“Could be six if we keep a good pace.”
“And how far is this place? Total, I mean.”
“Nineteen miles from here to the peaks.” I lay out a map on the kitchen table. “We’ll take three days to get there, camping twice along the way.”
She stares at the map, brow furrowing at the cluster of topographical lines. “Those are ... mountains?”
“Those are our route.”
Elliott joins us, setting down his coffee. “Everything on schedule?”
“I’m finalizing Lena’s gear,” I say. “Then we can move out.”
Back in her cabin, I help sort through what she’ll need. All those clothes we bought at Second Chance are now spread across her bed. “Let’s start with clothes,” I say, picking up the items I helped her select the day before. “Two base layers, one mid-layer, one outer shell. Two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks.” She nods, observing as I arrange the items.
“Now sleeping gear, cooking equipment, safety supplies...” I stop as I unzip a side pocket of her pack. “Seems like there’s more in here.” I pull out a small makeup bag, then several bottles labeled “serum.” Tubes of creams and lotions follow, a whole counter’s worth.
Lena snatches one bottle from my hand. “I need those.”
“You need all of them?”
“Yes. My skin dries out. The sun, the wind?—”
“Sunscreen will protect you from the sun. A good hat will handle the wind.”
She clutches the products to her chest. “These are necessary.” Her face is clear and perfect, even at this ungodly hour. I sigh. “Pick three. The smallest ones.”
“Five.”
“Four. Including the tinted sunscreen.” I hold up a tube. “This at least serves a practical purpose.”
She considers, then quickly selects a few. “These four. They’re vital.”
I don’t argue, only make room in her pack. Eight ounces isn’t worth the battle. “The rest stays here.”
The relief on her face tells me I’ve made the right call. I sigh. “Besides, Elliott’s got Carlos—his Director of Photography—filming most of your solo camp life scenes. I suppose you’ll want to look the part.”
The sky has lightened when we finally hit the trail, almost an hour behind schedule. The path begins behind the lodge, winding through pine forest before climbing toward the Painted Peaks. Headlamps carve tunnels of light through pre-dawn darkness. Lena walks behind me, her footsteps uneven on the rough ground. The crew spreads out between us, filming equipment bouncing on their backs alongside personal gear.
“First water break at the ridge overlook,” I call back. “About two miles up.”
The group falls into rhythm, the only sounds our breathing and the crunch of boots on the trail. Lena keeps pace better than I expect, though I can hear her breathing grow labored on the steeper sections. She’ll feel this tomorrow, but she’s not complaining yet.
When dawn hits the peaks, we stop to film. Elliott positions Lena against the sunrise, her silhouette sharp against the dark mountains and the brightening sky.
“How are you feeling about the journey ahead?” Elliott asks from behind the camera.
The change is remarkable. Lena straightens her posture, her expression shifting to calm determination. “The mountains have their own schedule, their own wisdom. I’m learning to move on their time, not mine.”
The words sound good. The emotion behind them? Pure fiction. The moment the cameras lower, she slumps against a tree, massaging her shoulder where the pack straps dig in.Figured that pack was a mistake. She wouldn’t listen. “How much do these things weigh?” she asks.
“Yours? About twenty-five pounds.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Seems like fifty.”
“Wait until day three. It’ll seem like ten.”
She appears skeptical. “Is that how it works? It gets lighter?”
