Then after a long beat, “You’re right. We should go.”
We stand. I stuff the bivy sack into my pack, slip it over my shoulders, wince at the searing pain. She returns to Grahame’s tracks, starts following them to who knows where.
I say as the rain falls, “The contestant from Vermont wants to know. Are the judges still happy?”
She says without turning around, “They’re conferring.”
We continue to follow Grahame’s tracks. They’re starting to meander more, which worries me. His physical state is probably no better than ours. I feel like we’re moving in a direction that is more parallel to the creek then designed to intersect it. I’m thinking it’s about time to start breaking our own trail when Grahame’s tracks take a sharp turn to the right. This feels like a better course, but I’m still nervous. We can’t afford to make mistakes. Not even one. I decide to give it five minutes. If nothing changes, then I’ll suggest we take a more direct line in the direction of what I believe to be west, toward North Dome.
About one hundred yards into our march, Ellie stops again. This time she tilts her head, holds up her hand for me to be quiet. A few seconds later she says, “Do you hear that?”
“What am I supposed to hear?”
“Straight ahead.” She points in the direction of Grahame’s tracks. “In the trees.”
I’m thinking she hears some kind of animal, like a deer or maybe the alleged bear.
Or Grahame.
She asks, “Is it the wind?”
This time I know what sound I’m listening for.
And I hear it. A low whispering rush. Something moving fast. It could be a wind stirring up. That would be very bad news. The last thing we need is wind. But I don’t see any branches moving. The patches of mist remain low and undisturbed. I take a few steps closer to the source—and then I know what it is.
Water.
It takes us ten minutes of hard slogging, and costs us nearly every remaining calorie we have, but we make it to the creek. My first thought is this can’t be the same creek. It’s not the bubbling little trout stream my father would love to fish on a Sunday afternoon. This one is too big, moving too fast. There’s no way we can cross it without a bridge. I try to picture the map in my head—I don’t remember any other streams in this area. The only explanation I can think of is this is what Snow Creek looks like after twelve hours of relentless rain, followed by a foot of wet snow, followed by even heavier rain with temps significantly above the freezing mark.
Ellie points to Grahame’s prints. They split, one heading upstream, the other down. He must have been wondering the same thing I am. Are we above the bridge, or below it?
“Wait here,” I tell her. “I’m going to follow the tracks upstream for a little ways. See if Grahame found the bridge.”
She shakes her head, then bends over coughing. I stand there, helpless, till she stops. Ellie wipes her mouth with her glove. “I’m not waiting here alone,” she says.
I’m too tired to argue, and I know she’s right. We head upstream together. The going gets hard in a hurry. Lots of fresh blowdowns from the storm, rocks to negotiate and too many places where my sneakers are likely to slip. I’m also worried about a few spots where the high water seems to be undercutting the banks. I saw the snow break away twice, with big chunks falling into the current. We can’t ignore the possibility that we’re above the bridge, which means continuing in this direction is a waste of time and resources we don’t have. Apparently Grahame arrived at the same conclusion—this is too difficult and dangerous. His tracks stop. So do ours.
We turn around.
On the way back she wants to hear him talk. To help her keep her mind off the burning ache in her chest every time she coughs. She is cold and hot at the same time. Knows that she has a fever and it is getting worse. They’re far enough from the roar of the water now.
She asks, “Why are you so sure Ceo is alive?”
He helps her over a fallen tree, then says, “Ceo gave me a ride to the airport on the day my father died. It was a red-eye, so we had a little time to play at the beach. After two hours of body surfing and playing Frisbee football all up and down the beach, it was time for me to catch my flight. When we get to the car, Ceo realizes he has a hole in his shorts. The keys are gone. Our cell phones and wallets are in the trunk. There isn’t anyone around. It’s dark. All he has is moonlight to see. I’m thinking it’s game over. I’m going to miss the flight. Ceo says not to worry, he’ll find the keys, and he takes off. I watch him run up and down the beach. Head down, arms flailing. As if he can actually do this impossible thing. I’m already thinking about how I’m going to tell my mom that I missed the flight—when Ceo walks out into the waves, bends down to pick something up. And guess what?”
Ellie notices that they’re back to the spot where the tracks split. Colin keeps moving, this time in the other direction, downstream.
She says, “Don’t tell me Ceo found the keys.”
“He absolutely did. I made it to the airport just in time to catch my flight.”
“Finding keys in the sand is not the same thing as getting axed in the head in the middle of a blizzard.”
“True. But there is one point where they are the same. Ceo, against all odds, believed he would find those keys. I wouldn’t have even tried. And I’m certain he would believe that he can find a way to survive. Most people give up. I would. But Ceo is like this storm. He’s a force of nature.”
She considers everything she’s learned about Ceo since she met him. Remembers how he charmed her at the airport into riding with them as far as the gate. How he convinced Grahame into c
arrying that rock. He knew what to say and when to say it. She decides that Colin is right—Ceo is a force of nature. But then she remembers Grahame and the sheer force of the ax when he hit that tree.
Nature doesn’t always win.
They round a small bend and see a lump in the snow about ten feet from the bank. As they get closer she knows what it is. Grahame’s pack. He stopped at a tree that must have been blown down by the storm, carried by the current to this place, where it got stuck between the banks. Thick and with roots at the near end. Angling down slightly and more narrow at the far end. She figures the distance is thirty feet. It has branches rising up out of the current. Most are dead, but a few are still green. Water flows over the last ten feet. It’s hard to tell how deep. Maybe six inches, but it could be more. The bank on the opposite side is rocky and steep.
Colin slides off his pack. He says, “Grahame made it across. I see his tracks on the other side.”
She says, “There has to be a better way.”
“I doubt it. His tracks keep going downstream. Something made him come back and cross here.”
“Please. Find a better way.” Then she coughs until it feels like her lungs are coming up in pieces through her throat. Colin holds her while she settles, then gives her a sip from his water bottle. It’s the same one they filled this morning. After that night in the lean-to. That was the last time she was warm. She closes her eyes and wishes she were there.
Then she looks at that tree spanning the current and thinks: I wish I was anywhere but here.
Colin says, “Can you wait here while I check downstream?”
Ellie hesitates.
He says, “Grahame is on the way down. He isn’t a threat.”
She says, “Go. But you better come back.”
I stare at the reason Grahame crossed at the tree. A short distance away the water dips down, bends slightly to the left, down a bit more, then disappears. I hear the muted rumble of water crashing on the rocks below. Remember seeing it on the way up. A thick ribbon of white with a shower of spray at the base.
Snow Creek Falls.
By the time I get back to her, Ellie is sitting on Grahame’s pack, hunched over and shivering. But her face is blazing red. I feel her cheek with the back of my hand. Even through the cold and wet, I can tell she’s on fire.
“You have a fever,” I say.
She nods. “Anything better downstream?”
I hesitate, not sure how this news will hit her. But she needs to know. “The falls,” I say.
After a moment Ellie closes her eyes. I’m sure she just went through the same thought progression I did. That if we had followed the creek instead of turning around like Grahame did, we would have hit the bridge. We’d be on the other side by now, working our way down the switchbacks. Instead we’re faced with backtracking two miles, half of it uphill. Meanwhile her fever gets worse and the rain continues to beat us down and down.
She looks at me and says, “I just don’t have it in me to go back.”
“I could—” And then it hits me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Filled with a rush of hope, I ask, “Where’s your cell phone? Didn’t you get reception up here?”
“It’s in the pack.”
“Where? Which pocket?” I pick up my pack.
She shakes her head. “The other pack. The one we left behind.”
“Shit! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I remembered while you were gone. I checked all the pockets. It’s not here. We’d just been through that thing with Grahame. It was raining….I hadn’t used it in so long….I forgot. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. Knowing our luck it wouldn’t work anyway.”
I look at the tree. At Grahame’s footprints tempting us, thirty feet away. Then I look at his pack, consider the contents and how best to use it.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
“If hiking to the bridge is out, then we have three options. Option one is I set up the tent and you wait inside in Ceo’s sleeping bag. I’ll cross the log and go for help. It would probably take me a couple hours to get down. Give it another hour to walk the Mirror Lake Trail and find help. Option two is we wait here and hope Grahame tells someone about us, or that someone is missing us and calls the park. Option three is we cross that log, head down the trail together. That’s the way I see it. It’s your call.”
“I don’t want to be left alone.”
“That rules out option one.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t trust Grahame. We’re witnesses to his crime. He won’t tell anyone about us. And Ceo filled out a permit for a different place. I lied about where I was going, and so did you. No one will look for us up here.”
“I trust Grahame to make the call. You’re wrong about that. But we’ll rule out sit and wait.”
“So that leaves us with the log.”
Right or wrong, that’s where we are. I say, “Grahame did it. In his giant clown feet. You’ll have more tree to stand on than he did.”
“What about you? In those sneakers? You said you can’t feel your feet.”
“I’ll be okay. There are lots of branches to hold on to. Plus here’s a fun fact. They called me ‘balance boy’ in high school. I can balance a cucumber on the tip of my finger. It’s one of my special talents.”
She manages a weak smile. “You’re not the only one with talents. I was in gymnastics before I played soccer. Balance beam was my specialty.”
“So you can do a back handspring with a full dismount. We’ve got this.”
“Okay,” she says, sitting up. Her voice taking on a confident edge. “Who goes first?”
“I should. That way I’m on the other side and can help you. The only real tricky part is the last ten feet.” Actually that’s a bald-faced lie. The whole thing looks tricky to me. The log could be icy. It could move. There’s a big branch in the way. Getting around it won’t be easy. If we fall, there is no swimming to the other side. The more I think about it, the less I like it. Ellie’s sick and weak. And she’s right about my feet; they’re worthless bricks. Sit and wait is looking pretty good to me.
She says, “I’m worried that if you get over there first, I may be too afraid to go. Then I’ll be left alone. So I’m going first.”
“What if you have a coughing fit?”
“I’ll just have to not let that happen.” She stands. “Let’s cross that bridge, balance boy.”
They walk down to the tree. Feel the surface. The bark is wet but not icy. He tries to shake it. No movement.
Colin says, “It’s in there good.” He gives her a hug. Pulls back, looks at her, and says, “Your assault on the world begins now.”
Despite it all, she manages a smile. “John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler, Say Anything, 1989. That’s the movie that made me fall in love with him.”
“See! Your mind is working great. You can do this, Ellie. Use the branches. If you do fall, try to fall upstrea—”
“No more talking, okay?” she says. “Your helping is not helping.”
Ellie climbs up onto the log. She stands for a moment, tries to forget the deafening roar of the water, the icy current sliding underneath and over. Fights off the fear of what would happen if she falls. Waits to get balanced, starts moving forward one foot in front of the other. After about fifteen seconds she is midstream and has to work her way around the first branch. There’s still plenty of trunk to stand on. She gets around that, and the tree narrows considerably. She senses through her feet the vibration of the current surging against the wood. Hears Colin behind her saying, You’ve got this, keep going. Looking forward, she realizes the next branch is the point of no return. Get past that and there is no going back. She reminds herself to breathe. Five more steps. Turns slightly sideways, inches her feet slowly around the branch. Next up is the part where she gets wet. It’s two feet away. She can’t see the trunk, has to guess where the wood is. There’s nothing to hold on to. Her heart is racing faster than the curr
ent. Her legs are starting to shake. Feels a cough coming on. Seconds from falling…
A voice, strong and confident and very close says, “I’m right here. Don’t stop now.”
Ellie glances up. Grahame. He’s at the water’s edge, boots inches from the current, reaching out with a big bare hand. She hesitates, wanting his help, afraid he’ll do something that sends her into the water.
“C’mon, Ellie,” he says. “I’ve got you. Don’t you stop now.”
She puts one foot out, feels for the wood that she can’t see. The water is cold, icy cold. She slides out a little farther. Both feet are in the water. She’s an arm’s length from Grahame’s steady hand. The current pushes at her, turns her sideways. She’s starting to fall. Takes a quick step, then a desperate lunge for Grahame’s hand. Strong fingers wrap around her wrist. He pulls her to him. She hits the other side and sprawls in the snow, gasping. It turns into a ragged cough.
Grahame says, “Nice job. Now get up there where it’s safe. It’s too slippery down here.”
“How did you…I mean how…”
“Don’t look so surprised. I knew you guys would follow my tracks. I was on my way down, but figured you might need my help getting over this tree.”
“Thank you.”
“No worries. Now get up there. I need to help Q. He’s on his way.”
She turns around. Colin is already at the first branch. He doesn’t look solid. His arms are waving too much. He’s moving too fast—why is he doing that? His lips are tight, face drawn. He glances at her. She sees fear. The unshakable kind, the fear of knowing a certain future and not being able to change it.
It’s his feet, she thinks. He can’t feel the wood.
Grahame shouts over the water, “Q. Turn around! We’ll go for help!”
He shakes his head.
Then she realizes what’s wrong. He promised he wouldn’t leave me alone.
“All right, then,” Grahame says. “Settle down. Relax. Breathe. You’ve got this. One foot in front of the other. Do it slow….”
Colin settles, moves again. He gets around the first branch, starts to lean, waves his arms wildly, reaches back and grabs the top of the branch. He steadies, shakes his head. Twelve feet away. He looks at her again. The fear isn’t quite as strong. Confidence is coming back.
Bad Call Page 19
