“This is the most satisfying meal I’ve ever had,” Oscar said, and he didn’t sound like he was kidding. They sat on boulders, swatting away the occasional bug, and ate like they hadn’t had a meal in days.

“This will make it better,” Todd said. He pulled out a flask and took a draw, then held it toward Oscar.

“What is it?” Oscar asked.

“Bourbon.”

He let Todd pour him a drink, took a sip, and screwed up his face. Todd poured Tracy a shot and then offered some to Gwen, who waved the flask away.

“Are you sure? It’ll help you sleep,” Todd said.

Gwen laughed, or tried to. “If it was wine, I’d take you up on it. But I don’t think I’m going to need much help.”

“Yeah, what a day, huh?” Oscar said.

“Fun, though, right?” said Tracy.

“Definitely,” Todd said. “Thank you, Tracy. Thanks to all of you, actually. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

“Me too. I love being out here,” Tracy said. She looked at the peaks behind the lake. “I can’t wait to see what’s up there.”

“More mountains, right?” said Oscar.

“Right. Then the next pass, and the next one.”

“What is it exactly that you want to see?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know,” said Tracy. “Beyond.”

When they were done, they packed their food, trash, and toiletries into their bear canisters, and hid them in various rocky depressions well away from camp. Then they sat and watched the sun go down, saw the peaks that framed the lake set afire with golden light. Everything looked brighter and more defined in this glow. Gwen could see the golds and reds in the rock, the pink and orange of the clouds. The sky changed constantly, and she thought she’d never get tired of looking. It was light until almost nine.

“Well, I’m beat,” Oscar said. “I’m hitting the sack.”

“Me too,” Todd said. “In fact, I’m asleep already.”

“I’m going to look at our maps and figure out our plan for tomorrow,” Tracy said.

“You go right ahead,” said Oscar. And then the three of them crawled into their respective tents, moving around with their headlamps on, the circles of light hitting the tents from inside.

Gwen stayed up and stared at the sky. The night came on quickly now. The stars began to reveal themselves, and as the fire died down to embers and the headlamps went out, their camp was submerged in darkness. Except it wasn’t totally dark, for there was still a slice of moon, and now the sky was alive with stars and cut straight across by a cottony ribbon of white, which she realized with astonishment was the Milky Way. She had never seen the Milky Way before; she hadn’t known it was actually real. Here in the mountains, she was filled with a peace that she got from nothing else—not work, not friends, not prayer. She was amazed at where she was, among these towering peaks, in a place that hadn’t been shaped by human hands. Although she felt small, there was a comfort in this feeling, something grounding in the vastness of the world. Being outdoors gave her a feeling of equilibrium and grace—a sense of closeness to God—that she was supposed to feel at church, and usually didn’t.

Suddenly a point of light shot diagonally across the sky—a shooting star. And then a few minute later, another. Her heart leapt. How long ago had these stars actually existed? How long had it taken for their light to reach her? Tonight, farther into the wilderness, she was a little less afraid. Making it through the first day had made her more confident that she could meet tomorrow’s challenges, and the next day’s, and complete the thirty miles. She was satisfied—and tired. After one long last drink of water, she opened the door on her side of the tent, crawled into her sleeping bag, and fell asleep.

Chapter Eight

Oscar

When Oscar’s alarm went off he did not wake gently; the state of sleep shifted into the state of pain. He lay on his back, eyes closed, and couldn’t believe how much he hurt—his shoulders, his neck, his upper and middle back, his pecs and abdominal muscles, quadriceps and hamstrings, even the muscles of his ass.

Once, as a teenager, he’d fallen off a motorcycle and when he woke up the next morning, he’d felt like this. He let out a groan and realized he wasn’t alone in the tent. But there was no movement beside him—Todd was still asleep, his feet wrapped in a narrow mummy bag directly at Oscar’s head. And now Oscar remembered the snoring. It had started as a low rumble and then built into a sound like an eighteen-wheeler idling right beside him. Todd had snored the first night too, back at the trailhead. But nothing like this—this had been a sound louder than Oscar thought a human could make. He’d tightened the top of his sleeping bag around his head, stuck his fingers in his ears. Nothing had helped. The snoring continued, despite his not-so-gentle nudges to try and get Todd to stop. No wonder all the bears had stayed away.

He must have fallen asleep, though, because now he was waking up. Slowly, carefully, he unzipped his bag and slid backward out of it, opened the flap on his side of the tent, and rolled out. It was about ten past six now, clear, and cold. He understood that they were in a beautiful place—the lake was still in shadow, the meadow covered with a layer of dew—or was that frost? He heard the sound of the river and the morning calls of birds, but he was aware of all this only vaguely. Mostly what he felt was his own misery. A vise seemed to be closing in on both sides of his head. And he felt like a piece of plywood was lodged in his back, holding him rigid, making it impossible for him to turn his head or even lift his arms. He thought of his earlier bravado and was annoyed at his own stupidity. He no longer had any illusions about kicking the mountain’s ass. His ass was officially kicked.

“I feel like fucking hell,” he said aloud. But softly. He knew Tracy would have no sympathy. It was her job to push people past what they thought they could do, and suddenly he felt annoyed at her for not being more understanding about their limits and fears; for pairing him with a Westside white guy who was also an epic snorer; for bringing them out here where they hadn’t seen another soul, not one damned person, on a route that for all he knew might lead to nowhere. And Gwen. A nice person, for sure, and not bad company. But she was no more suited to being out here than his mother was. Oscar knew she had struggled yesterday, had watched her stagger under the weight of her pack—and yet she’d kept her spirits up and he was grudgingly impressed. But did she have to be so damned excited about everything? Yes, it was pretty out here; that was not a news flash. But he didn’t get her reaction to the hawk and the fish. So what if the hawk caught its lunch? That’s what hawks did. If they all thought hawks were such a novelty they should come to Glassell Park, where the big-ass pushy birds were always circling overhead, swooping down into the canyon to catch squirrels or rats.

And Todd. Okay, well, Todd wasn’t as bad as he’d first expected. He seemed to know what he was doing, and Oscar had to admit, after falling behind yesterday, that Todd was in better shape than him. And he was turning out to be a pretty decent guy. But his cluelessness was typical and infuriating. How could he be so dismissive of things that were glaringly obvious? He probably didn’t even notice the weird looks that their party had gotten at the ranger station.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pang of missing Claudia. He regretted not calling her before heading to the trailhead, not appreciating her enough in general. They’d met four months ago during Lily’s regular checkup, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed the nurse taking his daughter’s temperature if Lily hadn’t blurted out, “You’re so pretty!” Claudia had blushed and said, “So are you,” and then Oscar blushed too, especially when he saw that his daughter was right.