Chapter Eleven
We are standing at what Brick calls the trailhead. There is a large wood-framed bulletin board with a map, a long list of
trail rules, and a very upsetting graphic on bear encounters. The backpack he gave me is already uncomfortable, loaded down
with a full water bottle, a spare raincoat with a mildewy smell—also from the lost and found box—a Kansas City Royals baseball
cap lent to me by Xavier at his father’s insistence, bug netting, and something called microspikes that will fit over my boots
if we come across ice. (In June?) We were also all handed bear spray, which looks like a mini fire extinguisher, the lunch
Heidi packed for each of us, and something horrifyingly called a sachet packet—a wad of toilet paper, a mini bottle of hand
sanitizer, and a note that says, leave nothing but footprints, in a sandwich baggie.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with this?” I’d asked Lily, who was turning the bag over in her hand trying to work it
out herself.
“It’s a ‘bear shits in the woods’ scenario.” Dane laughed.
“Oh, no. Nope, no thank you. I draw the line there.”
Lily scoffed. “You going to hold it in all day?”
“I once waited outside Macy’s at four a.m. for a Black Friday sale. I can hold it.”
“I remember, Big. I was with you. And you weren’t exactly pleasant about it.”
“I’ll be fine. If you want to squat in the woods, that’s up to you.”
Lily laughed. “Prude.”
Now, as Brick gives us one more briefing about how not to approach wildlife—this time looking at Xavier instead of me—I will
myself not to think about indoor plumbing.
“No petting the giant brown cows, got it?” Brick says. Jace gives a little snort, and Brick looks over at him, smiling. “He’s
heard that joke a thousand times by now. I might need some new material.”
Jace holds up his hands in protest. “No, no. It needs to be said. You’d be surprised how many people want a selfie with a
mama moose and her calf. That has ended very badly for some.” He raises his eyebrows. “Flattened.”
Xavier’s eyes widen. “Really?”
Volcanos. Pistols. Smushed tourists. Finally, this trip has something for a teenage boy.
“All right, all right. Let’s go, folks.” Brick doesn’t let Jace elaborate, but as we start off Xavier sidles up to him, clearly
digging for more of that story.
The trail is a wide, flat dirt path. Bright-green leaves from the branches above make a canopy over our heads and let a dappled
light dance on the ground. I breathe in the earthy smells—moss, damp dirt, old bark. It’s not that different from the park
paths in our town. I amble along, using the walking sticks Brick gave me, although I don’t need them. So far, this is a piece
of cake.
Unsurprisingly, Lily ditches me for Dane and Ian. I don’t even care. This is something I don’t get a lot of at home with my
to-do lists and my mother’s needs and my repopulated nest. A moment’s peace. This isn’t so bad. Maybe I was making much ado
about—
Then I feel the first bite.
Before I can smack at whatever it is, Luna hits herself on the forehead. Ian swings his arms in front of his face. Dane does
a weird duck-and-cover movement with his head. Jace laughs. “Mozzies are here!”
I hate mosquitos. And they love me. Every humid summer day in New Jersey—which is practically every summer day—they bleed me dry. “You’re too sweet,” my dad used to say when I was young, back in the before days.
“They’re bad down here in the woods,” says Brick. “They won’t bother you above the tree line.”
Now Lily is swatting at the air over her head. “Lil, come here,” I say shrugging out of my backpack and digging through it.
She leaves her new gang, and Dane follows her like a puppy. “Take this bug thingy.” I hand her one of the nets Brick had doled
out earlier.
Lily tosses the netting back at me. “No one else is wearing one. I don’t want to look like a dork.”
“You could never look like a dork,” says Dane, smiling at my sister like she is dessert, and Lily giggles, and they march
back to the front of the pack.
The path continues but narrows. The nine of us form a single file line with me bringing up the rear. After only moments, my
heart is beating faster, and I realize we’re going uphill. The level trail was an optical illusion. Gnarled tree roots snake
across the footpath, and I keep my head down, watching my steps carefully. Sweat beads on my lip and under my arms. The distance
between me and the rest of the group widens. No one looks back.
Large, flat rocks become steps as the incline steepens—a staircase in the middle of nowhere. My legs are heavy as I trudge
up one after the next. I’m breathing through my mouth, and there is a tightness in my chest. In the back of my head, my Peloton-turned-clothing-rack
mocks me all the way from home. Lily had promised me this was a trip anyone could handle. I do not think she read the fine
print.
I stop and lean on my walking poles, grabbing mouthfuls of air.
Up a couple of yards, I spot a tree trunk that’s fallen across the path.
Everyone must have scurried over it. I’ll sit there, catch my breath, and then I’ll rejoin the group, I promise myself.
There’s a bend in the trail; they must be beyond it.
The downed tree smells rotted and is bare of bark in places, but sturdy enough to hold my weight. At the end of its long trunk
is an enormous root ball that’s been ripped out of the ground. Dark earth clings to its tangled fingers. Suddenly, something
moves from behind it. Whatever it is, it doesn’t make a sound. There is no snapping of branches or crunching of leaves. I
hold my breath and curse my slowness. The thing steps into a pool of dappled sunshine, and I let my breath out slowly.
It’s a gorgeous fox. Its orange fur is ablaze in the light. A white chest and cheeks make him appear dressed for a party.
He turns his head and gazes right at me with golden, almond-shape eyes. He sits, facing me. We stare at each other; neither
of us move. Slowly, I lift my mosquito netting to see the creature more clearly, and it doesn’t scare him off. My heart stops
pounding against my chest. My breathing slows down. Our eyes are locked, for who knows how long. Then something cracks, and
the sound of footsteps comes from uphill. The animal’s ears twitch. Up the trail, I see Jace coming toward me fast. When I
turn back, the fox is gone.
“Oy, Bridget, you’re okay,” Jace says when he reaches me. I have a pang of loss for the moment that’s gone. “You’ve got to
keep with the group, yeah.”
“I’m sorry, I needed a rest.” I don’t tell him about my fox encounter. It feels like something just for me.
“Nah, no worries. It’s my bad. I should be hanging back.” He places his hand on his chest, and I realize that he, too, has
a pistol in a holster under his open flannel shirt.
“Seriously, how safe is this? Are you sure we should even be out here, if you all have to be armed?”
Jace laughs. “This is Alaska. Everyone’s armed.”
“That does not make me feel better.”
“Nah, you’re totally safe, yeah. Just follow the rules, stick with your guide. If you’re knackered, let one of us know.”
Context clues tell me what knackered means. “I plan to be knackered a lot.”
“You’d be surprised how quickly you find your mountain legs.” Jace offers a hand, and I let him pull me off the downed tree
trunk.
“Ha, I think the last thing you’d say about me—or Lily—is that we have ever had mountain legs.”
“Oh, yeah? Pretty bold move, then, to sign yourself up for a trip like this one. I mean, there’s some gnarly stuff out here.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “Bold.” I’m here to rescue my sister, but if I’m the one who’s got to be scraped off the trail every day, that’s
going to be difficult. I’m regretting not pushing harder for a cruise.