The Middle of Somewhere (12 page)

T
he day after the hailstorm, the Root brothers made camp first, as Liz had secretly hoped. She spied them setting up their tarp fifty yards off the trail at the edge of a broad meadow and pointed them out to Dante with her pole. Giddy with relief, she put her finger to her lips and tiptoed down the trail in an exaggerated fashion, lifting her knees high like a cartoon burglar. Dante squeezed his lips together to stop from laughing out loud, and followed her into the woods where the trail wound toward Bear Creek.

The bank of the river was lined with clusters of slender quaking aspen with silver-green bark and pale, shimmering leaves mimicking the movement of the water. Away from the river, red fir and lodgepole pine stood next to mountain hemlock, a graceful tree with a nodding top, resembling the peak of a wizard's hat.

Liz and Dante emerged from the forest onto an exposed rocky slope. There, and upon the windswept ridges above, were giant Sierra junipers, the largest sixty feet tall with trunks five feet wide. They were colossal beasts, with thick branches straining out of their trunks and covered in shaggy reddish brown bark. Liz noticed a cinnamon scent as she approached one towering over the trail. She stopped to pet it and leaned closer to inhale more deeply its rich scent.

“It reminds me of Chewbacca,” she told Dante. “If we had the space and a couple hundred years, I'd want to grow one of these.”

They chose a campsite next to Bear Creek, halfway between the creek and the trail, where a row of pines gave way to a granite shelf extending to the water. The creek was a dozen feet wide, cascading down the narrow ravine in a series of steps, with deep pools in between. The sun had fallen low in the sky, and the rocks surrounding the campsite struggled to hold on to the heat of the day.

As they made camp, ate dinner and cleaned up, they talked about what they'd seen that day and what tomorrow's hike might bring. Liz sensed Dante was waiting for an opportunity to turn the conversation to Gabriel again; there were pauses into which he might drive that wedge. She squeezed the gaps shut with easier words, and he went along with it.

Later, they sat side by side on an anvil-shaped boulder, facing the river and the setting sun. He took her hand, and she kissed him to stop him from talking. She pulled back and saw in his eyes the pity she had known had been lurking there all day. As before, she neither wanted it nor felt she deserved it.

At the edge of her vision, something moved. She turned to see a doe on the opposite bank, staring at them, tail twitching. Trailing a distance behind were two fawns with faded spots on their tawny coats.

She nudged Dante and slowly lifted her hand to point at the deer. The doe glanced over her shoulder at her fawns. One ran toward her, and the other gave chase. Every few steps, one would skip, kicking out its front foot like a dressage horse. She thought if they weren't deer, they'd be giggling.

Dante whispered, “The definition of a child: one who runs for no reason.”

The fawns had caught up to their mother, who bent to nibble among the grasses. They copied her, but soon raised their heads and skipped away again.

Liz and Dante watched until the deer became vague shadows.

“Animal Planet programming is over for the evening,” she said, getting up. “Bedtime.”

He stood and encircled her in his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

From then until she fell asleep in the dark rectangle of the tent, Dante beside her, she forgot about Gabriel, and the many things that made her doubt she could love at all. And in the middle of the night, as the nearly full moon made the river run silver, she dreamt she was a deer, and the dewdrops upon her slender hooves were diamonds.

•   •   •

All the next day they hiked through a wonderland. Lakes with crenellated shores and jetties of smooth, gray rock jutting into indigo pools, their surfaces a perfect reflective plane, broken intermittently by a ring left behind by a feeding trout. Stunted, ancient pines with white bark and dark green branches seemed arranged to balance the varied expanses of stone: honed sheets the size of playing fields, undulating granite waves, chunks of rock of every size. The mountains were everywhere today, appearing around corners, hiding behind one another, standing over the lakes as if they owned them. And above it all was the sky, painted the deepest blue. Liz and Dante tried different words for it, but nothing did it justice. They settled for That Color.

She finally felt they were not on a hike now, but in it. Her feet understood the trail without studying it, each footfall landing in a sensible place without conscious attention. She could tell from the rhythm of Dante's steps the same was true for him. When she climbed a steep pitch, the work in her legs was a feeling of strength, not pain. When she drank water she had taken from a stream, she realized it was the only drink she ever needed. Until now, her pack had been a very large albatross worn on the back instead of the front. Now she had made friends with it. Dante called his “my sleeping child,” which touched her and made her profoundly sad.

It was a shame they would arrive at Muir Ranch tonight, having just found their stride.

Then again, a hot shower sounded like nirvana.

From Selden Pass the trail dropped three thousand feet into the valley holding Muir Ranch. A third of the way down the switchbacks began, wending in long arcs across a nearly treeless slope of manzanita bushes. After two switchbacks, Dante asked her to stop.

“See those people down there? Is that Payton?”

She could make out three figures on the far side of the slope, perhaps two switchbacks lower. Judging by size alone, Payton was among them. “I think so. And Rodell's sitting down?” The third person faced the other way. All they could see was a backpack.

“I guess we're about to find out.”

In five minutes they were close enough to hear raised voices, and Liz had identified the third person as Brensen. If he was in one of his moods, it had all the makings of a sticky situation.

Payton noticed them first. Frowning, he lifted his hand in greeting. His brother's right leg was propped on a boulder, and his mouth was twisted in a grimace. Brensen stepped off the trail on the uphill side so Liz and Dante could join them.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you guys?”

“We're great,” Dante said. He pointed at Rodell's leg. “You okay?”

Payton said, “He took a hard fall. Wrenched his knee.”

Liz said, “That's too bad. I've got an ACE bandage if you need it.”

Rodell pulled up his pant leg to expose a neatly wrapped bandage. “Thanks, but we've got that covered.”

“Problem is,” Payton said, “he can't carry his pack down the mountain. And this fellow here”—he jutted his finger at Brensen—“isn't inclined to help us out.”

“I have to ask,” Liz said. “Did this have something to do with a dare?”

Payton gave his brother an I-told-you-to-keep-your-trap-shut look. Rodell shrugged and rubbed his knee. “Like he said, I fell.”

Brensen shifted his pack. “And like I said, I don't see how that's my problem.”

“Liz,” Payton said, “you're an experienced backpacker. Perhaps you could inform Hollywood here of the unwritten code of the wilderness.”

“You mean, you should dig a six-inch hole before you poop?” The older Root brother was correct about the code, but she was not going to take his side without making him work for it. If only he were the injured one. She'd kick his good leg as she marched past him on her way to a hot shower and a real meal.

Payton nodded, as if taking her measure.

Dante, allergic to conflict, turned to Brensen. “I think what he means is that out here, where there are few resources, we are obliged to help our fellow hikers in need.”

“Yeah, I've already heard the lecture. But it doesn't change the fact that there's no way in hell I'm going to carry anything more down this fucking mountain than I have to. I'm older than all of you. I've got my knees to think about.”

“Your mistake,” Payton spat, “is forgetting it could've been you instead of Rodell here. Anyone can fall.”

The obvious truth of the statement didn't make it any less chilling.

“If it had been me, I wouldn't be sitting here. I'd have ditched my goddamn pack, hopped or crawled or whatever to Muir Ranch and called my fucking agent to get me the hell out of here!”

Dante perked up. “There are phones at Muir Ranch? What about Internet?”

Payton was determined to have the final word. “Listen, Hollywood. Liz and Dante might give us a hand and they might not. But remember, from now on you won't be a couple hours' walk from getting bailed out by your agent.” He pointed his meat slab of a hand south. “Down that way is nine days' worth of nowhere. What're you going to do if you get into a mess?”

Brensen flicked his hand impatiently. “I'm tired of standing here. You all enjoy the rest of your day.” He trotted past Rodell and headed down the trail, Payton's eyes drilling into his back.

Liz was relieved it wasn't her. “Rodell, how heavy is your pack?”

“Forty-five pounds give or take.”

She wouldn't have been surprised at that figure immediately after a resupply, but today everyone's packs should've been at their lightest. “You've gotta be kidding. What you got in there?”

“Stuff.”

Dante said, “We can take some of it, can't we, Liz?”

“Sure. It's only a few miles.” The code was the code.

Payton reached inside his brother's pack and pulled out the gear he wanted them to carry: the stove, the tent, a couple of fuel canisters, a half-empty bear can.

“Just don't give me any of his dirty socks,” Liz said.

She fit everything inside her pack, except the tent, which she strapped to the outside, and the bear can, which Dante put under the top flap of his pack. He lashed his sleeping bag to the bottom.

Payton was stuffing gear back into Rodell's pack when a shirt fell to the ground. He scooped it up with lightning speed, but not before Liz glimpsed what appeared to be the etched handle of a pistol. Payton twisted casually to see if she or Dante had noticed, but Liz had already turned away to hoist her pack.

A gun wasn't illegal in the wilderness, except in the National Parks and unless you actually hunted with it. But, Liz wondered, if you didn't intend to shoot things, why would you bring it?

A
t the ranch, three women on horseback herded two dozen horses into a corral. Liz and Dante were forced to wait for the procession to pass. Liz wasn't much of a judge of horseflesh, but these made a good impression: shiny coats, flowing manes and tails, not a swayback in sight. Dante pointed out his favorite, a spirited palomino.

“What is it with men and blondes?” she said.

A woman in a battered safari hat returned to close the gate. They told her about Rodell and asked if someone could help him get off the trail. She nodded and said she'd take care of it.

“How far is the hospital?” Liz asked.

“Oakhurst's the best bet. But he'd be lucky to get that far tonight, unless he's really a mess. If he wants to leave here tonight, we'll ride him out to the road. That's four miles. He might get a lift from someone out of Jackass campground to the ranger station. That's another seven miles. They'd know what to do with him.”

“Not a very convenient place to get hurt.”

She nodded. “And this is the civilized part.”

The resupply shed was adjacent to the corral. Inside the windowless room, a hunched woman peered at a computer screen and jiggled a mouse. When she stood, she came to just above Liz's waist. She was in her eighties and wore a plaid shirt with pearl buttons. Her polyester slacks stopped a few inches shy of her orthopedic shoes, revealing dingy white socks. Liz wondered how a person so small could have pants too short. The woman took her name, disappeared behind a rack of shelves, and reemerged, tipped to one side to counterbalance the bucket's weight.

Dante moved toward her. “Here, let me help you.”

She waved him off. “I do this all summer, son.”

They left Rodell's gear beside the shed, as they had arranged, and went to a nearby building to check in. Behind the counter in the cramped room, a young woman with hair like the tail of a chestnut mare was braiding a halter rope.

“Electricity's out. We'll run your card later.”

Dante said, “Have you got wireless?”

“We do but we don't give out the code. The bandwidth is teensy.” She pointed behind them to a laptop perched on a wooden crate. “Ten bucks for fifteen minutes, when it's working.”

His shoulders fell.

Liz said, “It's better than nothing. You can try later.”

The woman loaded them into a golf cart and began the tour. The ranch had a couple dozen buildings, most made of log. Half were cabins for rent. The rest were special purpose: a store, a kitchen, a lounge, a bathhouse and accommodations for the staff. Liz and Dante had reserved a tented cabin—a wooden platform with canvas walls and roof. These were clustered at the back of the property facing a large stand of aspen embroidering a bend in the river.

“Yours is the Tenthouse,” the woman said. “My favorite.”

The Tenthouse was perched eight feet off the ground and sported a deck at the front as large as the cabin.

They thanked the woman and climbed wooden steps to the deck. Dante pulled aside the curtain door and ushered Liz inside. There was a full bed and a twin, covered in matching quilts, a set of shelves and a bare lightbulb with a pull string near the bigger bed.

“So luxurious!” she said, running her hand along the stained and faded quilt. “I'd give it the full five pinecones.”

“We'll need to put our sleeping bags on top tonight. There's no heat.”

“But there are
sheets
. And dinner.”

“Is there beer?”

“Sadly, no. But a washing machine.”

“What do we wear while we wash everything?”

“Our birthday suits?”

He smiled. “I assume there's no dryer, so we'll need something to wear to dinner.”

“Our rain gear, then. Kind of kinky, don't you think? Naked under Gortex?”

“You're a pervert.”

“Not at the moment, but perhaps later. After you've had a shower.” She pinched her nose and lifted her pinky.

“I understood love is blind.”

“Perhaps. But my nose works fine.”

•   •   •

The washer—a museum piece—sat on a patch of dirt outside a small building. A white-haired man, tanned only on his face and forearms, and naked except for underpants, was leaving as she arrived. He told her the wringer attached to the top of the washer was broken and pointed to the elaborate instructions written on the wall above the machine. Liz set down her laundry and began filling the tub with a hose. Once the load was going, she sat on the steps, content to watch the horses in the corral and absorb the warmth of the sun.

After a time, Linda approached with an armload of clothing and dumped it on the table next to machine. “Look at that thing! No wonder they don't charge to use it.”

“And the wringer doesn't work, according to the guy who was here before. Too bad you missed him. He was about seventy and wearing nothing but his tighty-whities.” Linda made a face. “So, you have to wring everything out.”

“Well, cold-water agitation is better than nothing. Will you show me how to use it?”

Liz rose and indicated the faucet shutoff. “You can't reach it from the washer, so you need to kink the hose. And the mud's slippery, so be careful.” She turned on the agitator. “When you're finished, you stick this drain hose in there”—indicating a drain in the ground—“and flip this lever on the bottom. To rinse you do the same thing. Just remember to close the lever for the drain.”

“Might as well use the rocks down by the river.”

“Just about. I'm on my last rinse.” She shut off the hose, flipped on the agitator and joined the older woman on the steps.

The McCartneys, she discovered, lived only an hour from her and Dante, in a small town in the East Bay. Paul was a research physician in pharmaceuticals (the sister field to Liz's) and Linda designed gardens. They talked about the hike—the sections they enjoyed the most, the condition of the trail and how much they were looking forward to a feast at dinner.

Liz turned the topic to celebrity gossip. “You've seen Matthew Brensen on the trail, right?”

“Are you sure it's him? I thought it was, but Paul said no. It seemed so unlikely.”

“He's training for a part.”

“He doesn't look very happy in his work.”

Liz laughed.

Linda said, “What about those others? The huge guy and his brother, maybe?”

“Oh, them. You haven't talked to them?”

“We've been steering clear. They give me the creeps.”

At last, confirmation. “Me, too. Was it something they did, or just a feeling?”

“A feeling, mostly. But last night we camped near them. Couldn't find anywhere else and we were wiped out.”

“We saw where they were. Off the trail a ways, right on Bear Creek.”

“Yeah, there. They made a big fire, which was fine because it's low enough. We don't make fires because we're too old and go straight to bed.” She chuckled. “Anyway, we could smell them cooking something. Smelled like meat.”

“Meat? Do you think they brought it from Red's?”

“That's what Paul said at first, but Red's was four days earlier. So I got out my binoculars—Paul gave me these fantastic ones for backpacking—and spied on them.” She shrugged, excusing herself. “They were roasting an animal.”

“An animal? What kind of an animal?”

“Bigger than a squirrel and smaller than a deer. We figured it was a marmot.”

“A marmot? That is so gross.”

“And illegal.”

“Maybe not. Marmots are rodents and this is national forest, not a national park.”

“But it's still gross.”

“Extremely.”

“We didn't think they'd shot it, though. Someone would hear a gun go off, don't you think?”

“Maybe.” Liz related the story of Rodell's injury and the pistol she thought she saw in his pack.

“I guess the good news is we've seen the last of them.”

“And no more marmot kebabs.”

Liz enjoyed getting to know Linda, but by the time she finished the laundry she was starving. She followed Dante into the low-ceilinged dining room, and the aroma of barbecued ribs nearly knocked her over. Her eyes went to the buffet, crammed with platters of corn, potatoes, bread, beans and three different salads. Her stomach jumped for joy. She and Dante had carried as much food as the bear cans would hold, but not enough to compensate for the calories they'd burned. She estimated she'd lost at least five pounds. And tonight she'd do her best to put it all back on.

Her plate loaded for the first round, she scanned the long tables for a spot for two and noticed Brensen. To her chagrin, he waved them over. Maybe the food would make him less irascible. Dante stepped over the bench and sat beside Brensen, and Liz took a seat across from them.

Brensen introduced the couple next to him: his agent, Woody, a middle-aged man with an artfully unshaven face, and an almond-eyed blonde named Katarina. She had an Eastern European look and was not quite young enough to be Woody's daughter. Both were dressed in premium outdoor wear that had never seen weather, much less mud.

“They're here to check up on me,” Brensen said, slathering butter on a chunk of bread. “Make sure I'm not cheating.”

Woody dragged the butter dish away. “Or eating.”

Dante said, “He's not allowed to eat?”

“They're shooting the movie backward. When he gets to Whitney, we need him skinny and tan, and—”

“—and fucking fed up,” Brensen added, his mouth full.

“—and then he can start eating again.”

Liz said, “I wouldn't worry about it. The John Muir Trail is a mobile fat farm.” She turned her attention to her plate. The food was delicious and she wanted to make sure she got seconds before they cleared the buffet.

“Just riding in here was enough for me,” Woody said. “I could've eaten the horse.”

“That's terrible, Woody,” Katarina said, in a teasing tone.

Brensen addressed Dante and Liz. “I was just telling them about Payton and Eli.”

“Rodell,” she said. “Payton and Eli are quarterbacks.”

“Rodell?” said Woody. “Seriously? I couldn't make that up.”

Brensen snorted. “Yeah, right? The Dubious Brothers. Did they get off the hill?”

“We think so,” Dante said. “We haven't seen them since we got here.” He changed the subject, probably not wanting to remind Brensen he'd behaved badly toward Rodell. “So, Woody, what's the news from the real world?”

“Well, the last couple days there's been a shitstorm surrounding General Petraeus. Resigned from directing the CIA for bonking his biographer.”

“He led the surge in Iraq, right?” Dante said.

“Gives new meaning to the word ‘embedded,'” Liz quipped.

Everyone laughed, except Dante. “I suppose they are both married.”

Woody said, “Uh-huh. With kids I think. And get this. The title of the biography is
All In
.”

Liz nearly spat out her water. “That's too much. I guess he's regretting not keeping his boots on the ground.”

Woody nodded. “And it's not only the two of them. There's a whole network of army bigwigs and rich socialites who've been partying in Tampa and stealing kisses. Or whatever.”

Dante shook his head. “It's disgusting.”

“Way of the world, my friend,” Brensen said.

“Well, it shouldn't be. Petraeus took an oath. I'm talking about the one to his wife. And I'm guessing he's a Christian, so in front of God, too.”

Liz kept her eyes on her plate, but detected the others exchanging glances.

Dante went on. “What? Is it wrong to expect someone, especially a leader, to show some moral strength?”

“You can expect all you want,” Woody said, “but choirboys are outnumbered by ordinary louts five to one.”

“Ten to one,” Brensen said.

“I already counted you twice, Brensen.”

“I think Dante is a romantic,” Katarina said.

“Maybe I am, but that's not the point. After all, people choose to get married. No one forces them to. Then they behave immorally and everyone shrugs. It's the same as athletes taking performance-enhancing drugs.”

Liz said, “Although if everyone takes them, the playing field is level.”

“And if everyone bonks everyone else,” Brensen said, “then everyone's a cheat and it doesn't matter.”

“We're almost there,” Woody said, “because I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter who the general screws. Except to the networks. They're having a field day.”

“I believe his wife would disagree with you,” Dante said. “And so would God.”

“You speak for God?” Katarina asked, as if it were fine with her if he did.

“No, but Petraeus will be asking for forgiveness. I can't speak for his wife, but I wouldn't be surprised if God was getting extremely tired of people standing in his house and taking vows they don't have the will to keep.”