The terrain changed. At first they followed the creek, keeping to the soft ground before it gave way to the rocky creek bed. The long grasses disappeared and were replaced with the dark expanse of the coniferous forest, with visible root systems spread like spider veins, popping from the soil to trip them, before plunging back below the surface. Dying ferns, shrunken and brown, carpeted the forest floor. Were it spring or summer, those ferns would form an impenetrable green blanket over the whole area; now their boots crushed them to dust underfoot. Massive boulders from the last ice age appeared like gray ghosts, sheer rock faces wet with lichen or moss, dotted with small, thin, impossible trees whose roots wrapped like hands over the stone and sprouted at strange angles toward patches of sunlight.
The case knocked into the side of Jonathan’s knee, which was already raw and bruised. They had hiked for three full rotations, and the constant jostle and bump of the case against his knees, the heavy tugs on his shoulders when Michael or Conner walked out of pace with his own gait, had grown to a point of eruption. They continued to follow the creek, stepping down occasionally into the rocky creek bed to navigate around underbrush. The slippery rocks twisted their ankles, caused them to stumble and splash into small pools of cold water.
The strain of the journey pushed Jonathan to his limit. Branches swiped at his face, thorn patches gripped and tore at his sleeves, and all the time there was the shifting slosh of the boy in the box. His breath was heavy and hard. Sweat soaked into his hat until he finally removed it, and then his head froze in the air. The soles of his boots bent and slipped. The case pulled again at his shoulder and rammed into the side of his knee. He felt a murderous rage and then marveled how easily the desire to kill fell upon him, how such a minor thing could drive a man insane like the slow drip of water torture.
They dragged that thing over rock, water and earth for three hours, passing in and out of darkness and light.
They were already carrying at least eighty pounds of camping gear on their backs and now the case with the full weight of the boy’s body inside. This was US Marine Corps stuff – not for a few guys who rode desks for a living. In the months leading up to the trip, Jonathan had thought little of the physical strain of the hike, but now it seemed impossible. When it was his turn to be free of the box and walk in the rear, he felt a small modicum of relief – just enough to renew his spirit and body for another rotation.
The creek became thinner – the water slowed to a trickle between rocks. It twisted snakelike through the trees, took long, undulating curves and then returned to them. They followed it for hours. Conner kept watch on the mountain peaks above, waiting for the point when they would stop and turn west to climb the mountain and reach the pass. It would be a harder leg of the journey, but at least it would be progress. He felt like he could gather more energy if they could just move in a new direction. But even a renewed energy would not be good enough. There was a growing knowledge between them; their pace was too slow.
“How far have we come?” Jonathan asked.
“About three miles,” Conner said. “We’re almost there.”
“I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” Michael said. “Not today anyway.”
Conner sighed long and heavy again.
“Three more hours of this shit and I’ll be near dead,” Michael added. He breathed heavy; sweat and steam poured from his head.
“I know,” Conner said. “Just a little farther. We need to get to the passage. At least that. If we need to we can camp there for the night. The rest is downhill toward the lake.”
“Weather is coming,” Jonathan said.
“It’s at least another day out. We’ll be okay.”
Michael was calculating their chances of making the journey in his head. Jonathan could tell; his blank eyes were lost, his mind running logistics. Michael knew the actual chances of making the journey free from injury or death, the chances of not getting lost or getting caught in the coming snowstorm – diminishing numbers.
They switched for another rotation. The case rocked against the side of Jonathan’s knee again. They kept hauling through the woods. Everything seemed so far away now. They were beyond the point of no return.
Conner stopped them. “Here. That’s far enough north.” He was looking at his map and then trying to see through the canopy of spruce trees to the mountains. “Let’s stop for a bit,” he said. “Eat, take a break.” He checked his watch – nearly 2:00 p.m. It would be dark by 5:30. “Just a few minutes. It’s not far to the pass but it’s uphill. We have to at least get there by dark.”
Jonathan and Michael unceremoniously dropped the case and collapsed. They all scrambled away from it to find a place to sit – a rock or fallen tree. Conner began to hike up a ledge to get a better look at the ridge of mountains to be sure they were in the right spot. Jonathan dropped his backpack and felt the soaked back of his shirt lift from his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He took two sandwiches from his backpack and ate quickly.
Michael stumbled off into the underbrush, and Jonathan was left alone in Coombs’ Gulch. He sat back on a fallen pine tree till his face caught a sliver of light in the shadow. He put his head back and stared into a patch of sky. The trees seemed like dark gray lines, the blue of the sky so deep it seemed to give way to
