They got closer, closer, and the sky seemed closer too. Another fifty feet, another twenty, and then Tracy was there, standing on top like a bighorn sheep, gazing into the distance. Her posture didn’t exude the joy or relief that Gwen was already starting to feel. But maybe she was just too tired. Then Oscar gained the top, his shoulders slumped, and he fell to his knees. And when Gwen reached the top, she saw why.

There was a whole new canyon in front of them, another range on the other side. They were not at the easternmost part of the mountains, as they’d thought, but instead on a crest in the middle. The range they’d just climbed was so tall that it had obscured the view of everything beyond, and what was beyond was an even more imposing set of peaks. Looking down into this large new canyon, Gwen wondered if she was losing her mind. It was barren, at least a mile or two wide, with stretches of tundra but mostly hard gray rock. Here and there along the mountain walls were patches of snow. The small lake at the bottom was turquoise, a color she’d never seen before in nature. A third of it was covered with ice. The whole basin looked like a moonscape, a grayscale negative of the lush valley where they’d just been. She must be imagining this; she must have lost her mind.

But looking at her companions’ faces, she knew she wasn’t seeing things. Oscar covered his face with his good arm and rocked back and forth. Tracy shook her head, angry and speechless. And Gwen looked out at the stark unexpected view and felt despair rise up like a flood. She took off her pack and dropped to one knee, staring off into the distance. This close, she thought. We’d been this close. But they hadn’t been close at all. Walking out of this new canyon would take at least another day—and that would be with everyone at full strength, with adequate food and water. There was no way they could all make it down another slope, through a wide, exposed basin, and over the even sharper, more unwelcoming peaks on the other side. Her despair began to tighten into fear, into panic. Her eyes welled and she started to cry.

Chapter Seventeen

Oscar

He couldn’t escape the light; even when he closed his eyes, it reached behind his eyelids. Sometimes a solid screen of white, and sometimes spots, moving and swirling in front of him. He’d always loved the sun, but now, on the other side of the pass, it was punishing, relentless, as focused and hot as a laser beam. And there was nothing to temper it, no shade to protect them. But at least his clothes were dry now—even hot to the touch. Two miles closer to the sun than usual, he might be baked alive.

They had stayed at the pass for twenty minutes, resting, trying to figure out what to do. Or Tracy and Gwen had tried; he had stayed silent. It was taking all his energy just to stay upright, to not give way to pain; it was so big in him that he couldn’t remember being without it. Vaguely he’d followed the conversation. Should they light a fire and make smoke for rescuers to see? Should they all keep going? Should Gwen, who wasn’t hurt, continue on by herself? But they had nothing to burn and no rescuers were in sight and Gwen didn’t want to leave them. There was really no choice but to go.

He didn’t care what they decided. He was thinking of Lily, her huge grin whenever he bent to pick her up, the way he felt when he carried her on his back. Of his mother, when he was growing up, coming home from a long day’s work, but never too tired to make him a meal or help him with his homework. He could sit here with these thoughts until he drifted off to nothing. He did not want to move anymore.

“Hey, wake up!” There was a nudge to his calf. “We need to get going. Do you think you can keep walking?”

He shook his head no. No, he wanted to stay here.

“Oscar.” This was Gwen, a gentler voice. “We’ve got to keep moving. If you could make it down to the lake, we could get you some water.”

He said nothing.

“Oscar, how does your shoulder feel?”

He tried to shrug but then felt a shooting pain and cried out. Someone was standing behind him. “Let me look.”

His bandage was being lifted away. He could feel them hovering. Was Todd there? No, he wasn’t. Oscar couldn’t recall where he’d gone.

“How is it?” he heard Tracy ask.

“It’s starting to look green. Bleeding stopped, but it’s getting infected.”

He imagined little creatures, millions of them, feasting on his flesh, then moving on to colonize other parts of his body. Hearty, mountain-infecting agents, different from those in the city. This made him laugh, and he heard the others’ silence. He laughed more, and Gwen said, “We’ve got to get him out of here.”

Then they were going down the slope. It was easier walking than what they’d just done. The ground was more solid here, less scree, and they were headed downhill. Someone had his arms—he couldn’t tell who—and his legs still seemed to work. He looked down at his feet, his scuffed boots and dirt-streaked legs. Are those mine? he thought. They’re moving so well. As if someone else is controlling them.

It was scorching hot, even at eight in the morning, the sun sending waves of heat that reflected off the ground, so the heat also came up from under them. His clothes stuck to him, soaked with sweat and blood. Was that his own odor he smelled? Maybe it was the flesh of his gunshot wound, rotting. The organisms killing him bit by bit.

He was vaguely aware of the canyon itself, the bigger peaks beyond. There was so much beauty here, so much wilderness. It had been arrogant to think he could handle it. But if he was to stop and rest here and never wake up, this wasn’t a bad place to die.

He didn’t know how long they walked or how far down they went. He knew only that the sun beating down on him was just that, a beating, punishing and brutal and harsh. The skin of his face was so burned it was starting to flake off; his lips and the underside of his nose were scorched too. He was thirsty, so thirsty, and so very dry; his tongue felt like a pillow in his mouth. He’d long ago lost his sunglasses and his vision faded in and out; sometimes he saw the canyon and mountains, sometimes nothing. They headed left, his right leg straight and his left one bent as he walked downhill. Just when his muscles started to clench, they reversed themselves and headed to the right.

He had no sense of time passing, whether they’d walked one hour or several. But then they were at the bottom of the canyon and there was a bit of green again, patches of tundra, and small, sturdy vine-like plants with tiny pink flowers. And a stream, coming out of the bottom of the lake—the others set him down carefully and rushed to the edge, drinking handfuls of the water and dunking their heads in. With the sun reflecting off it, the stream looked like a river of light. The dog wandered out into the middle and drank. Gwen filled a bottle and brought it to Oscar, holding it to his lips. He tilted his head backward and gulped, water spilling over his face and running down his chin. It felt shockingly cold and good. He gestured to his head, and Gwen poured some on his hair, and he opened his eyes for a moment. He saw Gwen, her face streaked with dirt but alert and determined. He saw Tracy, sitting at the side of the stream, body curled in pain. Gwen left him and poured water over Tracy’s head too, tried to wash out her wounds. Then she went to the edge of the water and splashed her own face and arms, finally peeling off her shirt, stepping into the stream, and sitting down in it.

“I wish we had more food,” Tracy said.