“The universe put me in the middle of this mystery, and I believe it is my Tao to follow it to its conclusion,” Wayan Bagus said. “I’m in.”
Riley didn’t see where there was much of a choice. Even if she went home to Texas and led the life of a recluse, she suspected she would be hunted down and eliminated. These people were serious about guarding their secret, and she was in the uncomfortable position of knowing too much and not knowing enough. And, most important, her daddy wouldn’t be happy with her if she didn’t see this through.
“I’m in,” Riley said.
“Well, this sure is a nice moment,” Vernon said. “In the movies, they’d hug it out.”
Wayan Bagus looked at Vernon. “Like in Frozen when Elsa and Anna hug at the end because of true love?”
“No. Yuck. What the heck are you talking about? That’s girlie hugging stuff,” Vernon said. “There’s only two kinds of movie hugs that aren’t totally lame. The first is a Rocky III hug. You know, when Apollo and Rocky hug because Rocky finally gets his confidence back and they know he’s gonna kick Mr. T’s ass.”
“I know nothing of these people,” Wayan Bagus said, “but I understand the concept.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask about the second kind of hug,” Riley said.
“A Godfather hug,” Vernon said. “You know the kind of hug somebody totally boss, like Al Pacino, gives someone really annoying, like Fredo, just before he kills them.”
“I will reflect seriously on the matter,” Wayan Bagus said.
Riley thought it was unclear which type of hug Wayan Bagus was considering giving Vernon.
While all the hugging talk was going on Emerson had reached over and placed his hand on Riley’s. She thought it might have been just a gesture of camaraderie, but it felt warm and intimate. Whatever it meant, Riley liked it. She left her hand under his for a few seconds, then withdrew it and turned the steering wheel. The Tahoe veered left toward Canyon Village.
“I guess we should find somewhere to hide for the night,” Riley said.
“There’s a campground near Fishing Bridge at the northern part of the lake,” Emerson said. “We’ll hide the SUV there and start off into the backcountry at first light.”
It was dawn when Riley got out of the Tahoe and stretched, glad to exchange the stale air and cramped sleeping arrangements for the fresh smell of conifer trees. They were at the bottom of a gulch and about a mile from the campground. Emerson and Vernon were laboring to camouflage the car with branches and leaves.
“Do you think they’ll find the Tahoe?” Riley asked Emerson.
“Undoubtedly. However, I don’t care if they find it. I only care when. We need to find what we’re looking for before Tin Man discovers the Tahoe and knows for certain that we’re still in the park.”
“Okay, then. How long do you think that will take?”
“It’s going to take two days to hike to Sour Creek Dome and two days to hike back out. At any rate, we have enough food to last a week and no more.”
“If there’s something big going on at Sour Creek Dome, wouldn’t there be a road leading to it?”
“Most likely, but it’s not on any map, and we could waste a lot of time trying to find it. With any luck we’ll be able to take it out.”
The three backpacks and Wayan Bagus’s duffel were propped up against a nearby tree. Emerson strapped one on and handed another to Riley. He pointed at an unassuming hill in the distance. “That’s Sour Creek Dome. It’s about ten miles as the crow flies from here.”
“And you think it’s a two-day hike?” Riley asked.
Emerson removed a map of Yellowstone from his pocket. “I don’t really know. There’s no established trail so it’ll be slow going.”
Riley looked at the map. “Why is the entire area delineated in a green bubble?”
“It’s the area of the park with the highest density of grizzlies. That’s one of the hazards.”
Riley cut her eyes to Emerson. “One of the hazards?”
“There may be one or two others.”
Vernon and Wayan Bagus joined them. Vernon had already strapped on his pack and changed into a camouflage hunter’s jacket and tan pants. Wayan Bagus, still dressed in his orange robe and sandals, had the duffel slung over his shoulder.
Vernon looked the little monk up and down and shook his head. “Are you the Lorax?”
Wayan Bagus looked confused. “Who is the Lorax?”
“He’s a little orange man who ‘speaks for the trees.’ At least that’s according to Dr. Seuss.”
“I speak only for myself,” Wayan Bagus said.
“That’s what I thought,” Vernon said. “So if you’re not the Lorax, you have no business wearing his clothes on a two-day hike through this here upcountry forest. You’re going to freeze your ass off.”
Wayan Bagus was his usual pleasantly calm self. “These clothes should suffice. I am just a simple monk, but I will overcome the cold.”
Vernon looked at Emerson. “What the heck is he talking about?”
“Some Buddhist monks are able to withstand extreme temperatures,” Emerson said. “It sounds crazy, but it’s been documented that they can raise their skin temperature by as much as seventeen degrees and lower their bodies’ metabolic rate by up to sixty-four percent.”
Vernon looked back at Wayan Bagus. “Is that true? How do you do that?” he asked.
“Simple concentration. You must focus your mind on nothing else but the image of a flame running down your spine.”
“Huh, I reckon there just might be something to it,” Vernon said. “I focus my mind on an image of boobs, and it raises my wiener by as much as ninety percent. Works every time. Do you think it’s the same thing?”
Riley stared openmouthed at Vernon. Emerson smiled. Wayan Bagus looked skeptical.
“Only problem is I’m not loving the idea of a flame going down my back, so I’ll just stick with my wool socks and fleece pants,” Vernon said. He pulled a .45-caliber revolver from a holster inside his hunting jacket. “Besides which, there’s no good place to keep this in a monk robe.”
Wayan Bagus wagged his finger at Vernon. “Guns. Very bad for our karma.”
Vernon put the gun back in the holster. “Little Buddy, this here’s my lucky gun. The only bad karma this gun has is for any woodland critter we happen to come across at dinnertime.”
Wayan Bagus shook his head. “The Sage teaches us first learn how to live and then learn how not to kill. No good. Very bad.”
“Right. On that note, off we go,” Emerson said, walking in the direction of Sour Creek Dome. Riley followed him into the woods. Vernon and Wayan Bagus lagged a little ways behind, still bickering about guns and karma.
FIFTEEN
FOUR HOURS, SEVEN HILLS, AND FIVE MILES of breathtaking terrain later, Riley was drenched with sweat. The thirty-pound pack, which had seemed manageable at the beginning, weighed heavily on her back, and her legs ached with every step. She was ready for a break, but wasn’t about to be the one to suggest it first.
Emerson paused on top of a ridge and set his pack down. “What do you say we stop for lunch?”
Riley looked out over the valley floor below. Sour Creek Dome was on the other side and looked not much closer than it did four hours ago. She turned back to look in the direction they’d traveled. No sign of civilization. No sounds from the highway. Except for the occasional bear print the size of a dinner plate, there was absolutely no evidence that any creature had ever been in the area in the last thousand years.
Riley put her pack down next to Emerson’s and stretched. “I’m glad you have some experience with off-trail hiking, because I’d be completely lost. This is beautiful, but it really is the middle of nowhere.”
Emerson didn’t say anything.
“You do have wilderness experience, don’t you?”
“More or less.”
“Well, which is it?” Riley asked. “More or less?”
Emerson pulled a book entitled The Complete Guide to Wilderness Survival from his backpack. “It’s what you’d call more of a theoretical experience.”
“For the love of Mike, Emerson. Do you even know where we are?”
“More or less.”