Part 2

Turning her back on the world, Tiff looked for a familiar landmark among the monotonous field of rocks, but she could not tell where the terrain ended and the sky began. Wind-beaten wildflowers hugged the ground, a lonely pika cried from a small rise, and then only gray.

“We need to get out of here, Gus. We’re going to lose daylight soon.”

As Tiff trudged across boulders and hopped over a lingering pile of dirty snow, her internal compass spun in circles. Beyond the next knoll, a single pine – not much taller than Gus and with knobbly branches on its leeward side – stood like a sentry atop the bleak landscape. Tiff stopped. “Huh.” She scanned the horizon for flagging tape or inukshuks, but the landscape was devoid of anything human-made.

Tiff retraced her steps and turned left at the snow. “Maybe this is the way back,” she called. She pushed herself up the slope, the clatter of broken porcelain echoing around her as her boots crunched loose shale with every step. She pulled herself over the final lip and stopped short. “Son of a…”

Bending to a crouch, Tiff raked her hand through the scree and gazed into a deep gorge. Stunted trees clung to the sides of the chasm as a rosy finch darted around a rock outcropping. Tiff’s fist tightened around a handful of rocks; her eyes narrowed as sharp edges bit her skin. She hurled the rocks through the air. Gravity cut their forward momentum and they were swallowed by fissures and shadows.

“Okay,” she said as she stared into the belly of the mountain. “We need a plan.” Tiff chewed her lip, the taste of salt, honey lip balm, and dust playing on her tongue.

Shrugging off her pack, she stumble-jogged down the knoll and collapsed to the ground. As she unzipped the pack, Gus nudged her hands aside with his nose and stuck his head into the bag. “Get out of here, Gus,” Tiff said, pushing him away. “Give me a sec and I’ll find you some water.” She pulled out his collapsible dog bowl and Gus licked up residual drops like they were bacon grease.

“Here, dummy.” Tiff twisted off the top of her water bottle. Holding Gus back with one hand, she tipped water into the dish. “Don’t spill any. We don’t have much left.” As a gentle lap-lap-lap floated from Gus’s busy tongue, Tiff peered into the bottle and sucked in her breath – only a third of the bottle remained, and her other bottle was already drained. She took a quick swig and forced the bottle from her lips before she could empty the container with a wanting gulp.

Tiff stuffed the bottle into her pack and pulled out her notes. The papers fluttered, struggling against her grip.

There are so many trails on Spirit Mountain that branch out, you need to be constantly checking your route.

We are avid, well-seasoned hikers, and this is the first time we have ever been beaten by a mountain.

You don’t want to get stuck on Spirit Mountain past dark. Even in the summer, hypothermia can set in pretty quick.

Tiff wrapped her arm around Gus and pressed her forehead to his; the smell of musky dog drifted into her nose. Eyes closed, she leaned into the strong beating of his heart. “What do you think, Gus? What are our options?”

Gus wriggled free and cocked his head.

“Yeah,” Tiff said, tightening her blowing ponytail with a quick tug. “That’s our problem, buddy. I expected to be off this mountain an hour ago. And don’t forget, the sun is starting to sink. Time is not on our side.”

The world seemed to expand around her. Jagged peaks, the same in every direction, disappeared into infinity and left Tiff a speck on a mountain. Gus disturbed the shale, its clatter lost to the wind and altitude. The lonely pine was gone, engulfed in a roll of cloud that was inching across the summit like slowly spreading poison.