“We’ve got to move quick,” Tracy said, “before it reaches us.”

“We can’t outrun it,” said Todd. “It’s going to be here any minute.”

“What do we do?” Gwen asked, trying not to sound panicked. Before the trip, she’d worried about lightning as much as she’d thought about bears. She had convinced herself the fear was irrational.

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Tracy said. “We could try to go back down to tree cover.”

Todd shook his head. “No. We’ll never make it down in time.”

“We need to get near some boulders then, not be the highest thing.”

“Nothing here is really big enough.”

“So what should we do?” Gwen asked again, and in the time before anyone answered, there was another burst of light, an actual bolt this time, nearly sideways, still contained by the cloud. As if the lightning were a new life trying to break from its shell, cracking the surface open from within. Then a few seconds later, a crash of thunder.

“We need to get up to that clump of trees!” Todd shouted. He was pointing toward a small stand of windblown pines. It still looked far away. The dog circled back and tried to press herself against him, tail between her legs.

“Are you supposed to be near trees in a lightning storm?” Oscar asked.

“Not a single tree. But a group of them is good.”

Gwen glanced over to the opposite range, which was still in the sun, even as the sky to the east grew dark. The clouds were building on each other, layer after layer, like an avalanche tumbling uphill. They now crossed over the top of the range, rain falling in wavering sheets. Gwen couldn’t believe how exposed they were, how helpless. They might have been pioneers, it might have been 1850, for all the defense they had against the elements.

“Let’s get moving,” Tracy urged. Another bolt of lightning, followed by thunder, which opened into itself, each crack fuller and deeper and louder than the last. The dog barked and did a panicked little dance around them.

They had switchbacked left in the direction of the trees, and now they attacked the slope at an angle. The wind picked up, howling as it swept through the canyon. It sounded like a living thing. Gwen tried not to look to her right at the approaching storm, but she couldn’t help it. In front of them a lone bird took off from the ground and was swept sideways and away, like a leaf.

A bright flash lit the entire sky, followed by thunder so loud Gwen thought the earth had cracked open. The sound traveled down into the valley, rolled and rumbled between the walls, turned a corner, and continued to rage. The echoes then joined with the original sound and thundered all over again.

“Let’s get a move on!” Tracy shouted, and she started to run, slipping with every third or fourth step.

The clouds swirled, black and gray, and now the last of the sun was blotted out. The sky was dark as night. This is not just seeing a thunderstorm, Gwen thought. This is coming face-to-face with one. This is entering the place where storms are made.

“We’re almost there!” Tracy yelled over the wind. The stand was maybe a hundred feet away. Then the sky went even darker and the storm was upon them.

Rain, harder and colder than any Gwen had ever known, soaked her to the skin. The wind blew her hair into her face; the straps of her pack whipped and hit her. Gwen cursed herself for leaving her rain gear behind. But then the sky went white again, blinding, followed by a crack of thunder so violent she felt her feet take leave of the ground.

They reached the trees and Todd yelled, “Throw your poles and your pack away from you! Crouch down on the ground! Put your hands behind your neck! And spread out!”

Gwen moved in frightened disbelief. Spread out? Leave the others when she wanted to huddle with them? But everyone else was moving, and so she did too, dropping her poles and her pack, scrambling twenty feet downhill, crouching between several trees and covering her head. The dog burrowed into the space between her legs and arms. Gwen had thought the trees would make her feel safer, but they were scrubby and small, and they whipped and tossed so violently she thought the wind might pull their roots from the ground. No matter what Todd said, she would have felt better under a wide-trunked pine.

“Don’t move, you guys!” Todd shouted. “Just stay like that! Hold tight!”

Another crack of thunder, then two quick flashes, followed by a deep, slow rumble, as if the gods had taken hold of the peaks and were shaking them. The ground trembled beneath Gwen’s feet and she started to pray, eyes closed, heart in her throat, choked with terror. She could hear Oscar praying too, pleading to see his family. She had never felt so powerless, so small. Up the slope, Tracy was letting loose a curse with every new flash of light. “Mother fucker!” she yelled after an especially close strike. “Move on, you fucking fuck!”

Gwen was shivering, and she felt the rain pelting her arms and head. The dog cried and trembled beneath her. Then the hair stood up on the back of her neck. There was an audible buzz in the air, electricity crackling around them.

“Strike coming!” Todd yelled, and then a light so bright and vivid that Gwen thought it was the end of the world. She heard screams, male and female, and knew that one of them was her own. The earth rocked and bucked as if from an earthquake. Then a sharp crack unlike the earlier sounds, the sound of wood giving, a crash of impact. Slowly Gwen opened her eyes. She felt herself uncertainly—arms, legs, head. She wasn’t hit. She looked at the dog, who peered up at her, mute with terror. She raised her head, against instructions, and found the others looking up too. A hundred feet away, there was a tree with a gash in its middle, the top half broken off, fire burning at the spot where the lightning had hit.

“Holy shit!” Tracy shouted, exhilarated.

“Keep your head down!” yelled Todd.

“Did you fucking see that?”

“Yes! Shut up and stay down!”

But that strike was the worst of it. The next few flashes were close but not directly upon them. Ten minutes later the heart of the storm had passed over them. Twenty minutes after that the rain had stopped. Now it fell on the lake where they’d refilled their water; Gwen saw the drops hit the mottled surface and then fall more gently, creating circles that expanded into each other. They watched the storm’s progress as it moved across the valley and over the opposite range—the dark clouds, the diminishing flashes of light. By now the rain had doused the fire in the tree, leaving a fresh black simmering scar and the scent of burned wood.

“You all okay?” Tracy called out as they stood up stiffly, shaking their limbs, taking account of themselves.

“That was fucking close,” Oscar said. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, seriously,” said Todd. “We were lucky.”

“I’ve never experienced anything like that,” Oscar laughed. “I almost pissed my pants!”

“I’ve been in thunderstorms before, but this was something else.” The dog ran over to Todd and shoved her head between his legs. He bent over and stroked her back.

“Is everyone okay?” Tracy asked again.

They all nodded. Gwen was still too shaken up to speak.

“That was amazing!” Tracy said, grinning.

Gwen looked at her, too tired to respond. Really, Tracy? she thought. She walked off without speaking, making her way back to where they’d discarded their things. She picked up her pack and poles, and brought them back to where the others stood. Tracy had recovered her pack too, and now she set up her stove behind a tree whose trunk and branches were folded in on themselves like a person in some elaborate yoga pose.

Todd pulled out his flask and unscrewed the top. “This’ll help us with the cold. And also with the shakes.”

They stayed for twenty minutes behind the shelter of trees, warming their bellies with tea and whiskey, reassuring the dog, standing around the concentrated heat coming from the stove, trying to dry their clothes. The storm was completely over the far ridge now, and the sky above them was clear and blue. The plants and trees in the canyon all looked fresh and new, the rocks were polished clean.