The tents were pitched close enough to allow for communication, yet far enough away to have some privacy as they dealt with their bodies.
They had chosen a flat spot next to shade trees, with the doors open and facing the fresh wind rounding over the top of the mountain.
Their sleep pads and sleeping bags lay out.
Sommer set up her own tent and left it prepped so that if one of them befouled their nest, they’d have someplace fresh to go. And Sommer wouldn’t be using it; she’d be moving fast to get help. She didn’t need to be encumbered by any extra weight.
Because Abbie and Marna couldn’t stumble but so far and make it back to their sleeping bags, the location they’d chosenprovided each woman a screen of vegetation behind her to serve as her own latrine.
The wind that came over the summit would blow the smells and bugs away.
Sommer made them promise not to start a fire.
And not wholly believing that promise—especially Marna, who once she got something in her mind was harder to dissuade—took their fire-starting equipment and stuffed it in her pack.
But before she left, Sommer made sure the headlamps, flashlights, and emergency whistles were tied to their tents, within easy reach, so her friends could signal for help or scare away predators.
Sommer made sure she had her supplies in easy reach on her pack as she gave everything a last glance.
Both Abbie and Marna were behind their screens when Sommer called, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
If they were at home, Sommer would have insisted on taking them to the hospital for IVs. This was an anywhere emergency, not just a top-of-the-mountain emergency.
Sommer started down the trail, pushing off the thoughts of just how far twenty-six miles really was. A marathon run by elite athletes could be done in mere hours. On this trail, in the dark? Best-case scenario, maybe ten if she didn’t let up. More likely it would be closer to fifteen.
Daunting.
She wouldn’t think about it.
Her goal wasn’t the ranger station; she’d cut the trek in two. First, she’d make it to last night’s campsite. It was possible that there were people there. And surely, they’d help.
The bill of her cap made the golden globe of an almost-full moon hard for Sommer to see.
Sommer wore that cap to keep the moths from dive bombing her face as they danced in the light of her headlamp.
She trudged.
And trudged.
After her second near-faceplant, Sommer chose two sticks and made sure they hit solid ground as she moved along.
A twisted ankle, a blow to the head—there were other things to be worried about on this trek. She wondered what might be following her on the trail, which nocturnal animals were on the hunt.
Sommer had grown up camping in these mountains where the stories of the wild men were campfire staples.
These were men who left society and found their way into the mountains, where they lived off the land, hunting and foraging for wild foods, stealing from campers and summer cottages.
She was told you could see their shadows dodging from tree to tree, and that when you got that frisson up your spine, it told you you were being watched; more likely than not, a wildman was stalking you.
Sommer’s heart pounded so loudly against her sternum, she could hardly hear herself think.
Part was exertion; the other part was fear.
Sure, some of the risks might be immediate.
But the low-level hum of danger was sounding for her friends on the summit. She’d seen norovirus hit fast and hard, but nothing like what Abbie and Marna were navigating.
If Sommer were in their place, what would she be thinking as she lay on her bedroll looking out at the night sky, feverish, stomach cramping. Thirsty and unprotected.
