Until the Beginning
Page 24
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“Juneau, there is no way on this earth that you will persuade me to wear cutoff jeans.” Miles laughs and walks away. Discussion over.
“Your choice.” I shrug and, unable to hide the smile on my lips, slip the knife back into its leather sheath.
I stow most of our supplies in my backpack, and Miles picks up the tent and a bag of food, and we’re off. Even though we’ll be taking the time we need for surveillance instead of rushing right in, I don’t want to lose any time.
We climb directly to the top of the first hill. My hiking boots provide traction, which would have made the trek a quick one, if Miles didn’t keep slipping with his smooth-soled tennis shoes. It’s funny—the star on the side makes them look like sports shoes, but he might as well be wearing ballet slippers for all the good it’s doing him on the rocky slopes.
We crest the hill after a half hour and stop to drink some water. The sun is high above now; it must be noon or just after. “Are you hungry?” I ask. Miles shakes his head, but doesn’t speak. I’m not sure if he’s able—his face is all red and he’s breathing heavily.
I remind myself that he just went through the Rite. Plus, the pure oxygen of the mountains must be hitting him like a brick wall. I have breathed the air in Los Angeles, and considering the difference between that and this nature-filtered mountain air, Miles might as well be on another planet.
I hand him the water bottle, and he takes a long swig. He bends over and puts his hands on his knees, still breathing heavy. “You know, it’s funny,” he says with his wry smile. “I’m in perfect shape. It’s probably just the altitude that’s getting to me.”
“You just came back from the dead,” I remind him.
“Oh yeah, that. It’s definitely due to my recent resurrection,” he says. “And if I asked you to take it a bit slower?”
“With my clan on the other side of that mountain?” I say, pointing to the tree-lined peak before us. I give him a wicked smile. “Sorry, but no chance.”
Miles stands back up and pounds on his chest with his fists. “Okay, I’m ready for anything,” he says. “Don’t pay any attention to my shortness of breath, red face, or sweat-soaked clothes. It’s all a ruse so that I can really pour on the speed at the end and impress you.”
“Posturing,” I say.
“Exactly,” Miles replies.
I walk over and brush his fiery cheek with my fingertips. “If we keep up our pace, we’ll probably reach the peak in just over an hour. And, if it would make you feel better, once we get there I’ll fix lunch while you recover.”
Miles nods, still gasping, and manages to wheeze, “Sounds good.”
“First one to the top gets a Snickers bar!” I say, and skip out of his way as he tries to grab me.
20
MILES
I’M USELESS. TRULY. IT’S BECOMING MORE AND more obvious that Juneau would be better off doing this rescue without me. While I barely made it up the mountain, Juneau scaled the side like Spider-Man, not even having to look where she put her feet.
Once we get to the top, I sit down and put my head between my knees while Juneau scouts the ridge for a lookout point. “Come up here, Miles!” she shouts from the other side of a patch of pine trees.
“Can’t move. Paralyzed. Think I’m having death-sleep flashback,” I yell, gasping for breath as I hold my pounding head in my hands.
“Just walk over to me—I’m not even thirty feet away—and then you’ll have my permission to pass out,” she calls.
“Permission?” I grumble as I push myself to my feet and weave my way toward her. I give her a choppy salute. “Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir.”
“Come have a look,” she says. There’s an excited gleam in her eyes. I look in the direction she’s pointing and see it: an enormous wire fence, twenty feet tall, running toward the mountain through the desert, and then straight up the side, trailing halfway up one of the peaks before cutting horizontally across and disappearing in the distance.
“That’s gotta be it!” I say, feeling strange. After weeks of Juneau talking about her clan being kidnapped, here is the material proof. We’re within walking distance of the fence—the only thing separating Juneau from her clan. Besides several thousand volts of electricity and an army of bodybuilders with automatic weapons, that is. But still . . . we’re here at last.
I glance back at Juneau, and she is practically crackling with excitement. She looks like she’s about to burst out of her skin, and I know it’s taking everything she’s got not to rush the fence and go directly to her people.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” she says. “We’re going to set up camp on the other side of the ridge so that if someone’s patrolling the perimeter fence, they won’t see us.”
“I’m camp setter-upper,” I say. “Just give me five minutes to remember how to breathe.”
“I know I offered to fix us lunch,” she says, picking up her backpack. She starts back the way we came, and even though all I want to do is throw myself spread eagle on the ground, I follow her. “But I’m so excited I’m not even hungry,” she continues. “I want to start following the fence to see where it leads.”
“Don’t worry about lunch,” I say, “but do you think it’s safe?”
“I promise to stay out of view and not do anything rash,” she responds.
“Your choice.” I shrug and, unable to hide the smile on my lips, slip the knife back into its leather sheath.
I stow most of our supplies in my backpack, and Miles picks up the tent and a bag of food, and we’re off. Even though we’ll be taking the time we need for surveillance instead of rushing right in, I don’t want to lose any time.
We climb directly to the top of the first hill. My hiking boots provide traction, which would have made the trek a quick one, if Miles didn’t keep slipping with his smooth-soled tennis shoes. It’s funny—the star on the side makes them look like sports shoes, but he might as well be wearing ballet slippers for all the good it’s doing him on the rocky slopes.
We crest the hill after a half hour and stop to drink some water. The sun is high above now; it must be noon or just after. “Are you hungry?” I ask. Miles shakes his head, but doesn’t speak. I’m not sure if he’s able—his face is all red and he’s breathing heavily.
I remind myself that he just went through the Rite. Plus, the pure oxygen of the mountains must be hitting him like a brick wall. I have breathed the air in Los Angeles, and considering the difference between that and this nature-filtered mountain air, Miles might as well be on another planet.
I hand him the water bottle, and he takes a long swig. He bends over and puts his hands on his knees, still breathing heavy. “You know, it’s funny,” he says with his wry smile. “I’m in perfect shape. It’s probably just the altitude that’s getting to me.”
“You just came back from the dead,” I remind him.
“Oh yeah, that. It’s definitely due to my recent resurrection,” he says. “And if I asked you to take it a bit slower?”
“With my clan on the other side of that mountain?” I say, pointing to the tree-lined peak before us. I give him a wicked smile. “Sorry, but no chance.”
Miles stands back up and pounds on his chest with his fists. “Okay, I’m ready for anything,” he says. “Don’t pay any attention to my shortness of breath, red face, or sweat-soaked clothes. It’s all a ruse so that I can really pour on the speed at the end and impress you.”
“Posturing,” I say.
“Exactly,” Miles replies.
I walk over and brush his fiery cheek with my fingertips. “If we keep up our pace, we’ll probably reach the peak in just over an hour. And, if it would make you feel better, once we get there I’ll fix lunch while you recover.”
Miles nods, still gasping, and manages to wheeze, “Sounds good.”
“First one to the top gets a Snickers bar!” I say, and skip out of his way as he tries to grab me.
20
MILES
I’M USELESS. TRULY. IT’S BECOMING MORE AND more obvious that Juneau would be better off doing this rescue without me. While I barely made it up the mountain, Juneau scaled the side like Spider-Man, not even having to look where she put her feet.
Once we get to the top, I sit down and put my head between my knees while Juneau scouts the ridge for a lookout point. “Come up here, Miles!” she shouts from the other side of a patch of pine trees.
“Can’t move. Paralyzed. Think I’m having death-sleep flashback,” I yell, gasping for breath as I hold my pounding head in my hands.
“Just walk over to me—I’m not even thirty feet away—and then you’ll have my permission to pass out,” she calls.
“Permission?” I grumble as I push myself to my feet and weave my way toward her. I give her a choppy salute. “Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir.”
“Come have a look,” she says. There’s an excited gleam in her eyes. I look in the direction she’s pointing and see it: an enormous wire fence, twenty feet tall, running toward the mountain through the desert, and then straight up the side, trailing halfway up one of the peaks before cutting horizontally across and disappearing in the distance.
“That’s gotta be it!” I say, feeling strange. After weeks of Juneau talking about her clan being kidnapped, here is the material proof. We’re within walking distance of the fence—the only thing separating Juneau from her clan. Besides several thousand volts of electricity and an army of bodybuilders with automatic weapons, that is. But still . . . we’re here at last.
I glance back at Juneau, and she is practically crackling with excitement. She looks like she’s about to burst out of her skin, and I know it’s taking everything she’s got not to rush the fence and go directly to her people.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” she says. “We’re going to set up camp on the other side of the ridge so that if someone’s patrolling the perimeter fence, they won’t see us.”
“I’m camp setter-upper,” I say. “Just give me five minutes to remember how to breathe.”
“I know I offered to fix us lunch,” she says, picking up her backpack. She starts back the way we came, and even though all I want to do is throw myself spread eagle on the ground, I follow her. “But I’m so excited I’m not even hungry,” she continues. “I want to start following the fence to see where it leads.”
“Don’t worry about lunch,” I say, “but do you think it’s safe?”
“I promise to stay out of view and not do anything rash,” she responds.
