“I don’t love it,” Abbie said. “Selfishly, if Marna and I are both unable, then there’s no able-bodied person around. That feels dangerous. If something happens to you—let’s say you got halfway down and this hit you—there's no one there to help you get water. And we’ll have your bleach.”
“It’s not ideal,” Sommer said. “We can all agree on that. But people solo hike all the time. Look, I need to take my electrolytes and food with me. I’m sorry.”
“Of course you do,” Marna said.
“I’ll only take a day’s worth of calories.”
“Don’t leave your food with us. We won’t be eating it. I’d give you something out of my pack that’s easy to eat while you're walking, but you shouldn’t touch anything from my pack. Abbie and I are both shedding virus. You need to stay the hell away from us.”
“Who would have thought I’d be saved by whooping cough spittle,” Sommer murmured.
“I’m grateful you were,” Marna said. “It’s hopeful. Outside help is really the only thing that’s going to get us off this mountain.”
“Okay. We need to make things as easy as we can for you two. I’ll get the water, and then I’m heading out. I trek down to the ranger station, then they’ll get rescue together, and we need to get back up. At three miles an hour, if I push, I’ll be down in nine to twelve hours. So a twenty-four-hour turnaround.”
“If all goes to plan,” Abbie said.
“Shhh, Abbie, you know better than that,” Sommer scolded. “Don’t speak ill into existence. I still have a full-ish moon to light the way and my headlamp. It’ll be fine.”
“You’ve been hiking all day,” Abbie whispered.
“There are those athletes that do adventure races that are running the trails for days on end. When I’m done, I’ll reward myself with a cheesecake.”
“Nope,” Abbie moaned, then staggered to the sweet briar bush to vomit. “No mentions of food. And also, I’m getting worse by the minute.”
Sommer put on her N95 and a pair of Nitrile gloves. She handed the leaf with medication to Marna. “Break it in half and share. It might help a little. Give me your dry bags. I’ll head down to the stream. You take what you can carry and keep heading to the summit. It’s flat there. And it’s possible some other hikers will be around with a shaker of salt.”
“That’s the dream,” Marna said, pushing to her feet and reaching for her pack. “Abbie, if you’re getting worse by the minute, we need to use what health we have left to get to the site and get our camp set up. Shove your things back in your pack and let’s go.”
Her hands in motion, Abbie moaned, “Why not stay here?”
“Can you imagine trying to sleep on this incline?” Marna asked. “We’d be hard for rescue workers to get to here. Up on the summit they could land a helicopter.”
“Is that what they’ll do? Medivac us out?” Abbie asked.
“Depends on the picture that Sommer paints.”
“I’ll make it good.” She turned to Abbie. “I don’t know what they’ll do. For sure, you’re not walking down this mountain any time soon. And it would be darned hard to carry you out.”
“But the upside,” Abbie said, snapping the lid on her pack, “if there were an upside to this, we would be surrounded by hunky heroes.”
“Yeah, super,” Marna said dryly. “Best case, they get there, and we’re covered in sweat, puke, and feces. Very romantic.”
“If that’s the best case,” Abbie said. “What’s the worst?” She shot a hand up her palm facing Marna. “Please, please, please don’t answer that, Marna. I already know.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sommer
Friday, Dawn
When Sommer left the summit, life for Abbie and Marna was becoming more difficult with every passing minute.
The physical exertion, along with the limited water and electrolytes over the last two days, left their systems taxed even before the virus tried to expel every drop of moisture from their bodies.
Sommer had carried the gallons of water up to them, wearing her N95 and gloves. She treated it to make it safe to drink. But the bleach took a while to do its work, so the women would do without a little longer.
By the time Sommer arrived at the top, Marna and Abbie had used up the last of their stamina setting up their camp.
