She looked left again, then above and right. There was no clear way. But she had to move, for the sake of progress and to quell her own panic. So she took a tentative step to the right, finding a two-inch ledge and stepping down on it, first with a little weight, and then with more. It held. She reached out with her right hand and found a protruding piece of rock. She pulled, and it stayed firmly in place. She found small ledges for her left foot and hand and moved onto them; they were solid. Slowly, carefully, she made her way across the rock face, looking up at the granite landing every once in a while to make sure it was really there. She felt alternatingly terrified and powerful—amazed to be doing what she was doing, and then disbelieving. Never, never could she have imagined herself like this.

Just then an image of Robert came up in her mind, from the last time she had seen him. He’d visited her office and sat slumped in a chair, a strange, wry smile on his face. Later she understood that he had come to say goodbye. She’d been so sad this last year, but now she knew how much she still had to fight for. She wanted—she wanted very much—to live.

Gwen’s feet were throbbing, her hands hurt, and her arms and legs were burning. But she was confident now that she’d make it. She’d learned to bend her legs to lower her center of gravity, and that helped her keep her balance. After the near fall she knew not to look down. She looked only where she was going and then at the granite slab again. Just a bit farther, she told herself. Just a bit more and I’ll be safe.

Suddenly it was as if a path had opened up and the rest of the way was clear. She knew which way to go, she followed it, and then she was lying facedown on the slab, holding onto the warm rock with outstretched arms and limp with relief and exhaustion. She pulled herself up and peered back over the edge at the cliff face. It was steep, nearly vertical, rugged and unstable. There was no way she could have made it. But she did.

She retrieved her bottle of water and drank several large gulps, then looked out over the landscape. What a view, she thought. What a view! The whole basin, which had seemed barren from the other side, was beautiful and grand. An amphitheater of jagged granite, with a gleaming blue ribbon of water winding through it. On the other side she could make out the peaks they’d crossed earlier, which they had thought made up the eastern crest. Two sharp peaks, one gray and one volcanic red, curled toward each other like mirror images, like yin and yang, partners in a graceful millennial dance. Another mountain was shaped like a sail—the top and bottom corners held in place, the body blown taut and triangular. And everywhere, the mountains were half-draped with snow, housing three or four small pockets of ice that she realized were glaciers. The sight of them took her breath away. This glorious landscape, forged by the forces of geology, by the movements of earth, by God, was its own justification, perfect in itself.

She glanced back, up to the top of the ridge, and saw open sky beyond it. She knew now that the top was within her reach. Tracy had been right—she could do this. There was so much she hadn’t known she could do.

She rested for ten minutes and ate part of a protein bar. Then she stood up, took out and adjusted her pole, and started walking again. The mountain was giving her a route to the south, so that was where she headed, picking her way up through the rocky slope again. The rocks were full of color—how wrong she’d been to think the landscape was colorless!—dark blue, orange, metamorphic red, purple, pink, sage green. Some rocks were primarily one color and shot through by another; others were as mixed as bouquets. As she passed an intricate pile of boulders, a small gray creature with a rabbitlike head ran in front of her, squeaked, and then scurried away.

She was approaching a jutting-out wall of rock, a corner of the mountain. If she went around it she’d be out of sight of Tracy and Oscar, but it appeared to be the easiest way to go. She held onto the rock with both hands and shuffled around the corner, onto a ledge that looked out at another canyon. She took a few steps farther out and her heart skipped. There was a sheer drop-off of at least two hundred feet and it was windier here; she’d stay close to the wall until she got to safer ground. Ahead of her, another slope, with a large field of snow. Below her in the distance, at the bottom of the canyon, she saw a faint line across the ground. A trail? She remembered the smooth area they’d crossed just before they reached the trees—they might have walked right over it. If it was a trail, maybe someone would come along and find Tracy and Oscar. Someone who could help.

It was colder here because of the wind, so she dropped her pack to pull out her jacket. When she stood up again, A.J. was standing in front of her.

“Funny meeting you here,” he said.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she let out a gasp. How the hell did A.J. get here? His cheek was cut and swollen and there was a smirk on his face; his voice sounded intimate and mean. He held a gun in his right hand, and it was pointed at her chest. This can’t be real, Gwen thought. This cannot be happening. She turned and pressed her back against the rock and a small sound of terror escaped her.

“You guys left without saying goodbye. It hurt my feelings. I thought we were friends.”

Gwen stood straight and tried to back up farther. But there was no give, just the warm hard rock. She looked at the gun in his hand, the glasses on his face.

“I’ll bet you’re wondering where I got this stuff,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You really think I’d come out here with only one pair of glasses? I had a pack with me, remember? I left it at the camp. Once I got loose from your amateur little tie job, I just went and found it.”

“You . . . you got loose by yourself?”

A.J. grinned and a kind of spasm went through his shoulders; he seemed to be enjoying himself. His face was burned red and his hair was wild, as if it had been whipped by the storm.

“Yep, all by myself. Don’t get me wrong, it took a minute. I had to find something sharp enough to cut the rope. But there was a nice little stub sticking out of the tree, and once I twisted around and found that, I just rubbed until the ropes cut. But I got a bit of my arm too. See?”

He held his left arm out toward her and she saw the scrape mark just above the wrist, where you’d hit a volleyball. She also saw again the swastika tattoo embedded on a red and black flag. Despite the heat, she started to shiver.

“Then I had to figure out where you guys went. At first I thought you’d finish the loop, but I have to give it to you, you were smart. No telling who was waiting at the trailhead. Or what happened to your Volvo. Nice car.” He grinned, and there was a strange maniacal light in his eyes. Behind him, ridge after ridge of mountains extended into the distance, gorgeous and impersonal. Is this where she would die? she wondered.

“I saw your footprints up the ridge from the trail,” he continued. “All that loose scree held the tracks like snow. So I went up to the top, and there you were, plain as day, making your way through the valley. With that damn ungrateful dog. After all I’ve done for her, she follows you! The little traitor! Fuck border collies. Next time I’m getting an Australian shepherd.” He screwed up his eyes and jerked his shoulder, as if trying to shake something off. “I just headed to the south of you, parallel the whole way. It was pretty easy to track you, I have to say. But even I was surprised when your friend got shot. It wasn’t me, I swear, and it wasn’t my brother. Maybe it was one of the kid’s friends. And hey, if that’s what happened, it’s kind of perfect, don’t you think? Their Mexican got your Mexican!”