Her nose wrinkled. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? And smoking.”
“How can you tell?”
“You reek.”
“Sorry. I was just having a drink with Tomás. We were trying to stay warm.”
Her eyes glittered in the darkness. “Tomás?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is he?”
“By the fire.”
“He’s okay?”
“He’s fine.”
“But you don’t like him.”
“I do like him. We had a good talk tonight.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
Rose smiled. “I’m glad.”
“How’s your pain?” I whispered. “Is it getting worse?”
“It’s not getting better.”
“Can I check the bandages?”
She yawned. “Not now. In the morning, okay?”
“Okay,” I said because I was tired, too, and as I settled beside her, the plaintive hoot of an owl floated down from the trees, breaking the night’s silence. A second owl hooted in response—a warbling duet—and I kissed Rose. Closed my eyes.
Dreamed.
DAY FIVE
44.
WE WOKE TO sun and warmth, which is to say hope, and it wasn’t just owls now, there were more birds singing, chirping, chattering, alive. That, combined with the drip-drip-drip of melting snow, was a stark reminder that what had fallen was never meant to stay.
I let Rose sleep but joined the others by the fire as we discussed our plans, what we needed to do. Shelby and Clay agreed to attempt the hike up and around the landslide that had washed out the access trail, in order to make their way down to the staging area, where the cars were parked. I handed the keys over to them, but it was a real possibility, we realized, that the cars would be buried under snow and ice or wedged in mud, and therefore impossible to move.
“Then try your phones,” Tomás told them. “There’s a charger in the Pathfinder.”
“If that still doesn’t work, keep walking to the main road and flag drivers down for help,” Avery added.
The rest of us planned to stay at the campsite and do what we could to make ourselves visible. Blue sky and bright sun and no wind infused us with energy. Our rescue was imminent. It had to be. There were no excuses for helicopters not to look for us, and even if they went to the top of the mountain first, surely they’d continue looking elsewhere. Surely they would make it to the other side of the mountain, to peer into this lonely gorge.
“We can try the bonfire again,” I suggested. It was an optimistic plan, given that I could barely move my left arm—it was swollen stiff; my damaged shoulder a rainbow of bruising—but in planning there was action. Avery smiled and said she’d help. I smiled back and let myself feel good that we could still be friends given all that had happened between us. But that was what death did. It put things in perspective. Reminded you what was important.
I also watched Tomás kiss Clay good-bye—first pulling him close, then nuzzling his neck before making his way up to his mouth. I looked away at that point, but it felt good to see that, too. And while I’m well aware I wasn’t meant to feel anything about what they were doing, what I mean is that it felt good to know that passion had endured in those woods. Respect and admiration, as well. And, I could only imagine, trust.
Then Clay and Shelby took off. The melting snow sparkled jewel bright, and I walked with Avery to find more wood for the bonfire. We were going to spell out SOS if we could find enough branches to burn or just a single big X if we couldn’t. The first place we looked was in the gully where we’d dumped the Preacher and his girlfriend, although we skirted past the burial site and headed for higher ground, crawling up the back side of the mountain.
Walking side by side, we hoofed through virgin brush, where the untouched trees grew close and tight, creating thick cover for the lower branches, leaving them relatively dry. Avery, who’d brought her camera along, stopped to snap a few photographs of the trees. When she was done with that, she stood on her toes and broke off the branches within her reach—something I couldn’t do with my bad shoulder, so I stood beside her and cradled the wood in my good arm. A lot of it was too green to burn, but I didn’t say anything. A squirrel ran above, at one point tossing a pinecone at my head, which made me laugh.
Avery gave me an odd look. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Not good,” I said. “But better.”
“Sun does that.”
“Indeed.”
“Back home, they’re having classes right now. Can you imagine?”
I shook my head. If conceiving of anywhere overseas was the equivalent of visiting a modern-day dinosaur park, then envisioning myself dozing in second-period English while Ms. Johnson droned on about Dürrenmatt’s The Visit, a decent play made boring by her endless lecturing on the distinction between comedy and tragedy, felt about as surreal as discovering the fountain of youth or believing in my mother’s eternal happiness.
“Think things will be different when we get back?” Avery asked.
“How could they not?”
“I just mean, it’s unbelievable, everything that’s happened.”
“I know,” I said.
“I can’t believe they’re gone.”
“I can’t, either.”
She pulled at another branch. “I haven’t even cried over Archie yet, you know? It’s weird. I loved him, awful as he was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I paused, unsure of how to ask Avery what it was I wanted to know. “Hey, what were you and Rose talking about yesterday?”
The branch she was tugging on snapped. She passed it to me then wiped her hands. “When?”
“In the tent. When it was raining. You were talking to her about Archie. You said you both thought this weekend would be different. And that Rose had given him a gift.”
“Oh,” she said. “That.”
“Yeah, that. What was the gift?”
“Reason.” Avery brushed her hair back, pushing it from her face. “And hope.”
“That’s it?”
“At the time, it was everything.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would she do that? Why would Rose want to give Archie anything?”
Avery took a step toward me, closing the distance between us, and when she took my hand this time, she held tight. She didn’t let me pull away. “Ben,” she said.
“What?”
“Haven’t you asked yourself the same thing about me?”
—