The Hike by Drew Magary

all day long because it’s
fun.
”
    â€œYou’re right. I didn’t mean to impose.”
    â€œYou’re lucky I don’t just go back into the sea and leave your candy-ass alone on this beach.”
    â€œWell, why don’t you?”
    Crab said nothing.
    â€œCrab? Why don’t you?”
    â€œI don’t have to explain anything to you.”
    â€œHey, I wasn’t trying to grill you.”
    â€œAnother way humans consume crab. Thanks for reminding me.”
    â€œI wasn’t trying to . . . hurt you,” Ben explained. “I just wanted to understand.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to understand. I’m a crab, and you’re a clueless human, and I just like seeing you show your ass to the world. It’s a nice change of pace. Usually when I see humans, they’re waiting for me with a net and a stick of butter. Or some dipshit kid wants to throw me in a pail and poke me with a stick.”
    Ben felt awful now. “You can stay here if you want. You don’t have to go with me. I can come back.”
    Crab sat up on his back legs. “That path ain’t taking you back here. Or, if it does, it won’t for a long time.”
    Crab started walking up the path, the soaked rocks giving way to a sheet of ice running through the squat forest. Ben followed behind him, digging into the backpack for some water and crackers. As they passed into the dense patch of woods, Ben smelled something awful. Putrescent. Crab, who was just a few yards ahead of Ben and had made it through the trees, suddenly came skittering back.
    â€œDon’t look,” Crab said.
    â€œWhy?” Ben asked.
    â€œJust don’t.”
    â€œWhat’s up there?” He could already venture a guess.
    â€œI’m just saying: I’d shut my eyes tight if I were you.”
    â€œAre there any dead crabs ahead?”
    â€œNo. Good for me. Bad for you.”
    Ben kept walking. The smell grew worse, then quickly intolerable. He shut his eyes and felt along the ice with his crampons. Then he stepped on something thick and cylindrical. The crampons sank down into whatever it was and made a gushing sound.
    â€œCrab,” Ben asked, his eyes still shut tight, “am I still on the path?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDo I wanna know what I’m stepping on?”
    â€œNo.”
    He took a step forward. Another thick, soft object—thicker than the one before it. He loosed his other crampon out of the putrid material and walked a hundred yards through more of it, laboriously uprooting his spikes before plunging them back down into the soft,fleshy path. It was wildly uneven. Sometimes he would hit something hard and slip forward. Other times he would lose his balance on something that was as thick and round as a bowling ball.
It’s all mud. Mud and sticks and rocks. Nothing more.
    He kept his eyes closed, which wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. His brow grew sore. His eyeballs craved air. The smell overwhelmed him and he unwrapped the scarf around his face so he could vomit off to the side.
    â€œWatch it!” Crab yelled.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œJust warn me next time.”
    â€œGot it. How much longer?”
    â€œThere’s more. Keep going.”
    Mud and sticks and rocks. Mud and sticks and rocks. Mud and sticks and rocks.
He fought through it all and eventually felt his crampons strike solid ice once more. With a few more steps, he was past the horrors at the base of the mountain.
    But his toil was only beginning. When Ben finally opened his eyes, he saw the grade of the path steepen sharply. In another quarter mile or so, it went vertical, up the cliff face, and then spiraled around the mountain and entered a gaping cave perched halfway to the summit. He sat and opened his pack and ate more of Mrs. Blackwell’s beef stew. It was the protein he needed, although he wasn’t enthralled to be eating hunks of flesh with the