By the time they were finished, it was almost five. The sun had moved beyond the canyon wall, leaving them in shade, and between that and the elevation—reported by Oscar as 6,728 feet—it was suddenly cool. Todd dug his fleece jacket out of his pack and put it on. But before he walked back to the fire pit, he looked at their campsite. It was a pleasing sight. Two tents, his green Mountain Hardwear and Tracy’s orange Big Agnes, against a backdrop of the Pollack tree, the tall shading pines. The canyon was maybe a quarter-mile wide; the steep granite walls must have risen a thousand feet. Behind him, the rippling creek. They were tucked away in a little fold of the Sierras, and he liked how this setup looked, and also how it felt. They were out in the wild, unreachable, and no one except the ranger even knew where they were. He tried to imagine the guys from the country club in this setting, and couldn’t.

By the time he reached the fire pit, Tracy and Oscar had already made a pyramid of logs and stuffed twigs and newspaper into the cracks between them. Tracy struck a match and touched the paper in several places; it blackened and curled, smoke risking quickly, and then the paper and the kindling lit with flame. There was a rusted grate just over the flame, strong enough to hold a pot full of water and pasta. For a moment Todd thought the fire pit was a little too intact, too functional, for a place that hadn’t been used in many years. But he let the thought pass. Tracy tended to the pasta, and then to the sauce, while everyone else retrieved their plates and utensils and set up their camp chairs. When the food was ready, Tracy used a sweatshirt to protect her hand and carefully lifted the pot. After dumping the water thirty feet from the fire, she set both pots on a large flat rock and served everyone their meals.

“Last dinner not out of a bag for three days,” Tracy noted.

Gwen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Last beer too,” added Oscar, taking a swig from the bottle he’d pulled out of the cooler.

It seemed to Todd that this was the best meal he’d had in months. Tracy’s pasta and sauce tasted wonderful, but even better was the setting. They were surrounded by forest, beside a pristine creek, on a small patch of land hugged by canyon walls, which were dark and looming now, like sleeping giants. Through the canopy of trees they could see the first-quarter moon, so bright it was as if what they saw at home was a poor imitation. He felt happier than he had in a long time.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his bottle. “Here’s to our first night in the mountains.”

“Here’s to Tracy for making dinner and driving,” Oscar said. “And for organizing the trip.”

Tracy leaned over and hit him on the knee, and he struck back at her, laughing. “Well, here’s to all of you for stepping out of your normal lives. Out of the gym too—and into the real world.”

“Here’s to getting home safely,” Gwen said.

Todd could hear her nervousness. Would she be able to do this trip? “For sure,” he said, reassuringly. “We’ll get home safe.”

They ate hungrily and washed their meals down with more beer—all except Gwen, who drank Sprite. Then Todd broke out his own surprise—fixings for s’mores—and they roasted marshmallows on switches, slid them between graham crackers that were loaded with squares of chocolate, and ate. With some beer in him, away from the city, Oscar wasn’t so bad, Todd decided. Oscar told stories of his real estate exploits—the times he’d shown houses and walked in on people having sex; the bitterly divorcing couple who’d only speak to each other through him; the mysterious person who frequented open houses and shit in all the toilets. He had them rolling, and even Gwen finally started to relax.

Around seven thirty, Tracy said they should clean up for the night, and so they took some water from the creek and washed their dishes, dispersing the water away from the fire and tents. They stuffed all their food into their bear canisters and covered the empty cooler with jackets in the back of the truck. Tracy reminded them to put their toiletries in the bear canisters too, and Gwen, wide-eyed, asked why.

“Because bears are drawn to anything with scent,” Tracy answered. “Even toothpaste, even deodorant.”

Todd remembered a show he’d watched with the kids on the Discovery Channel, two black bears ripping a car apart as easily as a beer can to reach a discarded Snickers wrapper. “It should be fine,” he assured her. “If no one’s been out here for a while, the bears have no reason to visit.”

“I’ll be all right,” Gwen said gamely. “Besides, if a bear comes down from the mountains, he’ll get to your tent first.”

Todd laughed, happily surprised. “I see how it is. So much for teamwork, huh?”

“I’m just saying.”

“He’s right, we shouldn’t see them,” Tracy said. “But I have bear spray, just in case.”

“Bear spray?” Gwen repeated.

“Yeah, it’s super-intense pepper spray, ursine strength.” She reached into the bag beside her and pulled out what looked like a miniature fire extinguisher—red, cylindrical, eight or ten inches long. “I brought it just for you. I don’t usually carry it on trips in the Sierras—it’s more for grizzly country. But I figured it would make you feel safer.”

“Thanks,” Gwen said, “it does.”

Soon they were sitting in their chairs again, staring at the fire. They heard a small but growing chorus of frogs, singing to each other and the night. They decided on a wake-up time—six—and a departure time of eight. They pulled out the topo map and tried to link it to the hand-drawn map, but the features in the landscape didn’t easily match. Then they followed the trail to Lost Canyon on the hand-drawn map and estimated how far they’d go the next day. If they broke the route into four somewhat even parts, they’d reach Lost Canyon on day three.

Todd felt the reality of the trip setting in. Tomorrow they were going into the unknown wild with nothing but a hand-drawn map. He was nervous—when he vacationed with his family, he plotted out routes and rest stops and stopping points with to-the-hour precision. This trip was different—less predictable, less certain. But maybe their change in plans was a blessing. He’d wanted to see how he would do if left to his own devices. And now here they were. As he crawled into his sleeping bag in the cramped intimate space of a two-man tent shared with someone he’d just met that day, he felt a surge of anticipation and excitement. Tomorrow, he’d be walking farther away from his life—or maybe farther into it.

Chapter Seven

Gwen

Gwen woke to total stillness, a quiet so deep and pure she wasn’t sure that she was really awake. There were no passing cars, no distant sirens, no voices floating in from the street. As she listened with her eyes closed, she realized that the absence of human sound didn’t mean it was silent. Birds were singing—three, no, four different kinds—trees were rustling in the wind, and she could hear the steady murmur of the creek. She opened her eyes and saw that Tracy was already gone. She wiggled out of her sleeping bag, zipped open the door of the tent, and peered out. A clear day—up between the canyon walls the sky was icy blue. But the canyon itself was still in shade, and when Gwen stepped out, she rubbed her arms and bounced on her toes at the cold. There was no sign of movement from the other tent, no sign of Tracy, either. She looked at her watch—5:47—and was glad that she had thirteen minutes before Oscar’s alarm woke the guys up and their morning tasks began. She walked into the woods to squat and pee—her original shyness about this act somewhat cured by long hikes in LA. Then she made her way past the tents and up the creek, where she found a boulder at the edge of the water and sat.