On the ride up the canyon of the Tule River, lone oaks appeared amid the dry summer grasslands, and the grasslands gave way to oak woodlands, and those open woodlands soon gave way to chaparral—dense tangles of sun-dried scrub.
In Case of Fire ...
The deep and dusty green of the oily leaves betrayed their perennial thirst. Cindy could smell them through the air vents of the family car. She could smell the foliage drying, roasting as the chloroplasts in the waxy leaves captured and transmuted the flames of the sun. The mountainside was savory. Its aroma reminded Cindy of a bakery of focaccias covered with herbs and oils. The aromatic thickets seemed on the verge of igniting. Sure enough, there were blackened patches here and there to corroborate to Cindy’s eyes the reports that had arrived from her nose.
When Cindy stepped out of the family Oldsmobile onto the eroded clearing that served as a parking lot, she heard the voices of wind and creatures through the trees. Once she was out in the mountain air, she could feel something familiar about that warm breeze filtering through the pines. She could feel the air being pushed through the trees by a warm exhalation on high. The blowing sound of it reminded her of the gentle roar of a stovetop burner.
Armen had to summon Cindy twice before getting her attention, but once she hit the trail, she had no problem keeping up with the boys. She had the stride for it. Sam, being accustomed to being the least likely to fall behind, took up the rear, but he soon realized that this meant taking up Cindy’s rear, and found himself measuring her stride too diligently. It was an efficient stride, with no swaying or shifting. Its natural elegance had an allure all its own.
Cindy wrestled against the hints of fire all around her. There was no lack of fuel, to be sure, yet the air was thin; there was less oxygen in it. With less oxygen, the ample firewood all around should be less inclined to combust, and better yet, there were no gas lines up here and no internal combustion engines. At first, all the drying and baking biomass startled her, but as she thought it over she began to feel more at ease. There may be no lack of fire in these mountains, she thought, but it wasn’t fire-crazy like the human culture in the Sink below. It was understandable to be a little anxious about this place. She’d just arrived, after all. Yet she felt a peculiar familiarity with it all. She felt somehow that she might have been there before, though there were no memories: there was only a feeling.
The backpacking party tumbled down the old Jordan Trail, and then they turned north down a cattle trail toward Greys Meadow. They crossed the path of a couple groups of horsemen, and each time Armen asked the riders whether they’d seen any cattle or cowboys. He got two denials and one sideways glance for his trouble.
Vegetation roasted in the warm sun. Cindy’s anxiety reasserted itself. The Range seemed to be everywhere ready to combust. She saw and smelled burnt trunks and branches. She could smell the alpine chaparral aromatically toasting like rosemary and sage in an oven. Sweat beaded on her forehead and pooled against her back, and she began to feel her heart palpitate with an anxiety that was not without an allure. It was a haunting that she found difficult to resist, and that attraction frightened her. It was like the pull that one feels when standing above an abyss: at once exhilarating and terrorizing—even paralyzing; but now, only a hint of an edge she could not yet see.
Armen and Sam noticed Cindy’s anxiety. Armen asked her if she wanted to turn back, but Cindy rejected the offer unceremoniously. She’d decided to join the boys, and she was resolved to finish what she’d started. She refused to do so much as glance back down the trail. Sam could see her determination and will in battle against her fears, and he was watching her with growing respect. Sam had been there before. He hadn’t told anyone that he’d been an accomplice to the dragon and fled his guilt in shame. He hadn’t even acknowledged it to himself. But watching Cindy was like looking into a mirror sometimes, though Cindy didn’t seem at all like Sam, or like anyone Sam knew. It was something in her that he felt deep inside, and it wasn’t pleasant. It frightened him, but it was impossible to resist.
When they arrived at the meadow, Armen kindled a fire, and Sam fetched some water and wood.
From the meadow, they proceeded north to the river, crossed, and continued until they met the Hockett Trail, which they followed upstream to the next meadow, and set camp there.