Page 23 of Big & Lily

“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 mybreath, 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 whatknackeredmeans. “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.

Chapter Twelve

Jace and I round a corner, and I see the group gathered around, waiting for the straggler. I wave and laugh. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I shout past my own shallow breaths.

Even from a distance, I can see Lily’s eyes narrow as she puts her hands on her hips. I’m embarrassing her. Won’t be the last time this trip, I guarantee that. If she’d just done her research, instead of flinging us into shark-infested waters—or should I say, beast-and-bug-infested woods—we’d be sipping margaritas on a beach or, at the very least, eating eight meals a day and lounging port side.

“We thought we’d lost you to a wild boar.” Dane laughs, causing a supercilious scoff from my sister.

“It would take more than being gored by a pig to keep me from this summit Brick has been going on about.”

“There are no wild boars in Wrangell-St. Elias,” Brick assures everyone.

“Oh, bummer,” says Xavier.

“I don’t think you want to run into a wild boar, son,” says his father with a hint of condescension.

Xavier picks up on it and looks down at the ground and jams his toe into a tree root. “Whatever,” he says as he starts off without us.