Lost Canyon

by Nina Revoyr

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. It’s the same sound as when A.J. used it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Gwen. “But we haven’t heard the signal.”

  They stood quietly, staring down into the valley, toward the lake and the woods, which were starting to reveal themselves in the light. The dog stopped and looked too, ears erect, sniffing the air. If it wasn’t Todd who’d fired the weapon, they’d be in a bad spot—caught out on the slope with no tree or rock cover, still well below the pass. They’d expected to be up and over it by now, and on their way to safety. But it had been slow going with Oscar. They’d left not long after Todd had, moving in a chain, Tracy on the downhill side, Oscar in middle, Gwen above them both. She was glad to be moving, doing something, and it kept them from being cold; the temperature had dropped with the coming of dark. They’d ditched Oscar’s pack, Tracy taking on his few items of clothing and food. But everything about their movement was awkward. The loose rock beneath their feet kept giving way; Gwen would lose hold of Oscar or else fall into him, causing him to cry out in pain. Twice Gwen tripped and fell; once all three of them stumbled. Both she and Tracy had use of a pole, which stabilized their chain. She hadn’t been able to see Oscar’s face in the dark—they hadn’t turned on their headlamps—and she was glad for this, glad not to witness his pain, although she heard it in every grunt and moan and felt it in his staggering movements.

  Several minutes passed and Gwen feared that something was wrong. But then they heard it—two more shots in quick succession, the sound welling up out of the canyon, filling and overflowing it like fog.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” Gwen said. She thought of all the gunshots she’d heard in her life, some of them far too close. She’d never thought that she would welcome the sound.

  “Way to go, Todd!” Tracy said. She pumped her fist in the air, pole dangling off it by the strap. “Oscar, did you hear that? Todd got A.J.! Just a little bit farther and we’ll be over the pass. Then down the other side, and we’re out!”

  Oscar nodded—or was it a nod? Gwen couldn’t tell. He was having a hard time standing, and Gwen’s eyes filled as she looked at his scraped, sallow face, his ripped and bloody shirt. He only had shorts on and he was shivering, the jacket draped over his good shoulder not enough against the cold. She didn’t know if he could make it.

  “Let’s rest for a minute,” Gwen said. “I need some water and some calories and Oscar could probably use some too.”

  “Okay,” Tracy said. “But not for too long. We need to get out of sight. On the off chance that it wasn’t Todd just now.”

  They slowly turned to face downhill and positioned themselves on the slope, like children in a single-file line. They dug in footholds so they wouldn’t slip as they sat. Tracy was on the downhill side, ready to stop Oscar or Gwen should either one slide. Oscar was still in the middle, resting his feet in the footholds that Tracy had kicked for him. Gwen was uphill, the tallest for once, looking down at the others and beyond. The dog sat at her side, front paws lower than her bottom as she balanced on the slope.

  Gwen drank from her water bottle, which was only a third full, but they’d be over the pass soon, and Tracy said there were streams on the eastern side. She ate half of a protein bar—they’d finished the last of their dinners overnight, crouched behind the rocks. She offered part of the bar to Oscar, but he didn’t respond.

  “You’ve got to,” she said. “Eat it, Oscar. Even if you’re not hungry.”

  The dog sat up and reached for the food, and Gwen pulled it back. She moved closer to Oscar and fed him while Tracy held Timber by her collar. The dog’s eyes watched every movement; two long strings of saliva hung from her mouth. Gwen felt for her, but there was so little food. Still, she broke off a bite and gave it to her.

  “What should we do?” she asked. “Should we wait for Todd here? Should we at least hang around until we see him?”

  Tracy shook her head. “No. We’re too exposed. We need to get over the pass. Besides, he’ll catch up. He’s only a couple hours behind.”

  Gwen knew she was right—and on top of all that, there was also the unstated but obvious: Oscar had lost a lot of blood, and it wasn’t clear how long he’d stay conscious.

  “Okay,” said Gwen. It felt so good to sit down. Her feet were sore and swollen, but she told herself to ignore the pain. They hadn’t slept since their extended nap yesterday morning, and she was tired to the bone. But looking up, she saw that the pass now seemed within reach. It formed an edge against the light blue sky. A mile away at most. They could do it, she thought, gunshot victim or not. They were so close, so close to heading home.

  There was a faint sound coming up from the canyon now, like someone chopping wood.

  “What is that?” Gwen asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  They listened and it continued for a few seconds more. Gwen wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant, but it made her uneasy.

  “Let’s get moving,” Tracy said, and so slowly, reluctantly, Gwen pulled herself up, using her pole to brace herself so she wouldn’t slip. She and Tracy removed their jackets and then helped Oscar get to his feet. They walked on in the same formation. The terrain was suddenly steeper here, thirty-five or forty degrees, and they’d only gone a hundred feet or so when the ground gave way beneath Tracy’s feet.

  Gwen heard her yell “Whoa!” and just like that she was gone, sliding feetfirst down the slope on her belly. She reached out frantically to grab something but there was nothing to hold; it was as if she was sliding down a ski jump. She wasn’t moving especially fast; she just couldn’t stop herself, and there was a particular horror in the mundaneness of her predicament. Gwen saw that Tracy might slide all the way to the canyon floor, more than a thousand feet below. She might have no skin left when she stopped. Then her foot hit some kind of protuberance and she flipped onto her back. Her pack came off but she managed to grab or dig at something so she at least turned sideways, picking up speed as she continued to slide.

  Then abruptly she hit a boulder. It caught her violently in the midsection and her body wrapped around it, limp as a rag doll. Her pole tumbled past her. For a moment she didn’t move, and Gwen’s heart seized with dread and disbelief.

  “Tracy!” she yelled, and her voice echoed through the canyon; she hoped it was Todd down there and not A.J. “Tracy, are you all right?”

  For a moment Gwen thought she was dead. But then Tracy’s legs twitched and she moved an arm. She twisted her body and embraced the boulder, as if holding onto a rock in a river while the current tried to sweep her downstream. Then she lowered her head. Gwen had to look away for a moment, and so she gazed out over the valley, which was suffused with morning light, the ridge across from them basked in orange and gold. It took her breath away. How beautiful—how unbelievably, dramatically beautiful. And totally indifferent to their struggles.

  “Shit,” Oscar said, and Gwen realized that she was still holding him up. He’d seen what happened and was looking down the slope.

  “Let’s get to a safer spot,” Gwen said, redoubling her grip. “We need to stop and figure out what to do.” There was a rock shelf just ahead of them, and so they shuffled over to it, Gwen digging in her pole to avoid sliding herself, ignoring the pain of the popped blisters on her hand.

  Once she got Oscar seated she looked back down the slope. Tracy was struggling to get herself upright. Her legs were moving but she was only using one arm. Her clothes were torn and Gwen could see several streaks of blood on her arms.

  “I’m coming down!” she yelled, even though she had no idea how she would.

  Tracy shook her head. “Don’t!” she yelled weakly. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Are you all right?” Gwen yelled again, but Tracy didn’t answer. She started to move up the slope, though her movements were disjointed; she was laboring, one hand kept grabbing her side, and her face was wrenched with pain. But her legs were both working; at least there
was that. She slipped once, twice, but managed to catch herself.

  Oscar, watching through bleary eyes, said, “I don’t think she can make it.”

  The dog had been lifting her front paws up and down and whining. Now she nudged Gwen’s hand and gave her hoarse bark.

  “What?” Gwen asked.

  Timber looked at Tracy and then back at Gwen. Then she launched herself down the slope. Gwen yelled, “Hey!” She was afraid that the dog would slide helplessly too, or kick up rocks that might hit Tracy. But Timber moved expertly, somehow in control, like a surfer riding a wave. She started a little avalanche to the right of the boulder where Tracy had crashed; when she got close, she jumped off the rock slide as if turning off a wave and happily ran over to Tracy. She licked and nuzzled Tracy as if she hadn’t seen her in days. What did the dog think she was going to do? Herd Tracy up the slope?

  Then Gwen got it. Timber darted up the slope ten or fifteen feet, then came back down, barking, ran up again. She was leading Tracy up, and she could, with her four feet, better manage the terrain; she’d gone down the slope to retrieve her. Tracy grabbed onto her collar and struggled up a few feet. The dog charged ahead again, struggling with the weight, tongue lolling and completely engaged. Tracy stepped and skidded and sometimes crawled behind her, reaching out for the collar with one arm while the other held her side. It wasn’t the same as a horse or a mule pulling her up, or even a Saint Bernard. But it was enough, that bit of energy and help, the upward momentum, the strength of a young creature who was born to work.

  It took twenty minutes to get up the two hundred feet she’d fallen, with several breaks along the way. First she stopped to retrieve her pack. Forty feet later she paused to pick up something else—the bear spray—and reattached it to her belt. A little farther on she picked up the gun. Slowly they made their way to the spot where Gwen and Oscar waited; when they got close, Gwen stood and pulled both dog and human onto the small ledge. Once Tracy had gained the level rock, she collapsed onto her back. She reached out to pet Timber. “Good dog,” she said. “Good dog.”

  Now Gwen could see the extent of the damage. Tracy’s hiking pants were in shreds at the knees. There were several tears in her shirt and her bare arms were scraped badly, streaked with blood. Her hands had cuts and gashes from grabbing onto the rocks as she slid; there was also a gash on her jaw, and dark bruises were forming on her arm.

  “We should clean those up,” Gwen said. “You’ve probably got dirt in them.”

  Tracy shook her head. “They’re not serious. They’re just scrapes. Let’s get over the pass first. What I’m really worried about anyway is my ribs. I think I broke a couple when I hit the rock.”

  Gwen tried to remember what she knew about broken ribs and came up empty. “Can you breathe okay?”

  Tracy shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so.” She closed her eyes and a wave of pain passed over her face.

  Gwen tried to stifle her worry. Of all the things she’d imagined going wrong on this trip, and with all the unimaginable ways that things had actually gone wrong, the thought of Tracy being hurt or weakened had never occurred to her.

  “We’re almost at the pass,” she said.

  Tracy nodded. She looked over at Oscar, whose eyes were open, but glazed. “How you doing, buddy?”

  He nodded slowly. “I’m here.”

  “I wonder where Todd is,” Gwen said.

  “Maybe we can see him by now,” said Tracy, and they scanned the floor of the valley—the lake, the stream, the stand of woods where they’d slept, and where the shot had come from earlier.

  “Is that him?” Gwen asked, pointing. There was a human figure, small but moving, just outside the edge of the woods.

  “I think so,” Tracy said. “Wave!”

  And because she was the only one who was in the shape to do so, because she was the only one who could lift her arms above her head, Gwen stood and waved, extending her arms as far as she could, hoping that her movements would make her visible against the rock, even with the sun behind her. The figure in the valley stopped for a moment; then it, too, began to wave.

  “That’s him!” Gwen said excitedly. “He’s okay!” She felt a huge surge of relief.

  Then the figure started gesturing, pointing toward the opposite slope, crossing his arms in front of him as if to signal a missed field goal.

  “What’s he saying?” Gwen asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tracy said.

  He seemed to be trying to communicate something, but what could it be? That A.J. was gone? What Gwen did know was that he was alive, and so were they. She waved at him one last time and pointed toward the pass. She was ready to get moving again. And now there were two injured people to deal with.

  “Are you okay to keep going?” she asked Tracy.

  “I’m ready. More than ready. Let’s get out of here.”

  They stood and assembled themselves, Tracy grimacing in pain. Gwen had to help her get her pack on, since she couldn’t twist to one side. And then Gwen helped Oscar up. They determined that it might be easier to go straight up the slope now, making sure they had footholds before transferring their weight. They went single file, Tracy first, then Oscar, with a little help from Gwen, who brought up the rear. Timber scrambled up and down the slope, finding ledges for them to rest on, easier routes up through the scree and between patches of snow. The top of the ridge was sharp against the clear blue sky; it looked like the edge of the world. Gwen imagined the moment when they crested the range. They’d be able to see all the way into the Owens Valley; they’d be able to see highways and towns. Just a little farther, she thought. Just a little bit farther and we’ll be there.

  They kicked and hiked for almost an hour and finally the top was in sight. Gwen could hardly contain herself—she loved the moment of reaching the top, when the land on the other side was revealed. The expansiveness of the view would make her feel expansive too; that welling up of joy and wonder was exactly why she hiked. And here, reaching the pass meant more than just a pretty view. It meant the path to their salvation.

  They got closer, closer, and the sky seemed closer too. Another fifty feet, another twenty, and then Tracy was there, standing on top like a bighorn sheep, gazing into the distance. Her posture didn’t exude the joy or relief that Gwen was already starting to feel. But maybe she was just too tired. Then Oscar gained the top, his shoulders slumped, and he fell to his knees. And when Gwen reached the top, she saw why.

  There was a whole new canyon in front of them, another range on the other side. They were not at the easternmost part of the mountains, as they’d thought, but instead on a crest in the middle. The range they’d just climbed was so tall that it had obscured the view of everything beyond, and what was beyond was an even more imposing set of peaks. Looking down into this large new canyon, Gwen wondered if she was losing her mind. It was barren, at least a mile or two wide, with stretches of tundra but mostly hard gray rock. Here and there along the mountain walls were patches of snow. The small lake at the bottom was turquoise, a color she’d never seen before in nature. A third of it was covered with ice. The whole basin looked like a moonscape, a grayscale negative of the lush valley where they’d just been. She must be imagining this; she must have lost her mind.

  But looking at her companions’ faces, she knew she wasn’t seeing things. Oscar covered his face with his good arm and rocked back and forth. Tracy shook her head, angry and speechless. And Gwen looked out at the stark unexpected view and felt despair rise up like a flood. She took off her pack and dropped to one knee, staring off into the distance. This close, she thought. We’d been this close. But they hadn’t been close at all. Walking out of this new canyon would take at least another day—and that would be with everyone at full strength, with adequate food and water. There was no way they could all make it down another slope, through a wide, exposed basin, and over the even sharper, more unwelcoming peaks on the other side. Her despair began to tighten into fear, into panic. Her eyes
welled and she started to cry.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oscar

  He couldn’t escape the light; even when he closed his eyes, it reached behind his eyelids. Sometimes a solid screen of white, and sometimes spots, moving and swirling in front of him. He’d always loved the sun, but now, on the other side of the pass, it was punishing, relentless, as focused and hot as a laser beam. And there was nothing to temper it, no shade to protect them. But at least his clothes were dry now—even hot to the touch. Two miles closer to the sun than usual, he might be baked alive.

  They had stayed at the pass for twenty minutes, resting, trying to figure out what to do. Or Tracy and Gwen had tried; he had stayed silent. It was taking all his energy just to stay upright, to not give way to pain; it was so big in him that he couldn’t remember being without it. Vaguely he’d followed the conversation. Should they light a fire and make smoke for rescuers to see? Should they all keep going? Should Gwen, who wasn’t hurt, continue on by herself? But they had nothing to burn and no rescuers were in sight and Gwen didn’t want to leave them. There was really no choice but to go.

  He didn’t care what they decided. He was thinking of Lily, her huge grin whenever he bent to pick her up, the way he felt when he carried her on his back. Of his mother, when he was growing up, coming home from a long day’s work, but never too tired to make him a meal or help him with his homework. He could sit here with these thoughts until he drifted off to nothing. He did not want to move anymore.

  “Hey, wake up!” There was a nudge to his calf. “We need to get going. Do you think you can keep walking?”

  He shook his head no. No, he wanted to stay here.

  “Oscar.” This was Gwen, a gentler voice. “We’ve got to keep moving. If you could make it down to the lake, we could get you some water.”

  He said nothing.

  “Oscar, how does your shoulder feel?”

  He tried to shrug but then felt a shooting pain and cried out. Someone was standing behind him. “Let me look.”