All of this gave Todd the bit of confidence he needed. He’d move forward even in daylight. He decided to take one last drink and wet his cap again, and as he knelt and bent over the stream, he caught sight of his reflection. His beard had grown in blond and gray, and his unloosed hair was shaggy. He looked like a mountain man, and the sight pleased him. The firmness of his legs and shoulders pleased him too. Even with a sore knee, and in need of food and sleep, he felt better in his body than he ever did at home. After checking to make sure his water bottle was full and the rifle’s safety back on, he set off across the floor of the valley. He wasn’t totally at ease—not completely sure that A.J. wasn’t out there somewhere. And if they had already been tracked by an unknown man, who else might they encounter? But still, he felt more comfortable. He was headed in the right direction. And he’d killed their most immediate threat.

At the foot of the slope, he looked up and assessed the range again. Their path of yesterday had been more challenging than he had expected—lots of loose rock and unstable ground. He’d start to the right of where they’d gone yesterday, and head as straight as he could up the slope. There were large boulders strewn here and there, the same ones that had protected him from the moonlight. He could duck behind these if there were shots.

The hiking was not any easier. Like yesterday, he’d take a step and then slip back again, working to keep his balance. But going nearly straight up, he was gaining the ridge faster. He labored forty-five minutes, an hour, before he took a break—just in time to watch the others go over the pass. When he stopped, the sweat was streaming down his face. His clothes were soaked. It was only eight a.m., but the sun was harsh at this high elevation, and he was hiking right into it. He drank from his bottle and wiped the sweat off his forehead. When was the last time he’d bathed? When was the last time he’d actually slept, or eaten something other than a Clif Bar? He couldn’t remember anymore, and everything about his other life seemed far away, unreal. There was only here and now, himself and the mountains. Just this range to get over, and he was free.

He hiked for another hour or so, making slow progress, stopping more often than he would have liked to catch his breath. When the hell would he get to the top of this thing? He looked up to pick out the lowest saddle. He scanned the range from the left, where the others had gone over, to the middle, all the way to the right. There were a couple of gaps in this direction that looked closer than the area where he’d last seen the others. He decided to head to a saddle that was slightly to his right, so that he wouldn’t cross too far from where they had.

Then he saw something moving near the top of the ridge. It was a person, traversing up the slope toward the same gap Todd had spotted. He was moving surprisingly fast. The figure was too far away to make out much detail, but Todd thought he recognized the jeans and white shirt. A.J. The man was up near the top, and soon he’d be on the other side. He had gotten loose somehow, and must have gone through the valley by a different route, or moved across it at night, when Todd and the others were preoccupied with who they thought was A.J., in the woods. Now, he was fifteen or twenty minutes from cresting the ridge within range of the others, who had no idea that he was still alive. They’d be caught unaware, completely surprised. Picking them off would be child’s play.

Todd had to warn them. He had to let them know that something was wrong. And he had only one way to do it. If he used his ammunition now, he might not have what he needed later—for killing game or defending himself. But he didn’t have a choice. He stepped behind a large boulder, just in case. Then he pointed his rifle toward the sky and fired and fired and fired.

Chapter Nineteen

Gwen

They walked like drunks or wounded soldiers, arm in arm and weaving. They would take a few steps and then stagger, stop, collect themselves again. Gwen, who was in the middle, yanked them up to keep them from falling. The midmorning sun was direct and powerful, and although they’d had their fill at the river, she was still parched with thirst. Even the dog was tired, trotting along with her head down and her tongue lolling out. Gwen looked up at the granite walls ahead of them and they started to blend and swim. Was this heat exposure? Exhaustion? Delirium? Suddenly she pictured her bed, the welcoming softness of it, the clean sheets, the luxurious new comforter she’d bought. She closed her eyes and almost fell into the image of it. With great effort, she pulled herself back to where she was—trying to get her friends across this moonlike landscape and out of the mountains.

They crossed a particularly swept-clean bit of ground. Fifty feet later, in a kind of gulley, they reached a cluster of scraggly, wind-blown trees. They stepped beneath the spindly branches until they found a spot of shade. Never had Gwen been more grateful for shade—she had longed for it like water. Several of the trees were tangled together at their tops, barely above their heads; there was a fallen, dried-out log to one side. They unlinked arms and all sat down behind the log, Gwen helping ease Tracy and Oscar to the ground before collapsing herself. She sat with her knees bent, arms curled around her legs, the dog sprawling out at her feet.

They didn’t speak for several minutes. Then Tracy said, “You’ll have to go on by yourself.”

Gwen forced herself to lift her head. “What?”

“You’re going to have to leave us and go on by yourself. There’s no way Oscar and I can make it over this range.” Tracy was lying on her back now, one arm holding her ribs, the other hiding her face.

Gwen felt a welling up of fear. “Maybe someone’s looking for us. Maybe someone’s coming soon.”

“No one’s coming,” said Tracy, and the fear in Gwen’s chest curdled and turned. She tried to remember how long they’d been out. Three days? Four? It was still within the time they were supposed to be out. Tracy was right. No one was coming for them.

“I can’t leave you,” Gwen said, feeling sick to her stomach.

“You have to.”

“But I don’t know where to go.”

“Just find the easiest way up and aim for one of the gaps between the peaks.”

“I can’t do this, Tracy. You could, but I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You’ve been doing it already.”

Gwen glanced up at the slope—it looked steep and unscalable. She’d barely been able to make it this far.

“I’d love to be the one to go,” Tracy said, struggling to sit up. “But my ribs are killing me and I can’t really breathe. It’s got to be you, Gwen. You can make it. Everything you’ve been doing has been leading up to this.”

She looked at Gwen directly now, and there was a nakedness that Gwen had never seen before. Her cheek was scraped and her eyes were dull, her hair as dry as straw. Gwen knew that Tracy was right. She had known it, had known it for hours, ever since Tracy had fallen. Then Tracy turned away, and the moment was gone.

“What do you think is the best way?” Gwen asked.

Tracy took a few seconds to answer, and Gwen realized with alarm that she was trying to gather enough breath to speak. “I think the lowest part is pretty much straight above us,” she said finally. “I was looking from the stream. There’s that peak to the left, but there’s a lower, less jagged section there in the middle.” She paused and took several labored breaths. “Then once you’re over, you can figure out what to do. Maybe start a fire for smoke. Or you can just head straight down toward the Owens Valley. It’s probably ten or fifteen miles.”