We passed through a field of long, wispy grass billowing in the wind, and wild flowers with bright orange buds rising from the center and pointy narrow leaves on their stalks. The field gave way to fragmented boulders that looked as if they’d sheared from higher up some time ago and slid or tumbled down the mountain before coming to rest. We came to a copse of gnarly, fir-like trees—twenty, thirty feet tall—deformed by a wind we’d yet to feel. Before we entered, I stole a glance down the slope. Anna and Simon both waved like they’d been waiting for us to look at them. I waved back before carrying on.
“Hey, look what I got here,” said Colby. “My man’s favorite pet.” He whirled around, holding a small black snake by the tail. It hissed and writhed and tried to twist up and bite his hand. I backed up a few steps. My stomach knotted; beads of cold sweat formed on my forehead. Snakes! Creepy. Slippery. I hated snakes, had ever since two water moccasins bit my hand when I was ten, and I had to be rushed to the ER for a shot of anti-venom. My whole hand and forearm had swollen up like a watermelon. Colby knew of my phobia. I’d shared the story with both him and Simon during our last trip to the pet store, to buy fish food for the Oscars at Halton House.
“Better put it down. Could be highly venomous. Even deadly venomous,” said Tabby, deathly serious.
“Piddly little sucker like this?” said Colby. He swung it up through the air.
“Berg adders are only ten inches long. Their venom can drop an elephant,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, how you know?” said Colby, squinted-eyed.
“One of the benefits of having an egghead sister, I guess.”
Colby flung the snake toward a pile of rocks. As soon as it hit the ground, it tried to slither out of sight, but a black plant with a head the size and shape of a football bobbed down and gobbled it up, sucking its tail up like a spaghetti string.
“What was that?” said Tabby, mystified.
“I don’t know, but they’re everywhere,” I said. The same plants—thin foot-long stocks and big bulbous heads—spotted the entire mountainside.
“Man, just a big old flytrap,” said Colby. Acting nonchalant, all cool-like, he turned and resumed hiking up the trail.
“Only ten inches and drops an elephant?” I whispered.
“No,” whispered Tabby out of the corner of her mouth, “more like twenty-five to thirty-five inches. And those are definitely not just flytraps.”
We went to catch up with Colby, more mindful of our surroundings.
The three of us wended through rocks and trees, slowly ascending the mountainside up no defined path, occasionally stopping to drink water from the bottle. Eventually we came to a steeper portion where a path zigzagged back and forth like one of those mountain goat paths that I’d seen in Montana’s high country. Colby stopped and leaned against a tree, breathing heavily, and used his shirt to wipe sweat from his face. He waved for us to pass, to take the lead.
With the line of sight cut, and the sun dipping quicker than I’d expected, an uneasy feeling overcame me. I told Tabby and Colby that we needed to pick up the pace, and so we did. We began to hike much faster. About three quarters of the way up, loose rock slid down the mountainside off to our right, echoing, and blooming dust, which swept out over the valley. A shaggy black animal scrambled along one of the lower paths.
“See that?” I said.
“What is it?” said Tabby.
“I don’t know,” I said, and then on second thought, loud enough so Colby could hear: “Maybe a giant grizzly out looking for dinner.” I grinned mischievously at Tabby and winked. We left Colby leaning against a tree, catching his breath, and staring at the clump of boulders into which the animal had disappeared. He’d made his fear of bears well known. And I thought what better time to even the score.
A few seconds later, I heard him scrambling after us.
It wasn’t long before we ended up on one of the paths that ran directly underneath the bluff. Every ten or so seconds, I’d turn back in hopes of getting a line of sight on the others below, but I never did. I caught myself thinking of all the times I’d been out hiking in Montana with no destination in mind, a chance to be free of everything, everyone. During those times, I never felt so free, never felt so alive. But then this wasn’t Montana.
No more shaggy animals appeared on the mountain as we neared the bluff, which rose higher than I’d originally thought. A good fifty or sixty feet at least.
When we got there, I inspected one side and then the other while Tabby and Colby sat down to rest. There was no easy way up. Both sides rose steeply with only loose slate on the slope, and tiny scrub trees growing here and there.
“Who’s going up?” said Colby.
I could tell by the way he said it that he didn’t want to go any farther. In the sky to the left, I spotted two large brown birds circling high above like the eagles that I used to watch in Montana. The two were joined by a third, and then another one appeared out over the forest, followed by three more. They were so high up that it was difficult to make out their features.
“Nothing about this looks normal,” said Colby. “And my Aunty Watts got a whole stack of Outdoor Adventure.”
“Let’s give it a shot, and start back down,” said Tabby.
“Who’s going up?” said Colby again.
They both stared at me.
“I guess I am,” I said.
“I’ll go with you,” said Tabby, shifting her bra.
“No, it’s better if I go by myself,” I continued. “If I stay tight along the side, I should be able to use those little trees to climb up.”
“How long we been gone?” said Tabby.
“I don’t know,” said Colby. “I can’t believe ain’t none of us got a watch.”
“Everyone relies on phones now,” said Tabby.
“Hour and a half,” I said uneasily, knowing we’d been longer than predicted. “We’ve been gone about an hour and a half.” I handed Tabby Simon’s gym bag.
She took out the water bottle and tried to hand it to me. There was only a bit left, a few mouthfuls at most. I waved her off and then rounded the corner to begin my climb.
It was steeper than it first looked and the loose slate kept slipping underfoot. For every four steps up, there were two back. I picked my way along, using fissures in the bluff and small trees for handholds. It took me about ten minutes or so to reach the top. Longer than I’d hoped. By the time I did, my fingers were raw; sweat stung my eyes. I walked out to the end, the wind tousling my hair, drying the sweat on my face and body. What lay before me was unlike anything my imagination could fathom.