She rounded a large boulder and almost walked into a bear. It was coming up the slope straight toward her. Cinnamon-colored, huge, with tremendous rippling muscles in its shoulders and back, it had paws the size of dinner plates and sharp curved claws. He swung his great head back and forth, looking up at trees or the steep mountain walls, entirely at home in his world.

Gwen froze—he was ten feet away and she had nowhere to go. An involuntary sound came out of her, and at this the bear turned and saw her. She was so terrified she could not move; the dog pressed against her and growled. The bear’s big, wet nose twitched and its ears perked up and then lay back against its head. He raised himself up halfway on his back legs as if to confirm what he had seen. Then he turned and galloped off into the forest.

Gwen tried to walk but she was shaking so much she couldn’t control her legs. Timber let out a few tentative barks; all the hair on her nape was standing up.

“Oh my God,” Gwen said, leaning against a tree. “Oh my God.” The bear, for all its fearsomeness, was the most magnificent creature she’d ever seen. But what would it do now? Would it come back? For all she knew it had climbed a tree and was waiting to ambush them. She managed to calm herself and started walking downhill, the dog sticking close by. Her legs wobbled and her heart raced; she was trying not to gasp. She looked everywhere as they walked, whipping around completely one time when she thought she heard something behind them. Then she noticed something moving off to the left. There was a clump of thick bushes maybe forty feet away. They were quivering, and between them she could make out a bit of brown. It was obviously the bear—was he gearing up for an attack? Gwen held her breath and prayed. For ten, fifteen seconds nothing happened. And then she realized something both unbelievable and comforting. She understood that the bear was hiding. From her.

She felt a surge of relief and adrenaline, and this helped power her down the mountain. For the first mile or so after she’d seen the bear, she kept looking back over her shoulder, but she knew that it was not coming after them. They moved slowly and carefully downhill, and soon Gwen was feeling groggy again—the lack of sleep and food catching up with her and dragging down her limbs. Twice, she stumbled over rocks and fell; the second time she twisted her knee. But she kept on, despite her growing exhaustion. She hadn’t made it this far to give up now.

Then suddenly they came upon a worn groove in the earth. A trail. She stared at it in disbelief, not trusting her eyes. But Timber seemed to know what it was and she began to run down it, as if this had been their planned route all along. They followed the trail left and downhill for a hundred feet, two hundred—it was real. Gwen could hardly keep her eyes open, but she knew the trail would lead them to safety.

She rounded a bend, and saw that she was at the top of some switchbacks that twisted down through the forest. Then movement between the trees—another bear? No—there was color, orange and green. She stopped and squinted and made out two figures—people. Carrying backpacks. Walking up the switchbacks, walking toward her.

“Hey!” she yelled weakly, her voice half its normal volume. She called out several more times but they didn’t hear. So she steadied herself against a rock and waited until they were closer. “Hey!” she yelled again. They seemed to be taking forever. Now Timber caught sight of them too, and she gave a muffled bark. She ran straight down the slope, hackles up, white tail raised and flashing. Finally the people looked up. They stopped for a moment, turned toward one another, and continued up the switchbacks, faster. When Gwen saw that they were coming, she collapsed to her knees and gave a prayer of thanks and broke into gasping sobs.

It took them another five minutes to reach her. They were a young couple in their twenties. He was tall and blond; she was dark-haired and petite. They both carried well-worn packs and were dressed in hiking shorts and long-sleeved shirts. When they got within sight she could see the worry on their faces, and it was because of this that she understood how bad she looked. The dog barked at them protectively, but Gwen called her back. “It’s okay.”

“Hey,” the boy said when they were closer. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” she managed. “But I have three friends back there, and they need help.” She gestured behind her, toward the pass.

“You’re the missing backpackers!” the girl exclaimed. “They were talking about you at the ranger station yesterday!”

“We’re missing?” Gwen said, confused. She didn’t know what day it was; she didn’t know how long they’d been gone.

“They found your car burned up at some remote trailhead,” the boy explained. “They’ve been searching for you—didn’t you hear the helicopters?”

Gwen shook her head.

“You need some water,” the girl said. “You look dehydrated. And when was the last time you ate?” She’d already set her pack down and was rifling through it.

“I don’t know. Could you please get help? Two of my friends are hurt, and one of them’s been shot.”

The couple looked at each other.

“They both need medical care right away. Can one of you go back down and get someone?”

“That’ll take too long,” said the boy. “But I’ve got my safety beacon, and I can signal for help. Hopefully a rescue crew’s not too far away. They’ve been looking over toward the west side of the mountains.”

“Where are we now?”

“Near Eitan Pass,” the boy said.

Suddenly Gwen started to shiver. Her pants and feet were still wet from the snow, and the sun had gone down over the ridge.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” the girl said. She took a down jacket out of her pack and wrapped it around Gwen’s shoulders. Then she pulled off Gwen’s shoes and socks and gave her a pair of dry socks. The dog lay down beside her.

The boy took a canister stove out of his pack and handed it to the girl, who set it up to make some hot water. And then he got out his safety beacon—an oval black plastic device the size of a wallet—found a clearing in the trees, and pressed the button to call for help.

Chapter Twenty

Oscar

A sound, a rumbling, like a huge truck coming, or an earthquake rattling a house. He felt it before he heard it, the ground suddenly unstable, but he was too weak to move or to cover himself. It grew closer, bigger, seemed to settle overhead. Tracy must have felt it too—where was she? The vibrations in the ground were strangely comforting, interesting, except that they jostled his shoulder. Would he bleed more? He didn’t know. He didn’t think that there was any blood left.

After some time—he didn’t know how much—there were voices. Someone making their way across the rocks.

“Over here!”

Was that Tracy? He couldn’t tell. No one had talked in hours.

Then the sounds were closer. “Here,” the same voice said again. “He hasn’t spoken for a while.”

“Any movement?” This was a new voice, female, not Gwen’s. Where was Gwen?

“No. But I’ve checked his pulse a few times. Just to make sure.”

A hand on his forehead, fingertips on his neck, direct and strong and intimate. He tried to pull away; they were disturbing his quiet.

“There’s a pulse. Faint, but there,” the new voice said. “We need to get him out of here.”

Someone handled him firmly by the shoulders, the legs. Leave me alone, he thought. Don’t bother me. A yank on his shoulder sent a jolt of pain through him and he screamed.