She Didn't

He scanned his card and the door to Ziusudra Industries slid open. He stepped inside, the smog outside on Level Three billowing in after him.

“Welcome back, Chris.” said the door.

“Thanks, door.” said Chris. He loosened his scarf.

“You’re welcome,” said the door. “You know, Chris, you’re the only one who appreciates me around here.”

He was going to miss that door.

Chris squinted down the hall. Even after working at Ziusudra for 80 years he still found the transition to fluorescent lighting and sterile laminate floors jarring after the dim lamps and asphalt of the crowded passages outside. Though the clean air was nice.

He grabbed the folders from his mailbox, and traced the now familiar path through the labyrinthine halls to his lab.

Chris leafed through his assignments and frowned. Four clinics wanted orders today. He hadn’t realistically expected management to give him a break on his last day, but there had always been hope.

He rounded another corner and collided with someone, dropping his papers.

“Oof, sorry,” it was Ryan, his supervisor. “Are you alright?”  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Chris, bending down to pick up his papers. “Thanks.”

“Great,” said Ryan. “As long as I’ve got you here, can we take a detour? The coffee machine is broken again.”

Chris sighed inwardly, following Ryan down the hall. They passed windows looking in on empty labs and unattended machinery.

“Where is everyone?” said Chris.

“Hm?” said Ryan. “Anyway, I don’t know what I’m going to do about this damn coffee machine once you’re gone. I almost wish they’d make an exception! Maybe we should keep you around to fix it, if nothing else.”

Chris bit his lip. “Well hey, you never know! You’re pretty high up in the company, maybe you could put in a word for me?”

“Hey hey, watch it. I was kidding,” he tutted. “There are no exceptions.”

“What are they going to do,” said Chris. “Kill me?”

They arrived at the break room door and Ryan pushed it open.

“Surprise!” Chris’s lab mates were waiting inside. “Congratulations! You made it!” They had pushed aside the jumbled papers normally occupying the table to make room for a cake.
“So I guess the coffee machine isn’t really broken?” said Chris.

“Actually it is,” said Ryan. “But there’s a party too.”

Ana, Chris’ intern, shook his hand enthusiastically before pulling him into a hug. She had been training to replace him for the past two years. They worked in the lab together. She smelled like honey.

“Whoa!” Chris laughed, “Are we hugging now?”

“It’s a special occasion, sir.” She held him tighter for just a moment. Chris smiled sadly over her shoulder.

“I suppose it is,” he said.

“I’ve really enjoyed working with you.” said Ana. She let go and looked him in the eyes. “You’ll be sorely missed.”

“Stop being such a downer, Ana!” said Ryan, clapping her on the back. “We’re certainly sad to be losing a great mind, but this party is to celebrate his work!” Ryan stood on a chair and raised his hand. “During Chris’s 80 years at Ziusudra, he helped make us the company we are today! His work, along with the work of those who went before him changed health forever.”

“To Chris!” called the office in unison.

“To me, I guess.” mumbled Chris. Leave it to middle management to give a nice speech.

“Would you like some cake?” asked Ana. He looked at the cake she was offering him.

“I’m not hungry, thanks,” said Chris.

“Neither am I,” she said.

Chris fixed the coffee machine while Ryan hovered around, and later, once he was sure no one would follow him, he slipped away to his lab.

The lab he and Ana oversaw was tidy. Boxes branded with the Ziusudra logo lay stacked, waiting to be filled with racks of applicators.  Chris flipped some switches at his desk and the multitude of conveyor belts and robotic arms around the lab hummed to life, starting on the day’s orders. He sat at his desk and gazed blankly around as the robots did his work.

The lab was now one of millions like it around the world. Though the production of STEM doses was mostly automated these days, batch size remained an issue. The cocktail of stem cells and telomere lengthening proteins had to be personalised for each patient, and thus wasn't easily scalable. Over the years Chris and the other scientists had watched step after step of their work be trusted to machines. Now they were little more than quality control, double checking the orders before they were input into the system.

He was slouched in his chair when Ana let herself in.

“Quite a party,” said Chris.

She sat down on the corner of his desk. “You deserve a parade,” she said.

“No, I don’t. The streets on Level Three are too narrow for a parade anyway,” said Chris. “Too many people.”

“You deserve a parade on Level Four,” she said. “I’m turning seventy this year. I’ve seen videos of what being seventy was like before Ziusudra, people were so frail. The whole world owes you.” Chris didn’t say anything. “I know it’s not public information, but everyone at this office knows about you and your team, even if they won’t admit it,” she said.

“There are no exceptions, Ana,” he said.

“Clearly,” she said. “You can’t even make full use of your own invention. Overpopulation be damned, one person can’t hurt.”

“But everyone thinks like that,” said Chris. “We have the Limit for a reason.”

“I know,” said Ana. She strode over to her desk and produced two glasses and a bottle of gin. “Want a drink?”

---

Chris had never had a last day at work before. He was underwhelmed.

Ziusudra gave employees their last day off before their time ran out, which was nice. It was a policy that had come under fire from the government for being ‘inefficient,’ but Chris wasn’t inclined to care about that at the moment. It was just noise. Ziusudra ran the government anyway.

He shouldered his way through Level Three Central. A tram pulled to a stop at the platform, sending a cloud of exhaust rolling over the crowd. He pulled his scarf tighter around his face. The particulate scarf had been bright blue when he’d bought it, and had since faded to a nondescript grey. The fact that he wore a particulate scarf at all showed his age: most people didn’t bother with them anymore. Chris didn’t care that it looked a little silly; just because a stem dose or two of would fix a lifetime of lung damage didn’t mean that breathing the disgusting city air was pleasant.

The City E Ziusudra Offices were a few blocks away from Central, one level below the top. When he transferred to the city all those years ago he’d bought on an apartment hanging off the edge of Level Two. He still lived there. It was a two hour commute, but was worth it for a view of the sky.

The tram pulled out of the station and down into a tunnel. Lights and branching tracks passed by the window as they descended through the structure of Level Three. After a few minutes they emerged beneath it; it was as though the tram had dropped below a cloud layer. Above them the dark underside of level three stretched on for miles, and below the buildings on Level Two grew larger as they approached.

The track spiraled around one of the structural pillars bridging the gap between the levels. He could see the old town hall, sitting among the other buildings, looking regal in all its faux pillared glory. The first time he’d come to this city was to testify there. Level Two had been the top then.

When the first levels were built in cities around the world they were marvels of engineering, hallmarks of the new age of eternal youth. By the time second and third levels were a necessity it was clear that there was going to be a problem. To control population growth certain regions tried to enforce ‘no child’ policies or even mandatory sterilization, all to disastrous effects. People didn’t like being given the opportunity to live forever, only to be told that they couldn’t live the lives they wanted.

But things were becoming dire. Something had to be done, the population growth had to be stopped; wonder drug or not, people would begin starving to death. Did they cut off access to STEM after people reached a certain age, or set a hard limit, and allow them to live out their lives in their prime. Experts were called to testify at World Government hubs around the world. His team was proud of their invention, but more than anything Chris was happy to be considered an expert.

“STEM extends the human lifespan by hundreds of years,” Chris has said in his testimony. “Never again does anyone have to watch their loved ones wither away, or do the same themselves. It would be cruel to inflict that upon the world again.”

The people agreed, and well, here he was. A spry one hundred and twenty years, fifteen days, and six hours old. Thirty hours from the age Limit. He and his team had given the world immortality, catapulted the executives of the no-name pharmaceutical company they worked for into god-hood. And all he had to show for it now was a shabby room on the edge of a choking city, and an impending euthanization.

Chris grew increasingly angry as he stalked off the train, barely registering familiar messages written on billboards as he passed.

-’Stay healthy with STEM! Make an appointment today at your clinic of choice!’

-’Keep city E safe! If you see something, say something.’

-’There are no exceptions. Do your duty.’

Chris shoved through his front door, and dropped his bag and kicked spitefully it into a closet, collapsing a shoe rack.

A bunch of nerds in lab coats were ginning their asses off in an old photo on the wall, wielding pipettes like swords. Chris had been the youngest on the team by almost ten years. He missed them.

He ran his hands through his hair. It had been greying once, you could see it in the photo. He had really been starting to look the part of a scientist, even if it was a bit stereotypical. In a way his grey hair had made him proud: he’d worked to be a scientist his whole life and the grey hairs were a badge of the endless time and effort he’d put in. But he didn’t look like a scientist anymore.

He thought about calling Ana. She lived reasonably close. He regarded the comm-link on the coffee table but didn’t dial. Instead he sat on the balcony, nursing a bottle of scotch in the company of his only cactus.

“Talk about a desperate phone call,” he said to the cactus. “What would I say? ‘Ana, I...’” he trailed off.

Beside his apartment a little road ran all the way up to the edge as though it intended to keep right on going. It reminded Chris of a book of poems he’d read when he was a child. Where the sidewalk ended there was a barrier to stop people from going over the edge, though enough people had been undeterred that a safety net had been installed some years ago.

“What would I say?” he asked the cactus.

The cactus didn’t say anything. Chris was starting to really feel the scotch now. He poured himself another glass and contemplated hurling the bottle, and himself off the edge.

Another day perhaps. Or, maybe not. He might hurt someone on level four. If he made it that far. There were nets in place anyway.

Hundreds of feet beneath the edge of his balcony the street lamps and twinkling lights on Level One stretched into the distance. Beyond that, beneath Level One, he could just make out ground level. It was beautiful.

Chris smiled sadly and brought his cactus back inside. He hoped the cleaners would take care of it after tomorrow.

---

The next morning came quickly with a knock at the door.

The metal doorknob knob was cold in his hand.

Two men stood on the stoop, clad in black suits. One had a beard.

“Chris?” they asked amicably.

“I’ll just get my scarf,” said Chris. As he moved to close the door the bearded one stuck his foot in the way.

“Ziusudra Industries has arranged transport for you. We wanted you to be as comfortable as possible,” said the bearded man, opening the door again.

The other man placed a friendly hand on Chris’ shoulder and firmly steered him to a waiting car. His scarf was left hanging on the wall.

As the world he’d known for one hundred and ten years was sliding by outside the window Chris was began to panic. Tunnel lights flashed by the window at a maddening pace. His escorts, his captors, though they hadn’t moved, had grown impossibly large. The car became a vice around him like, squeezing the air from is lungs in quick gasps. He pinched himself hard in the leg. It hurt.

The car stopped.

A regular old clinic. Chris’s clinic. He had been here many times for checkups.

They firmly eased him from the car.

The bearded man said something, but Chris couldn’t hear him.

Through his tears, Chris saw his own knuckles, which had anchored him to the car door, connect with the bearded man’s jaw. He stumbled.

Chris felt a stabbing pain in his arm and his vision dimmed.

“They’ve been expecting you, Chris,” said the bearded man. “Right this way.”

He was cuffed to a clinic bed with an IV in his arm. A woman was fiddling with some medical supplies on a table next to him.

“Hello Doctor Reid,” he said weakly.

“Hello Chris,” she said. “Did you have a comfortable ride?”

Chris tried to talk, but was having trouble controlling his mouth. He couldn’t think straight. There was a blue liquid dripping down his IV.

“I hear you gave those poor boys some trouble,” she continued. “That’s a shame. They have a nasty job, but someone has to do it. You knew as well as anyone does that this day was coming.”

Doctor Reid affixed pads to his temples with a cold gel and wired them up to a flashing machine. He should have hit that man harder.

“A lot of people think they should be able to just off the ones who struggle right there and then,” said the doctor, matter of factly. “It’s true, that would make the whole thing a lot simpler. But it’s the law to do it the humane way.” She winked at him before standing. “Alright, Chris, you’ve got no relations, and you haven’t indicated that you’d like anyone present, so why don’t we just get right to it.” She reached for a switch on the wall. “This won’t hurt a bit. I hope you’ve had a great 110 years.”

Chris closed his eyes.

“Wait,” he whispered.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"She Didn't" was my submission to last year's "Writing the Future" SciFi short story competition. I didn't win (surprise surprise) but I think it's a good story nonetheless.

Big news in the non creative writing department.

Well first off, I awoke the other day to find an email from the DU writing department saying that they're giving me an award as one of their "outstanding first year writers", so that's unexpected and pretty cool! Although I won't be coming back there for awhile ehehehehe.

That brings me to the next piece of news, I'm moving to the Netherlands! Which is awesome. Plane tickets are bought, visas applied for, everything is falling into place quite nicely.

All the best, and until I post more,
James

Say hi to mark!

I decided to add my friend Mark as an author also! So maybe he'll post some stuff, or edit my stuff, which would be nice since he's an English major.

A trip

“Dude! My gym is right off this exit! Who wants to get some reps in before we hit the trail? I do!”

“In two hours,” Gwynn chuckled, “when I ask you if you still want to ‘get some reps in’ your answer will be very different.”

“What? Oh come on, look at these guns! This’ll be a cakewalk!” Ryan flexed confidently.

“Uh-huh... hands on the steering wheel please.”

“...And look: I never skip leg day!” He hoisted his leg onto the dashboard as the truck began to slowly drift onto the shoulder.

“Ryan! Steering Wheel!”

“Oh, duh! Sorry.” Ryan smirked and lazily returned his attention to the road.

“He’s sadistic.” Piped up Fox from the back seat. “He thinks it’s funny to watch people squirm when he drives like a maniac.”

“Wow, haha, that’s really funny!” She glanced back at Fox and Daniel, “Why are we letting him drive?”

“Haha, dude, come on Gwynn! It’s not like anything much would actually happen to us in this truck even if we did crash.”

“Wow. What the fuck. Again, why are we letting you drive?”

“Well, we needed a truck,” Ryan ignored the halfhearted protest from the backseat, “and I’m the only one with a truck.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t’ve agreed to this.” said Gwynn.

“Awe, Gigi I’m sorry about his driving,” Fox pleaded, “We need you, you’re the only one here who’s done this before.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok.” She clutched the armrest and stared pointedly out the window at the aspens rushing by, “I guess the knowledge that Ryan will have to poop in the woods for the first time in his life will have to be enough to carry me through the next half hour.”

“Honestly though dude, as far as the woods go, you’ve still got the worse deal with squatting and all that.”

“Did you pack your own toilet paper?” Gwynn shot back.

“Shit.”

“Oh my, that is unfortunate.” said Gwynn, “I sent you a packing list and everything.”

“Well at least I’m not like Daniel back there with his weird-ass dysfunctional backpack!” retorted Ryan, “I bet we’re going to be listening to his incessant bitching about his back hurting all weekend!”

“Okay.” Daniel chuckled softly, it was one of the first things he’d said since they had piled into the truck at 5:30 that morning. Gwynn raised an eyebrow at Ryan’s prediction, but returned to gazing out the window.

They lumbered up a tiny, winding gravel road, and as they approached the treeline the stunted pines lent an unnatural sense of enormity to the truck which was already, Gwynn thought, a little too big for the road. After they reached the apex of the climb and were no longer in imminent danger of plummeting to their deaths, it was easy for Gwynn to start getting excited. She loved this.

The sight of the trail at the end of the road leading off and around a bend to who knows where was exhilarating. Not even Ryan intentionally bringing the truck to a lurching halt could ruin it.

“What?” said Ryan faux-ignorantly after bringing the truck to a lurching halt.

“Oh... nothing.” said Gwynn, “Alright, anyway guys! Everyone grab your packs and let’s get going!”

Gwynn helped everyone strap in correctly as they made their way to the trailhead. Marking where the road ended and the trail began there was a post. Attached to this post was a box overflowing with slips of paper. Fox and the others marched a few steps past it before noticing that Gwynn had stopped to open the box.

“What’s that?” Fox asked. Gwynn frowned.

“It’s a log of all of the people who go in and out of the wilderness area.” said Gwynn, “We’re supposed to fill one out with our info and put it in the ‘in’ box, and when we leave we move it to the ‘out’ box. But, no one has checked to replenish the blank cards in a long time.”

“Just use one of the old ones from the out box.” said Daniel, “We can erase their info and put ours.”

“Good idea,” Gwynn grabbed a pencil and a card from the bottom of the heap, and a few moments later they were off down the trail.

---

“Hey Gigi!”

“Hi! Where are Ryan and Daniel? Did you just run up here?”

“The other two decided to take another break and I sped up.” said Fox, “It was the only way to escape Ryan’s uh, incessant bitching.”

Gwynn smiled. “I didn’t think I had gotten that far ahead though.” she said.

“We ended up slowing down quite a bit without you setting the pace.” Fox gestured behind him, “We were by that one tree when they stopped, and I passed, you know, a few other trees by the time I got here.”

“That clears that up then.” Gwynn grinned.

“It’ll be interesting to hear what Ryan thinks of this hill though.”

“This one’s probably just one circle of hell down from the last one.”

But Ryan had a bad attitude, this hill, at least, was a lot nicer looking than the last one had been. The group had spent the last several hours snaking in and out of a burn scar from a wildfire that took place the year before. The transition was abrupt and jarring. Large swaths of land marred by the burn were practically barren save for the pathetic and charred remains of the trees. They reminded Gwynn of ruined greek and roman columns, the crumbling legacy of an empire, felled in a fraction of the time that it took for it to rise from the dirt.

Gwynn looked away from the view; exaggerated sounds of exertion had just become audible from down the trail. Daniel rounded the bend with a limping Ryan in tow.

“Gwynn, will this kill me?” Ryan whined as he held out a red mushroom with white specks on the cap, “Because I’d rather die than climb another hill like that.”

“Wow, I don’t know where you found that but yes, it will kill you.” said Gwynn.

Ryan hastily dropped the mushroom.

“Yeah, I would suggest not putting your fingers in your mouth either.” she said as she produced a wipe from her pack and offered it to him.

Ryan meticulously scrubbed his hands, splashing a generous amount of water over them as well just to be safe.

“This wipe is paper right?” asked Ryan.

“Yeah?” said Gwynn.

“Alright!” said Ryan, tossing the used wipe off the trail, “...What?”

“You just reminded me that I forgot to tell you guys the rules of backpacking.” said Gwynn as she clambered down off the trail. “So the golden rule is pack in, pack o-woah!” The added weight of her pack caused Gwynn to lose her footing on the hill. She snatched at a tree to steady herself and watched the small landslide she’d started carry Ryan’s litter ever further down the mountain before coming to rest near a chipmunk who appeared to be petrified with fright.

“Doing alright down there, Gigi?” said Fox from a few feet above her.

“Yeah, just slipped. I think my fall scared this chipmunk more than it did me.” This region of the mountains had a distinct ecology that was ill suited for clambering around off of the trail. The forest was mostly comprised of lodgepole pines, which were branchless for the first two thirds of their impeccably straight trunks. The lack of branches made walking between them trivial, but like all pine forests there was a thick layer of needles making up the forest floor. This made negotiating inclines extremely tricky (For people at least. Chipmunks, among the other forest denizens, seemed to have an easy enough time with it).

Gwynn found her hair caught on the gnarled and weathered remains of a fallen branch which she realised that she had only barely missed when she fell. She yanked it free and stood up, leaving a few dark wavy strands behind.

“Anyway, first rule of backpacking:” She called up as she carefully slid down from tree to tree, “Anything you pack in, you pack out. Including...” Gwynn bent down and picked through the pile of debris she had kicked up, “...wipes! Ah-ha! Here it is!”

The Chipmunk hadn’t moved as Gwynn approached, and when she picked up the wipe she noticed it bob it’s head in a little nod of approval.

“You’re welcome little guy.”

“It can’t understand you, hippie!” said Daniel. The chipmunk turned and bolted, leaving an eerie greyish mirage in its wake. Gwynn stretched out her hand to touch the bizarre afterimage but found that her hand passed through it, scattering it like mist.

“Uh, did you guys see that?” said Gwynn.

“That was incredible!” said Fox, “I’ve never seen someone get so close to a squirrel before! Maybe you’re actually a Disney Princess.”

“Yeah maybe!” Gwynn laughed and took a long drink from the water pouch in her pack, “Remember to drink plenty of water too guys. At this altitude you can get dehydrated without noticing, and it’ll happen fast since we’re hiking with these heavy packs.”

“You can also use your water to keep yourself cool!” said Ryan as he dumped a little on his head before finishing off the bottle. “When it evaporates it wicks the heat away from your body.”

“I wouldn’t suggest that though,” said Gwynn as she hauled herself back up onto the trail and dusted her pants off.

“What? Why?”

“Because we’ve still got about three miles to go and now you don’t have any water left.”

“Nuh-uh dude, I’ve still got some water in my camelback.”

“Well I hope it lasts you till when we can boil some from the creek.”

“Come on guys!” said Fox, “Let’s keep going, like Gwynn said, we only have like three miles to go!” Daniel and Fox trotted off down the trail, followed at a distance by a grumbling Ryan. Gwynn paused to adjust her hip strap before starting down after them.

As they wound down the mountain into the valley the foliage became gradually greener and the air grew colder. Gwynn suspected it was partly due to them approaching water of some sort, and partly due to the valley being in the shadow of one mountain or another for most of the day.

When they started the hike Gwynn had enjoyed the wild strawberries and raspberries growing near the river, but as they began to climb the mountain, pine brush and lack of water had choked out the more fragile plants and the underbrush faded to only the occasional mushroom or enterprising bramble. Now the lush underbrush faded back in, and with it, the berries returned.

Gwynn stopped and knelt over a small raspberry stalk. The wild version was much smaller than the type she knew from her grandmother’s garden. She picked a few of the tiny berries before straightening back up and turning to continue on, when something caught her eye.

Gwynn froze and slowly turned back to look up the mountain. There, above her, atop a rock wedged between two trees, sat a chipmunk. Gwynn stared at it, waiting for it to move. WIthout looking away, she picked up a pebble and tossed it at the motionless critter. It scampered off. This one distinctly lacked any sort of ethereal trail in its wake.

Maybe she had been seeing things earlier, Gwynn thought.

The others had rounded the next bend about a minute ago and Gwynn assumed they were quite far ahead by this point, but as she rounded the bend at full tilt, she narrowly avoided colliding with a startled Daniel. After a few moments she straightened up and discovered why they had stopped.

The pine forest fell away after the bend and was replaced by a swathe of bright white and brilliant green. It was the most massive aspen grove that Gwynn had ever seen. Most groves were made up of relatively small trees no thicker than her leg, but the trees here had managed to grow far beyond that. They stood at three or four times the height of the average aspen and were all thicker than her torso. Between them the trail all but disappeared into a sea of waist high grass.

“The scale of this feels weird.” said Fox, “It’s like someone doubled the size of an aspen grove and everything in it.”

“Or you could say it’s like we’ve been shrunk,” said Daniel.

“These aren’t that impressive guys,” said Ryan, “On the western slope of the mountains there are aspen trees that are way bigger than this.”

“Yeah ok Ryan.” said Fox sarcastically.

“What you don’t believe me?” Ryan and Fox walked off down the path, bickering as they went. As they faded from earshot Daniel turned to Gwynn.

“Is there a particular way I should wear this backpack?” asked Daniel, “I won’t admit it in front of Ryan after what he said on the way here, but this is actually starting to get pretty uncomfortable.”

When they first made plans to go Daniel hadn’t owned a backpack, and he refused to buy one, saying ‘my sister said she’s got one that I can borrow.’ Unfortunately for Daniel there was a miscommunication with his sister at some point, and when he actually picked up the backpack he was dismayed to discover that it was barely larger than a schoolbag and bizarrely proportioned. It was thicker than it was wide or long. Fully packed as it was now, it protruded away from his back nearly a foot further than any of the others’ packs did. It had no hip straps, mainly because it didn’t reach his hips, and what straps it did have looked as though they had no padding at all. The only upside Gwynn could think of was that it was lighter than any of the proper backpacks because you could hardly fit anything in it.

“I don’t think adjusting the straps is going to help you much, that backpack is seriously trash.” said Gwynn.

Daniel grimaced.

“Yeah, I guess so.” he said.

“We could trade for a while if you want to.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Daniel tried to stifle the relief on his face as he shed the uncomfortable backpack in favor of Gwynn’s heavier, but better designed load.

They trekked on through the aspen grove. The straps of Daniel’s pack were damp with sweat. Gwynn tried not to notice. She looked ahead at Ryan and Fox, who by this time were making their way out of the grove and up the next hill. If Ryan had gotten any bug bites from walking through the grass in shorts they were going to hear about it soon.

Daniel’s ascent of the next hill became slower and slower with every step.

“Why’s this so heavy?!” exclaimed Daniel.

“Because I actually packed the things we’ll need.” said Gwynn, although she suspected he hadn’t been looking for an answer.

“Looks like I was the one doing you a favor when we switched.” laughed Daniel, “Anyway, let’s switch back at the top of this hill.”

“Sure.” said Gwynn. She was happy to be rid of Daniel’s sweaty backpack.

They found Ryan and Fox lounging on a rock where the trail leveled out.

“Ugh, that hill was worse than the last one,” remarked Ryan, as Daniel stopped and slipped out of Gwynn’s pack, “HA, Gwynn, you made Daniel carry your backpack up the hill for you?” he said. Daniel laughed enthusiastically with Ryan about Gwynn’s silly antics.

Gwynn narrowed her eyes at him, “Actually he was the one who wanted to switch.” she said, “Now we’re switching back because the girl’s pack is too heavy.”

“Hey, sorry that I wrongfully assumed your pack wouldn’t be filled with rocks.” said Daniel defensively, “At least this explains your unnaturally burly legs.” he added.

“It’s heavy because I brought enough water.” Gwynn shouldered her pack, now also damp with Daniel’s sweat and stalked off, “Let’s go.”

Fox hopped off of the rock and hurried after her.

“Hey,” he said, slightly out of breath after catching up to her. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

‘I know. That’s why I’m sorry.” after a moment he said cheerfully, “Also, I think your legs are great!”

“Well,” Gwynn’s mouth was drawn into a thin line, “They’re better than Daniel’s.”

“I’ll say!”

At this point the trail was well back in the familiar pine forest. Just as it appeared to start to go back downhill the path veered upward for another round. Even Gwynn was starting to feel it, so she was thankful when they finally reached the top of the hill to find a signpost.

“Oh my god. Can we just camp here?” asked Ryan.

“Nope.” said Gwynn.

“Come on! Why not?” whined Ryan, “It’s flat!”

“How much water do you have left?”

“Oh, I drank the last of it during that climb.” said Ryan,

“How do you plan on cooking the ramen you brought along as food?” Asked Gwynn as she examined the sign, “I have enough water to camp here, you do not. This sign says the gulch is just a mile down the trail.”

Ryan grumbled, but other than that they thankfully didn’t argue, and the group continued their march down the trail. Gwynn wanted this hike to be over more than they did.

---

As they entered what was according to the sign Lost-Creek gulch, the air again grew humid. Gwynn assumed it was because they were nearing the creek for which the gulch was named. Unless the creek was actually underground or something, and that’s why it was called lost creek gulch, which would also make sense, thought Gwynn.

As they walked, Gwynn kept thinking she felt eyes upon her from between the trees. More bizarre ethereal chipmunks like the one from before? She craned her neck peering around.

After reaffirming that they were not a common occurrence, and that it was entirely likely that she really, really had maybe imagined it, Gwynn’s eyes turned again to the valley around her.

The path, which for a time had descended steeply, now leveled out at an elevation that supported a happy medium between the coniferous forest of above and the deciduous ecology below.

Their band marched on and the earth became damp. Clusters of young aspens wedged their way into the crowds of elm and pine and Gwynn’s suspicions about the creek were confirmed by a not so distant pitter patter of water.

At the head of the group, Fox held aside a large bush drooping across the path to reveal the creek in question. A dappled beige gravel creek bed shown through a shallow layer of lazily flowing water. The stream had a clarity which was rare outside the mountains, and was a lovely change from the murky ponds which could be seen in city parks.

A previous hiker had lain fallen trees between the banks as a bridge. Gwynn was thankful for that, because the water was probably ice cold as most mountain streams were, and she would prefer not to have to deal with wet shoes.

In single file they crossed and mounted the bank on the opposite side of the creek, walking up to a nearby clearing.

---

“Can we camp here?” asked Ryan, defeated. The clearing was a reasonable distance from the creek. During spring and early summer it might have been at risk of flooding from snowmelt, but this was the height of summer, and no snow was to be found anywhere.

“Yep.” said Gwynn. Ryan and Daniel visibly relaxed, deflated in relief. The clearing even had an old campfire ring. Although everything was so green she doubted they would be able to find much firewood if they decided to build a fire.

“Who has the tents?” asked Ryan enthusiastically.

“I have one,” said Fox. “And you ended up with the other one when we evened out our loads.”

“Oh yeah! Here!” said Ryan, as he wrestled the tent bag out of his pack, “Help me set them up!” It was good to see Ryan taking initiative.

Gwynn fished the cooking pot she’d brought out of a side pocket of her pack and headed back down towards the creek.

“Hey Daniel,” she called back, “I’m getting some water to make dinner in, could you get out the stove and fuel? I think it’s in your pack.”

“Sure!” he called after her.

Gwynn jogged down the trail to where they’d crossed the creek. From this side she was higher up and could see a fair distance along the banks. Where they had crossed, the creek flowed through thick forest and dense bushes. Not far downstream, however, the forest opened up, and the bushes gave way to a meadow of tall grass littered with boulders. The boulders looked as though they’d fallen from a massive rock formation beyond the meadow which loomed over the immediate area.

Formations such as these were hardly uncommon. In fact they were characteristic of these mountains. Gwynn could see several others like it in the distance.

She removed the lid of the pot and knelt beside the water. It was clear enough that it wouldn’t have to be filtered, but they would of course need to boil it.

Gwynn stood up slowly, holding the pot with both hands and walked back to the campsite being careful not to spill any water.

Daniel was sitting on a log fiddling with his pocket knife.

“Where did you put the stove?” asked Gwynn.

“Oh, it’s uh... still in my backpack.” Daniel pointed behind Gwynn. “in the tent with Ryan.”

Gwynn turned, within the first pristinely erected tent Ryan lounged on his sleeping bag and watched Fox struggle to put up the second tent.

“As long as you’re not doing anything useful, would you hand me Daniel’s backpack?” asked Gwynn.

“Hey! I’m really tired!” said Ryan as he dramatically heaved the backpack towards Gwynn.

“Yeah? Well the rest of us also hiked just as far as you did.” said Gwynn, “And this scene hardly seems fair to Fox!”

“No no! I can do it!” said Fox as he attempted to wrestle a tent pole into its final clips. “I was the one who said he could rest if he wanted to.” Fox stood up and gestured triumphantly at the finished tent, which stood for a few moments before cartoonishly collapsing in on itself. “Oh crap! Ahh, wait no I don’t need help Gigi! Really! I can do it!”

Gwynn rolled her eyes and left him to it. She pulled out her tiny camp stove and screwed it onto the propane tank. Since there was more than one person, she had made sure to bring far more fuel than usual. But it occurred to her as she crouched down and flicked her lighter to ignite the stove, that despite the extra fuel, her pot wasn’t nearly large enough to boil water for four people effectively.

Gwynn sighed and extinguished the just-lit stove; well she couldn't be expected to think of everything. Luckily she’d thought to bring her little bottle of iodine tablets.

“We’ll use these tablets to sterilize the creek water.” said Gwynn, “But they take awhile to work: we should fill up our empty bottles in the creek now so that we have water when we want it.”

“Good idea,” said Ryan brightly, he dug through his pack and tossed an empty bottle in Gwynn’s direction, “Thanks Gwynn.”

“You’re insufferable Ryan.” snapped Gwynn. She jumped up and kicked Ryan’s bottle back at him. It unfortunately bounced wide and rolled under a bush. “Do it yourself.”

She angrily fumbled with the latch attaching her bottle to the backpack for a moment before just grabbing the whole thing and stomping off back towards the creek.

At the creek she threw down her pack and crouched over it, grumbling. She was so flustered she almost didn’t feel the eyes on her. Gwynn looked up.

Across the creek sat a mountain lion.

“Oh.” breathed Gwynn.

Neither moved. It occurred to Gwynn that there was a machete tucked beside her water bottle. As she was reaching for it, it also occurred to her that she wasn’t dead. Which, while she wasn’t complaining, was a surprise, considering that the beast had seen her before she’d seen it.

Her fingers closed around the handle and she pulled. The muted click of the blade coming free of the canvas and plastic sheath seemed to rouse the mountain lion. It stood and padded away, leaving an ethereal afterimage behind it. After several paces it stopped and looked back over its shoulder at Gwynn.

“What?” said Gwynn, the hell. she thought.

The mountain lion jerked its head in a ‘follow me’ gesture and continued on.

“Wait!” she said, but it wasn’t waiting. Gwynn cursed under her breath, swung her backpack over her shoulder and, machete in hand, leapt after the beast.