The moment stretches out for just a beat too long, thick with all the things I could say to him. Messages I could send to the world he’s heading back to, things I’ve wanted to say.
But there’s no use in doing that. Pete’s busy, and sending him back with a message from me might only make people more curious about my whereabouts. And the last thing I need is for another nosy journalist to make their way up the side of the mountain, certain they can find Henry Rowan Travis and question him, yet again, about everything that went down.
Breaking out of my thoughts, I nod my head in the direction of his Prius. “Make sure you put that wig back on before you leave, man.”
CHAPTER 3
LOLA
“Okay, this is fine. This is fine. I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine.”
If you say something out loud enough, it has to be true. Or, at least, that’s what I force myself to believe as I trudge up the little hill, my pack feeling, somehow, even more oppressive than when I knocked myself out with it earlier.
Maybe it’s the weather, which is incredibly humid and balmy, the air sticking to my skin like a wet blanket. This morning when I left the city, it was cool and crisp, and I’d almost worried I might be too cold.
The sun is high in the sky now, and I’m definitely not cold. I’ve sweat all the way through my pink athletic romper, meant to be functional and cute. It’s impossibly hot. If I think about it too much, I start to feel claustrophobic, like I might not get enough air into my lungs.
So, I don’t think about it. Instead, I start to visualize the shots I’ll take once I have everything set up and put some dry shampoo inmy hair. How I’ll frame myself among the trees, capture the light perfectly.
Then, when that runs out as a coping mechanism, I think instead about the information I gathered before coming out here. The influencer in me doesn’t care where we are, as long as the photos come out right. But the journalist in me has the insatiable need to dig deeper, find out more, keep looking until I unearth something shining and special to focus on.
And I have the strangest feeling that besides being a somewhat secret free camping spot, there’s something about this place that’s special. Something waiting to be uncovered.
The Cascades are the mountain range closest to Seattle. It’s a major range that runs through California, Oregon, Washington, and then up into Canada. Many of the summits are dormant volcanoes. The Willamette River runs through the area, winding around the slopes, and if I strain, I almost think I can hear the water, though I might be imagining that.
Beyond all that information is the fact of the area’s stark, breathtaking beauty.
Or maybe it’s just my lack of cardio that’s breathtaking.
Finally, I reach the camp area, dumping my pack on the ground and heaving myself down next to it. I’m in the dirt and probably staining my romper, but I’ve never been further from caring. Right now, the only thing I need is to get some oxygen into my lungs and some water into my body.
Ten or twenty minutes later, my chest has stopped heaving, and when I look around, a shiver runs through me. It’s gorgeous, being out here, looking up at the kaleidoscope between theleaves of the Douglas firs, but I’m also struck by just howaloneI am.
And I’m also trying not to think about mountain people, crime podcasts about hidden societies of cannibals.
“Okay,” I mutter, rocking forward onto my feet. “Time to do this thing.”
Once I’m up, it’s easier to get into the flow. First, I set up the tripod just outside the clearing and make sure the shot will capture everything. Then I change into cute hiking gear some outdoorsy company sent me. I clip a microphone to my shirt, use the feedback on the camera to fluff my hair, adding some dry shampoo to mitigate the effects of the sweat from the trek up here.
My rental car is down below, parked in a little dirt pull-off that I would have missed without explicit instructions.
“Hey there, guys,” I say, once it’s rolling, smiling at the camera and doing the little wave I start every video with. “Today, I’m going?—”
I clear my throat, shake my head, start again. “Today we’re going completely off?—”
Stopping, I look up to the sky again and let out a quick puff of air. Every time I start filming, I still feel awkward, even out here in the middle of nowhere. I do a little dance, shaking out my limbs and hands, then my face so my cheeks go loose.
“Okay.” I say it as a grounding word, then look back to the camera, that false smile falling over my face again. “Today, we’re going completely off-grid and camping out here in the beautiful Cascades. Just because we’re off grid doesn’t mean we haveto rough it — come with me to put together my homemade glamping set-up.”
I cut the camera, turn off the microphone, and start a new shot, taking a deep breath and getting to work. It takes ten minutes of fighting with the poles, but I manage to put the tent up. Then, I lug over the portable power station I brought and nestle it inside, plugging in a little swamp cooler and turning it on.
The string lights are tangled in the box, and I mutter under my breath about leaving a bad review, a bead of sweat running down my forehead as I fight with them. I’m already dreading the thought of packing all this up and carrying it back to the car. But my dad would roll in his grave if he found out that I’d even left so much as a napkin, so I’ll be making sure not to leave a single trace behind.
Even with the head start I got on the day, everything takes longer than I think, and the sun starts to set much faster than I anticipate. I hurry to grab a few more takes, showing off different brand deals and trying to exemplify my ability toconnect with nature, though I’ve been swatting at mosquitoes and checking myself for ticks excessively.
Finally, when it’s clear I won’t be able to get more shots in this lighting, I take out my drone, set it up, and figure I can get a few good overhead shots. First, I stand in the middle of my camp and look up at the camera, waving as it flies up into the air, zooming out and getting a sweeping shot of the valley.
I check the film, then set it up again to get a 360-degree-view of the sunset, showing the tips of the trees in the shot. In preparation, for weeks I’ve been watching hiking and camping vlogs, people who live out of their SUVs, and I know exactly the kind of video that’s going to show how alone I am out here.
