Then, she saw what it was. She nearly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She exhaled a long breath of relief.
Ahead of them was the lake.
“We’re here!” she yelled. Charlie jerked his head and, with renewed energy, ran the last few steps of the trail, his poles bouncing in the air as he held them out in front of him.
When he reached the top, he stood next to Grace. He was out of breath and had to lean against one of his poles for support, but Grace knew he’d be okay. The view was enough to cure all ailments. It was even better than she had remembered. The sun was low, so the lake no longer retained its silvery appearance; instead, it now appeared black and ominous, almost bottomless. But Grace didn’t let this spoil their accomplishment.
Charlie took a deep, rewarding breath. “We made it,” he said. He looked over and gave her a wink. “The hard part’s over.”
Grace laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. “We may only have a three-hour hike tomorrow, but it ain’t gonna be easy.”
He gave her a carefree smile and blinked his eyes slowly. “That’s fine by me.”
They sat by the edge of the lake, taking in all the sights and surroundings. The mountain range that seemingly wrapped around the lake was no less impressive than the last time they’d been here. They both recalled how long it had taken them to reach this point five years ago and determined that they’d matched that time. Grace remarked about how Charlie’s knee didn’t really slow him down after all.
Charlie joked, “I didn’t really have a choice at the end there since I was chasing a Sherpa.”
Grace slapped him in the shoulder. Charlie turned and nodded toward a large cabin off to their left. “Let’s go see who’s at the hut.”
They arrived at the hut at about five-thirty in the evening.
They had allowed themselves plenty of time for scheduled breaks. Aside from stopping to argue and talk about Grace’s nightmare, they also took time to admire the views, something they often did during long hikes. It helped, if only a little. And Grace certainly needed the distraction when her mind wandered back to the previous day’s events. More than anything, she needed people around; she needed to hear the voices of other hikers. She needed to feel that she and Charlie weren’t alone.
The hut was actually quite big for a hut. “Lodge” is probably a more appropriate term, Grace thought as they walked along the shore of the lake. As they drew near, she studied the outside of the building. The shelter consisted of two long, rectangular sections, most likely dorms, between which was a large, round central gathering area. Wisps of smoke emitted from the chimney in the middle of the center section; a fire was burning.
They reached the entrance at the end of one of the long sections. Beaten and weary, they hobbled up the steps to the hut. From the opposite side of the door they both heard a familiar, welcoming sound coming from inside: people talking. From the sounds of it, lots of people.
Charlie opened the door to a long hallway with rooms on either side. They didn’t see any people, but the din of voices was louder now. They were coming from the central area.
Walking further into the hut, they noticed that many of the doors to the rooms had been left open; backpacks, air mattresses, boots and climbing equipment of all kinds filled these areas. As they continued down the hall, the voices became louder still as they neared the large room in the middle of the hut.
They reached the end of the hall and stepped into the common area. There were a couple dozen people moving about the large room. Surprisingly, it looked even bigger on the inside. The room was split, albeit unevenly, so that it was part cafeteria, part lounge. To their left, in the cafeteria section, people sat at picnic tables, eating soup and sandwiches and drinking water and hot chocolate. At the far end of the cafeteria, a set of steel double doors led into a kitchen.
To their right was the lounge area. It was much bigger than the cafeteria and with nicer décor. People sat on sofas and reclining chairs; men were smoking pipes while women shared drinks with one another. The only thing that kept this area from being one large study was the lack of a tall, mahogany bookcase.
At the far end of this space, the hut overlooked Silver Lake. Grace and Charlie walked over to the large bay windows for a better view of the water. Even on a day so overcast and dismal, the scene was still majestic. The calm, blackened water juxtaposed the soaring peaks, and the threatening skies created a sense of foreboding.
“I’d be surprised if it doesn’t storm,” Charlie said. He turned from the window and started to walk off. Grace lingered a bit, admiring the view from the window. Her arms and shoulders shook as a chill ran through her, and she turned to follow him.
Tired and hungry, they walked across the lounge, toward the picnic tables. Most of the tables were full, except for one occupied by an older couple. They sat quietly at the far end of the table, facing each other. They were having dinner.
Charlie asked if it was all right if they sat at the other end. The old man regarded them both silently, nodded, and continued eating.
Grace slipped off her backpack, which could have weighed a hundred pounds for all she knew, one arm at a time. She let it fall to the floor next to her feet. With a slight groan, she sat down, resting her elbows on the table. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face with her hands. Exhausted, she felt the dirt and dried sweat combine into a sticky mixture between her fingers and her palms. She had never before considered the idea that one could actually smell fatigue, but she did now.
The weight of her body now off her feet, she still felt as if she was walking. Little swells of pressure continued to jab the soles of her feet. Slow and lethargic, she removed one of her boots and began massaging the bottom of her foot.
The old man at the other end of the table watched this ritual as he ate a sandwich. “You two must have come from the base,” he said between bites. Charlie and Grace turned toward the man who just spoke. He had thick, gray hair, which had begun to whiten around his ears, and looked to be in his mid-to-late fifties. He was fit for his age, though; his weathered face showed the lines of someone who had kept in shape for many years and never let the softness of aging set in. His cut-off, moisture wicking shirt revealed muscular, toned arms. “We looked just like you when we came up yesterday,” he added.
“Ah,” Charlie said. It was more of a tired exhalation than an acknowledgement. “So you must have gone to the summit today?” The man nodded. “How were conditions?”
The man tilted his head back and forth, considering the question. “Visibility could have been better,” he said. “I mean, we lost the fog halfway up Arrowhead, so the summit was dry. So, maybe a tenth of a mile? Maybe a bit more?” It was more of a question to himself. “All we could see from the top was that damn fog below us,” he added with a chuckle.
The woman across from him nodded in agreement. “Like looking down just after a good snowfall, ya know?” she said.
Charlie and Grace nodded. The woman, who looked to be in her early fifties, was also in great shape. Her shoulder-length hair hadn’t begun to gray yet; it was still a healthy blond. Her face hadn’t shown the same lines as the man’s, perhaps from daily application of lotions and other age-defying facial products. Grace figured the woman could probably pass for early forties, maybe even late thirties. She wore a T-shirt that had a picture of a rolled-up sleeping bag and a campfire, with a caption underneath that said “Bed and Breakfast.”
“We’re going to go up tomorrow morning, come back to the hut, and then head back down the day after,” Charlie said.
“You have rain gear?” the old man asked.
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Coats, hats, water-resistant pants. Never know what to expect up here but, I think we’ll be okay.”
“Well, just take care going up,” the old man warned. “Wouldn’t want a nice couple like yourselves getting hurt. And keep an eye on the weather.”
The man’s polite advice was beginning to sound like a lectur
e. Charlie, a veteran climber himself, was also a bit too proud of his hiking skills and knowledge of weather patterns.
“Yep, yep. I think we’ll be all right,” Charlie said with a wink. “We’ve got youth on our side.” His arrogance clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed, as Grace kicked his foot under the table. He glared back at her. What? he mouthed.
Unimpressed with Charlie’s hubris, the older man set down his sandwich and turned to him. “Well, young man, I’m glad you have confidence.”
Charlie immediately began to regret his previous statement; he sensed that one of life’s lessons was about to be bestowed upon him.
“I have experience on my side,” the old man stated proudly. “And experience tells me that that limp you strolled in on isn’t from some little bang against the kitchen cabinet.”
Charlie hung his head. The old man clearly saw through him.
“And all I’m telling you,” the old man continued, “is to be careful.”
Charlie nodded, apologetically. But the old man stared at him for a few seconds after he said this. Charlie looked away, his eyes wandering uncomfortably, as he tried to break the old man’s stare.
“I think he understands, George,” the old woman said. She turned to Charlie, extending her arm and placing her hand on his. “Don’t mind George, he’s just a know-it-all old coot who doesn’t like to be upstaged by a man half his age.” She gave Charlie a wink. George scoffed and continued eating.
“It’s okay,” Grace cut in. “Charlie could use a lesson in humility. Isn’t that right, Charlie?” she said, flashing him a condescending smile. George laughed under his breath and continued eating. In an attempt to clear the air, Grace extended her hand to the woman. “I’m Grace, by the way.” The woman shook her hand.
“I’m Cheryl. Obviously, this is George,” she said, casually nodding toward the old man without breaking eye contact with Grace. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Are you from New Hampshire?”
“No, we’re from Connecticut.” Grace said. Again, George scoffed, but this time he tried to disguise it with a cough. Charlie again glowered at Grace, shaking his head only slightly. She could read his mind. One more time, Grace thought, and Charlie will snap at this man.
“Are you staying at the campground?” Cheryl asked.
“Oh, uh, yes,” Grace said, forgetting about Charlie for the moment. “We got in yesterday. We camped last night, then jumped on at Scorpion’s Shadow this morning. Figure we’ll summit tomorrow, spend another night at the hut.” She paused as she glanced at Charlie. “And then either we’ll explore a little more around here and spend one more night at the hut, or we’ll head down to the base the day after we summit.”
At this point, George rejoined the conversation. “You say you’re staying at the campground?” he asked.
“Yes,” Grace said.
“So you folks must have bumped into Roy then, yeah?”
Grace and Charlie exchanged a nervous glance. Ever since they had reached the lake, Grace had forgotten about Roy and his story. The peacefulness of being a mile above street level had set her at ease and erased her fear and tension. But now, just the mention of Roy’s name brought it all back, flooding her mind with the memory of her dream and the story of the man who had died on the mountain. She became uneasy for the first time since they had entered the hut.
“Yeah,” Grace said tentatively. “We had to stop at the store and pick up a few things.” She looked back to Charlie, hoping that he would ask about Roy’s story, but George continued before either of them had a chance to speak.
“Roy’s good people,” George continued. “He’s been running a tight ship at that campground for years. Keeps the riff-raff out, is good to the people who come there. I’ve known Roy a long time. Good man.” He nodded his head as if to reaffirm his opinion.
Seeing an opportunity to ask about Roy’s account of what happened on Arrowhead Trail a couple days ago, Grace prompted Charlie again with wide eyes. Charlie took the hint.
“Yeah, uh, speaking of Roy,” Charlie began.
George turned toward him, arching his eyebrow. “Yes?” he asked.
“He told us about what happened up on Arrowhead the other day,” Charlie said. “Isn’t that awful?”
George furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out what Charlie was talking about.
“Something happened on Arrowhead?” he asked.
Oh boy, Charlie thought. Wrong person to ask. He couldn’t back up now, though. The cat was just about out of the bag.
“Well,” he said, fidgeting, looking to Grace for support. She offered none and pretended to focus on something on the table. Charlie was on his own now. The story would have to come out. He reluctantly continued, “Roy told us about the guy who died. Says he fell off the trail? Fell straight down the cliff?” Charlie paused and waited for some kind of recognition of the account. George simply stared in disbelief. Even Cheryl looked dumbfounded. “You guys didn’t hear about that?” Charlie asked.
George put his hand to his head, squinted his eyes. “Well now, let me think for a second,” he said. “We got in two days ago, hiked up here yesterday,” he was counting on his fingers. “We went to the summit today...” His eyes darted up and down, as he retraced the events of their trip so far. “We didn’t hear anything about that.” He looked at Cheryl who was also shaking her head. “Roy told you this?”
George seemed genuinely concerned now, and Charlie began to wish he had kept his mouth shut. He attempted to downplay it.
“You know, some kids probably spun a yarn for him and he went for it. You know how that can be.”
George didn’t appear to be impressed. “You saying Roy’s easily duped by children?” he asked, annoyed by Charlie’s comment. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”
Charlie began to backpedal. “Not at all,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “He just gave us a really vivid account of an accident that happened up on Arrowhead. We hadn’t heard anything about it until we arrived yesterday.”
“Well, if Roy said it happened, then it must’ve happened.” George was defensive now. “All I’m saying is we hadn’t heard about it.” He was about to take another bite of his sandwich when he turned to Charlie again, pointing his finger. “Roy’s no liar.”
Charlie stared down at the table and nodded. He was content to just drop it.
“It’s all right, dear,” Cheryl said. “I’m sure the young man isn’t calling Roy a liar.”
Unable to think of anything else to say, Charlie leaned over and pretended to look for something in his backpack. Grace, too, busied herself with meaningless tasks: checking the zippers on her pack and counting the number of plastic snack baggies, bottles of water. It was after a few minutes of staring at empty food containers that they realized they hadn’t had a decent meal all day. Grace turned to Cheryl
“Do you know where we can get a couple of those sandwiches?” she asked.
Cheryl must have been ecstatic that someone had changed the subject, because she brightened right up.
“Oh, just ask Terry, dear. She’ll get you guys set up,” Cheryl replied. “She’s basically in charge of the place. Does most of the cooking, maintenance—the only thing she doesn’t do is clean up after you. So just pick up after yourselves and she’ll be your best friend.”
“Yeah, Ter’s great,” George added. His temper appeared to have subsided, much to Grace’s relief. “You guys need anything, you just go see her. In fact, I’m surprised she hasn’t been by in a while.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Charlie said. “Maybe we’ll go set ourselves up in a room and come back and eat.”
“Oh no,” George said. “She’ll set you up. She has to check you guys in anyway.”
“Oh, okay,” Charlie said. He turned to Grace. “I guess we’ll just hang out here ’til she comes around.”
Charlie and Grace, once again back on George’s good graces, made small talk with the old couple. They talked about their jobs, where they
grew up, where they met, when they married. After a while, Grace found that speaking to George and Cheryl felt like speaking with the parents of a close friend. They had been hiking for thirty years together. They’d hiked out west in the Rockies, up in Alaska in Denali National Park, even got to join an expedition to the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. But they loved the northeast. It drew them back year after year. Grace was telling them about her and Charlie’s goal of summiting the tallest peak in each of the fifty states when a woman came through the kitchen doors.
“Ah, here’s our girl now,” George said. He waved her over to their table. Terry was tall for a woman; nearly six feet, and heavyset. Her curly red hair was cut short, but perfectly framed her round face. She wore an apron that said “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” Grace assumed that Terry would have old-world charm, but that assumption proved erroneous the moment Terry opened her mouth.
“George, Cheryl!” Terry bellowed, smiling. “How’s the food?” She leaned over their end of the table and rested her hands on the corners; the wooden table creaked under her weight. From the opposite end, Charlie noticed that, for a woman, she had hands like a bear.
“It’s delicious,” Cheryl said. “Actually, Ter, we’ve been waiting for you. We’d like you to meet our new friends, Grace and Charlie. They’re looking for a room.”
Still smiling, Terry looked back and forth at Charlie and Grace. “Hey, folks! Welcome to the Silver Lake Hut! I don’t recall ever seeing you here before. This your first time?” Her voice had a gravelly quality that Grace suspected was the result of a pack-a-day smoking habit.
“Yes,” Charlie said. “We’re hoping to get a room for a couple nights and maybe a hot meal if the kitchen is still open?”
Terry let out a deep, raspy laugh. “Well, if the apron’s still on, so is the grill!” She laughed again, at herself this time, and Grace and Charlie forced a laugh along with her. “Tell you what,” she continued. “Let’s go find you both a room and then we’ll get you both something to eat. How’s that?”
“That sounds great,” Grace said. She and Charlie stood up and grabbed their backpacks. Grace turned back to George and Cheryl. “It was nice meeting you both.”
Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit Page 4
