“We better get moving, guys,” Gwen said. “If I stay here much longer, I may not be able to get up again.”

Tracy packed the stove, and they all looked up toward the top of the range. From where they stood, they could make out a small gap between the peaks, half-covered with a field of snow.

“How long do you think it’ll take to get up there?” Gwen asked. She’d learned that she couldn’t really judge the time it took to cover any distance. Ground she’d thought would take a long time they’d covered quickly; other spots that seemed close had taken hours to reach.

Todd squinted toward the top. In the poststorm light, Gwen noticed his sandy gray stubble, the scruffy hair beneath his ball cap. He looked like a lion who was just past his prime, weather-worn and tired, but still strong.

“Might be two more hours,” he said. “It looks like a couple of miles, if we head left and then traverse. But there’s no telling what the going is like.”

“Looks shorter to me,” Tracy said. “And there may be places we can scramble straight up.”

“It’ll take what it takes,” Gwen said, surprising herself. She was sick of this conjecture. Even though she’d asked the question, she now realized she didn’t care about the answer. What did it matter if it was two miles or twenty? They needed to get over the damned pass, was all. They needed to get out of these mountains.

They started up the slope in the same order as before, with the dog again leading the way. Gwen’s clothes were wet and clammy, which was bearable in the sun, but each breeze sent a shiver through her and made her worry for the coming of night. She pulled the bottom of her shirt away from her body to help things dry; she tried to ignore the wet squishing in her shoes. But it felt good to be moving again, planting one foot in front of the other, inching toward the pass, toward safety. She felt her legs getting stronger with every step. She felt her lungs expand and take the oxygen they needed from the air.

Soon they were above the tree line, the only plants the hearty, close-to-the-ground wildflowers that might have been here since the birth of the range. Above them the spires loomed sharp and foreboding, and it scared Gwen to look at them, so she looked instead to the west. They could see the whole valley they’d walked through, shadows starting to engulf the far end.

They walked fifteen minutes, twenty, moving steadily up the slope, their clothes finally beginning to dry. They were hiking about fifteen feet apart now, not speaking, each lost in his or her own thoughts. When I get home, Gwen told herself, I’m going to take a long, hot shower and fall asleep in my bed. She couldn’t wait to get back to the ordinary, to the habits of everyday life. She imagined, with an eagerness that startled her, going back to work and seeing the kids.

Suddenly Oscar’s shoulder jerked forward and he fell to the ground. He hit with a thud and cried out in pain.

“Oscar! Are you okay?” Gwen yelled, snapping out of her reverie. He must have lost his footing or sprained an ankle.

Then she heard the report. She stared at Tracy blankly as she registered what this meant; instinctively she dropped to the ground just as something whizzed past her head and another gunshot echoed through the canyon.

Someone was upon her and she realized it was Todd; he pushed her down and covered her with his body.

“Keep your head down!” Tracy yelled, and they did, and then the three of them crawled over to Oscar. He was on his left side, facing upslope, hand holding his right shoulder, curled into himself and moaning. Blood flowed from between his clenched fingers.

“Let me look,” Tracy said, but he didn’t respond so she pried his hand away. Gently Tracy and Todd turned him onto his back. Gwen saw the ripped sleeve, the fabric soaked with blood. The others held him and peeled back the sleeve, revealing a bloody groove of ripped flesh. The mountain lion on his shoulder had been cut in half.

“He fucking shot me!” Oscar cried. “I can’t fucking believe this!”

Gwen couldn’t believe it either. She lay speechless as the others tended to him. The dog had run back down the hill and now she settled on her belly, staring, as if even she were aware of the gravity of the situation.

“The bullet only grazed you, Oscar,” Todd said. “It took a chunk out of your shoulder, but it didn’t stay in.”

“Where the fuck is he?” Tracy asked, raising her head and trying to look into the canyon.

Todd pulled her down again. “Careful!” Then: “I think down there somewhere,” pointing to a spot in the general direction of where they’d started that afternoon. “There, or one of the side slopes. Somewhere in range. Can’t be more than a couple thousand feet.”

“A.J. must have gotten loose,” Tracy said. “He must have had another gun.”

“I knew we should have killed him,” Oscar said, writhing in pain. “Goddamnit, we should have taken him out when we had the chance.”

Gwen felt the accusation there but tried not to let it bother her.

“Save your strength,” said Todd, holding him still. “We need to get you out of here.”

“We need to get all of us to a less exposed spot,” Tracy said. “There’s some rocks up there—do they look big enough for us to hide behind?”

Gwen and Todd looked to where she was pointing, at a small pile of boulders about forty feet away.

“They’ll have to do,” Todd said.

It seemed like the longest distance she’d ever travel. They started moving on their bellies through small rocks so sharp it was like crawling through glass, and immediately a shot rang out, and then another, one ricocheting off a rock just below them. Gwen saw the dust flying up from the impact; she heard the others swear. She had managed to gather both her poles and one of Todd’s; the other had skittered down the slope. Oscar, with Todd’s help, pulled himself along with his one good arm. Todd still had the rifle over his shoulder and he glanced down a few times, as if gauging whether the shooter was within range. Tracy reached for her gun but Todd yelled, “No! Let’s get to the rocks.”

We are not really doing this, Gwen thought. We are not really crawling on our stomachs on an exposed mountainside, trying to avoid getting shot. But they were, they were, and somehow between praying and careful movement and plain good luck, they made it to the cluster of boulders. Several of them were couch-sized, and as they slid behind them, another shot hit a boulder nearby, a small cloud of dust and tiny rock bits bursting out from the spot of impact. Then the shooting stopped. A.J. or whoever the shooter was must have realized that they were protected, at least for now.

Todd and Tracy got Oscar behind the boulders and laid him flat on the ground. Tracy balled up her jacket and placed it under his head. The boulders were tall enough that they could sit up safely, and so they did. Todd looked grim, and even Tracy had a different expression on her face, as if even her most outlandish hopes for the trip had not included this.

Oscar was breathing fast, eyes closed, repeating, “Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

He might die out here, Gwen thought. They might all die out here—it was looking more and more likely. They were trapped by a gunman on an exposed mountainside, with little food, no water, and no path of escape. She thought of her family, her friends at work—all the people whose lives would continue without her. She thought of what they’d think if she died.

But she couldn’t give in to panic—not now, not yet. There were things to be done, there was help to give, and this is what she’d focus on. She twisted around to her pack and unzipped the main compartment. She pulled out her first aid kid, scanned the contents, and quickly got to work.