of such a disaster? thought Callie. Even back in high school, while Callie had been getting around in mismatched tomboy clothes, too lazy to do battle with her cloud of red frizz, Sharon had always been well-groomed.
She didn’t wear makeup to school; it was against the rules, and Sharon followed the rules. But outside of school she always had at least mascara and lipstick. There was no color on her face today, where she lay far below them on this mountainside, tucked up inside her orange bag. Callie wondered if she would ever be able to forget the feel of Sharon’s pale and blotchy skin—cold, unresponsive, more like marble than human flesh.
And those marks on her face. Something was bothering Callie about those marks. It nibbled away at the back corner of her consciousness like a little mouse; whenever she tried to pounce on it, it darted away.
She didn’t want her mind to be filled with Sharon’s face. Because it made her want to weep and weep and weep. So she focused with all her might on the burning pain where the melted snow was soaking through to her knees.
And took another step.
And then it hit her, with awful clarity.
***
Miraculously, they’d finally found a pass over the mountain’s shoulder into the next valley, and were back below the tree line at last, and out of the snowdrifts. Jack had been longing for this moment. Under the trees, there would surely be less snow, less undergrowth, and it would be much easier to walk. Surely.
For two hours they had been fighting snow-laden mountain scrub that ripped at their clothes, snagged on their rucksack straps, dragged them backwards. Sometimes it was knee-high, other times right up to their armpits.
Bringing up the rear, there were times Jack found it easier because the others had trampled the wiry vegetation ahead of him. Sometimes it was harder because they had ground the snow and earth to slippery mud.
Now, under the trees, instead of the clearer path of Jack’s daydreams, they encountered even worse conditions. Slippery rocks, tangled tree roots, dangling moss slapping at their faces, ferns and undergrowth clawing their bodies.
And the worst of it was that, for each excruciating fifty meters of mountainside, they didn’t even know if they were headed in the right direction.
They could be heading away from help, away from rescue. Away from medical people with fresh medical supplies for Rachel, who was scrambling over a vine-entangled rock just ahead of him. Away from life and into disaster.
Yesterday morning, it had seemed so clear they needed to keep moving, that inactivity was the fastest way to certain death. But now, Sharon lay still and silent in yesterday’s valley, and Jack wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Maybe it really was his fault that Sharon was dead. He’d been so focused on Rachel he’d forgotten about Sharon. How could he face her motherless little boy? Maybe it would be better if he didn’t survive either.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by a shout from up ahead. Adam, today’s trailblazer, had found a useful clearing and called a halt for lunch. Not that there was much to eat, just more stupid ferns—but they definitely needed the rest.
Jack also needed a toilet break—the world might be ending, but the body kept processing. He ditched his rucksack and started staggering off into the rainforest. As he tried to cross the small stream whose course they were following, he noticed his leg trembling—with fatigue? Grief? He lost power as he committed his weight to a mossy rock, and skidded sideways, breaking his fall by grabbing a slimy vine on the way through. Oh God, I need your help. Please get us out of here. Show me what you want me to do. He became aware of noises behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see Callie following.
“Ladies loo is thataway, Cal,” he said, pointing in the general direction of anywhere else.
“I’m not looking for the loo, I’m looking for you.” She swayed
She didn’t wear makeup to school; it was against the rules, and Sharon followed the rules. But outside of school she always had at least mascara and lipstick. There was no color on her face today, where she lay far below them on this mountainside, tucked up inside her orange bag. Callie wondered if she would ever be able to forget the feel of Sharon’s pale and blotchy skin—cold, unresponsive, more like marble than human flesh.
And those marks on her face. Something was bothering Callie about those marks. It nibbled away at the back corner of her consciousness like a little mouse; whenever she tried to pounce on it, it darted away.
She didn’t want her mind to be filled with Sharon’s face. Because it made her want to weep and weep and weep. So she focused with all her might on the burning pain where the melted snow was soaking through to her knees.
And took another step.
And then it hit her, with awful clarity.
***
Miraculously, they’d finally found a pass over the mountain’s shoulder into the next valley, and were back below the tree line at last, and out of the snowdrifts. Jack had been longing for this moment. Under the trees, there would surely be less snow, less undergrowth, and it would be much easier to walk. Surely.
For two hours they had been fighting snow-laden mountain scrub that ripped at their clothes, snagged on their rucksack straps, dragged them backwards. Sometimes it was knee-high, other times right up to their armpits.
Bringing up the rear, there were times Jack found it easier because the others had trampled the wiry vegetation ahead of him. Sometimes it was harder because they had ground the snow and earth to slippery mud.
Now, under the trees, instead of the clearer path of Jack’s daydreams, they encountered even worse conditions. Slippery rocks, tangled tree roots, dangling moss slapping at their faces, ferns and undergrowth clawing their bodies.
And the worst of it was that, for each excruciating fifty meters of mountainside, they didn’t even know if they were headed in the right direction.
They could be heading away from help, away from rescue. Away from medical people with fresh medical supplies for Rachel, who was scrambling over a vine-entangled rock just ahead of him. Away from life and into disaster.
Yesterday morning, it had seemed so clear they needed to keep moving, that inactivity was the fastest way to certain death. But now, Sharon lay still and silent in yesterday’s valley, and Jack wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Maybe it really was his fault that Sharon was dead. He’d been so focused on Rachel he’d forgotten about Sharon. How could he face her motherless little boy? Maybe it would be better if he didn’t survive either.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by a shout from up ahead. Adam, today’s trailblazer, had found a useful clearing and called a halt for lunch. Not that there was much to eat, just more stupid ferns—but they definitely needed the rest.
Jack also needed a toilet break—the world might be ending, but the body kept processing. He ditched his rucksack and started staggering off into the rainforest. As he tried to cross the small stream whose course they were following, he noticed his leg trembling—with fatigue? Grief? He lost power as he committed his weight to a mossy rock, and skidded sideways, breaking his fall by grabbing a slimy vine on the way through. Oh God, I need your help. Please get us out of here. Show me what you want me to do. He became aware of noises behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see Callie following.
“Ladies loo is thataway, Cal,” he said, pointing in the general direction of anywhere else.
“I’m not looking for the loo, I’m looking for you.” She swayed
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