Walking was easy now.
I’d dumped most of my gear and supplies in the cave to lighten my backpack load. Everything except water, food, bear spray, matches, and a stun gun. And, of course, my hand sanitizer.
I’d wrapped my ankle tightly in my boot, and the swelling had finally subsided some. That German guy gave me really good painkillers too. Even if both of my ankles had twisted, I could probably speed walk a 5K without any physical pain. I’d taken a few breaks off the path to rest and refuel so I didn’t push my body too hard.
Emotionally, though, when I saw Nate resting in the woods, pure anger flared inside me, compressing my heart and squeezing my lungs so hard I could hardly breathe. It pushed me to confront him. Made me want to fight. Made me want to win. Just to see Nate lose.
Nate. Him kissing me was one of the best moments of my life. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to push the memory out of my mind. Every time I thought of zombies, or roller-skating, or campfires, I would think of Nate now. He tainted them, forever.
I’d taken a photo of the map on my phone, which was why trading it with the German wasn’t a big deal. The longer route to the finish line was a hiking path that wrapped around the side of a narrow cliff. There was a slightly shorter route, but it was steep and slippery, following a boulder-strewn path to the waterfall where you had to cut across a fast-moving stream. Surviving that, you would take the Indian Falls trail to the end. Slippery stones and sprained ankles didn’t go well together, so I had to take the road less treacherous.
Sunlight gilded the tops of the swaying trees, sporadically blinding me as I walked. The trails had been easy to follow up to that point, but now I found myself winded as I climbed over or around fallen trees to stay on course. Was this nature’s doing, from the storm? Or were these tiring obstacles placed there on purpose, to wear us out so we couldn’t fight the zombies?
Buzzing winged insects circled around my head and nipped my cheeks and neck. Swollen bug bites and eczema left the backs of my hands inflamed, sore, and irritated. In my hasty cave departure, I’d remembered to douse myself in OFF! before leaving, but the spray was ineffective: it was as if these bugs were attracted to my spray, not repelled by it. I hoped the bear spray didn’t have the same effect. Last thing I needed now in my exhausted, sweaty state was bear magnetism.
Walking alone in the forest was much creepier than walking alone in Seattle, even compared to the rough parts of Pioneer Square after midnight. Here, every animal rustling, pitter-pattering, or rooting around made my stomach churn and the hairs on my arms stand on end. Someone could murder me out in the wilderness, and no one would even know. Not even Nate.
Past the thick, droopy tree limbs, the dirt path continued up the side of the jutted cliff. I placed each foot carefully, one step firmly in front of the other, so my ankle wouldn’t buckle in the slippery, muddy terrain. One small misstep and I’d send stones (or myself) tumbling off the edge.
The sun was positioned at exactly the wrong angle for this last leg of our competition, the cliff just high enough to get plenty of direct light. Blinding, disorienting sunlight, smack in the eyes with no relief.
One small step in front of the other. Like a tightrope walker.
Left. Right.
Left. Right.
Up the incline I went, taking in the occasional breathtaking view of the forest below. Perched high above the woods, quietness and stillness surrounded me. The path wrapped around the cliff, out of immediate view, and protruded out again farther down on what appeared to be a second cliff.
I made my way around the first bend and stopped cold.
In the middle of the trail, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest was nemesis Nate. Backpack off, eyes squeezed shut, trembling too hard to be meditating. How long had he been there? Probably more than a few minutes. Maybe an hour or two—no doubt he’d been moving faster than I had.
Not wanting to startle him, I said in the calmest, quietest voice I could muster, “Nate? Um…are you okay?”
He kept his eyes closed. “Hey. I just need a little break.”
“But…here?”
Nate was sitting just past a critical juncture in the trail’s topography. The path narrowed even more up ahead, and where we were now, no greenery shielded the outer edges. Here, a simple slip meant you’d plummet straight down into the forest and meet a certain death.
It was funny to think that a few hours before, Nate was hurling firecrackers and sprinting ahead of me. Fearless and confident.
“Are you sick? Is it the height?”
He took deep, calm breaths, eyes still closed. “Yeah. And there’s at least a quarter-mile left on this cliff. I…lost the bo staff. I dropped it, and it rolled off the side of the cliff. I couldn’t hear it land—that’s how high we are.”
He continued. “I’ve been here for maybe an hour, in this exact spot. I can’t move, forward or backward. If I take off my wristband, they’ll come get me. Maybe I should just do that.”
My mouth hung open. “What? You’re giving up?”
He opened one eye and focused it on me. “You can’t get around me. It’s too narrow. I can’t let you meet the same fate as my bo staff. When they clear me out, you can keep going then. I haven’t seen anyone else on this trail.” He closed his eye. “That could mean we’re smarter than everyone—”
“Or we’re idiots for taking the plummet-to-our-deaths path?”
“Yep,” he mumbled. “If you’re in a real hurry, there’s one way you can keep going. You’d need to crawl on top of me and then get off. I can try to help you with that.” His face flushed, and both eyes popped open. “I meant it in an obstacle course sense, not a ‘let’s have sex right now’ way.”
“Yeah, I figured. You don’t seem to be in a very sexy mood,” I deadpanned.
Squeezing his eyes shut again, he shook his head. “Oh God. Ignore me, please. The high altitude’s messing with my brain.”
I took off my backpack and sat down next to him. It was a good time to take a rest, anyway. “I’ll pass on your generous humping offer. Maybe another time.”
Here we were again, falling back into conversation. Just like old times.
We were almost around the first cliff bend. Nate was too wide to get around, he was right about that, but I still risked slipping off the edge by straddling him wrong. And who knew how long it would take for someone to pick him up once he’d pulled off his wristband?
The right way to handle this mess was far from simple. We both needed to keep going. After he and I made it across, I had just as good a shot to win as he did.
“Nate, do you trust me?”
No hesitation. “Yes.”
“Good. We’re going to keep moving, together. My therapist used to work with me on my fears, mainly stage fright and night terrors, especially around my mom’s death. Maybe some of those tips can help you.” I took his pulse. “Your heart rate is way too fast. You need to slowwww down. Are you breathing okay?”
Eyes still closed, he took a series of deep breaths. His frenetic pulse went down a little.
“It’s better,” I said. “But try breathing in and exhaling even deeper.”
He did a few and grumbled, “I feel stupid doing this.”
“It might feel stupid, but your pulse is close to normal now. That’s great! Okay, now you need to tell me what we can dump out of your pack. It’s weighing you down and might be contributing to your unsteadiness on this ledge.”
“Anything but food and water can go. The competition should be over soon anyway, so I don’t need a lot of stuff.”
His pack was stuffed full, and we didn’t have room to lay it all out. New plan. “I’ll drag the backpack behind me, as far as I can carry it. If it becomes a problem, I can leave it somewhere you can retrieve it later. There’s a detachable pouch, and I’ll fill it with some water and food.”
His breath quickened, and color drained from his face.
“Nate.”
His eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes.
“Take more deep breaths. And then we walk slowly. The sun’s dried the path, so it’s not muddy anymore like when you first got here. We can chat the whole way, nothing stress-inducing, I promise.” Grabbing my extended hand and using the rocky wall behind him to steady himself, he pulled his body up.
I promised him pleasant conversation as a means of distracting him, but what could I say? Almost everything I thought of eventually led back to Nate and me. Back to our friendship and our partnership breakup. Hard feelings didn’t just magically go away.
For us to make it up the cliff path, though, it was important to keep my hurt feelings in check. I swallowed my anger like a horse-size pill. Mindless topic of conversation number one. “How many Capri Suns did you drink in all?”
He took a couple of slow steps. “I drank five. And don’t worry, I peed before I got stuck here.” A few more shuffles forward. “How’s your ankle? Is it any better?”
I bit back my sarcasm. You mean the ankle you assumed would slow you down so you ditched me in the cave? “It’s a lot better. It’s still stiff and bruised, but the bruising and swelling went down, and I can walk on it, especially thanks to those pain meds. And faster than your old granny pace.”
He slowed the shuffling of his feet. “I can go slower, you know.” One micro baby step. Then another. Then another.
“Hey! Okay, fine. No more pointing out your geriatric steppage.”
“Good.” Nate laughed and picked up the pace again.
“I won’t say anything about how you might be so slow that a pedometer wouldn’t register your steps.”
“Good.”
“Or mention that we’re moving slower than those zombies in the forest we saw who had no legs.”
“Good.”
“Definitely not going to tell you that I hope we finish before the next annual Zombiegeddon.”
“Good.” He bent down to pick up some debris and tossed it behind him. The next thing I knew I was showered in dirt clumps, crunched-up weeds, and small rocks.
“Pppppfth!” He’d thrown some into my mouth. “You jackass.”
He laughed. “Sorry, my over-the-shoulder aim is usually terrible.” He continued inching down the path. “Are you still moving to New York? After this?” he asked, barely loud enough for me to hear.
In all my time alone in the woods, I hadn’t actually thought much about my life after the competition. The zombies, my ballooned ankle, and Nate dumping me had kept me sufficiently distracted from my post-Zombiegeddon goals. Was I still moving to New York? If he’d asked me right after our make-out session, I would’ve scrunched my shoulders and dodged the question because I didn’t know.
But now I knew. There was no good reason to stay.
I didn’t want to work at Dad’s company.
I didn’t want to live under his roof under his rules.
I didn’t want all the tracking. Or the monitoring.
Most kids at school complained about their helicopter and bulldozer parents. My dad preferred a drone-parenting approach with me, using round-the-clock surveillance to watch my every move.
I wanted a fresh start. No, I needed a fresh start. Far away from here.
“I have enough in my savings for a one-way ticket. After a few months of couch surfing, I’ll try to get a place with roommates.”
He didn’t say anything. But since I promised him pleasant conversation, I continued with more questions. “And you? Going straight to college or starting your business in your parents’ basement?” I kicked some dirt off the path and listened to it shower down the steep edge.
“Maybe both?” His voice lilted and cracked in that goofy Nate way. He stopped in his tracks and asked in a hushed tone, “Can we talk about money for a second?”
“Not if it stresses you out. If you temporarily lose your shit, lose your footing, and plunge to your death, that would be tragic. No thanks to all of that.”
With the tops of his fingernails, he scratched his scruffy chin with upward strokes. “This is actually partly why I am so stressed. We need to talk—”
But we didn’t get to talk. Because a zombie got in the way.