Page 2 of Dead Mountain

Purdue looked over. The flashlight beam, piercing the swirling snow, vaguely illuminated the far side of the ravine. About ten feet from the bottom it revealed a small, dark triangular hole—the opening to a cave.

“You see that?” Kottke asked.

“We can’t fit in there, man,” said Purdue.

“Yeah? Watch me.”

They slipped and slid to the bottom of the ravine and climbed up toward the opening. The rock here was rough lava, with lots of hand- and footholds, and in a few minutes they had reached the cave mouth. Kottke shone the light in. The beam revealed a space opening up beyond—a cavern with a sandy floor.

Kottke crawled through the opening and Purdue followed.

“Oh, man!” said Kottke, staggering gingerly to his feet. He raised his arms. “This is righteous. And I found it!”

His flashlight beam probed the space. It was, Purdue had to admit, an ideal shelter, tall enough to stand up in although narrowing in the back to a crawlspace.

“I’m freezing,” said Kottke. “Let’s light a fire.”

“Yeah.” Purdue peered back out the cave entrance. The ravine had been scattered with dead and fallen trees and branches. It meant going back out.

“You go back out, hand me up the wood,” Kottke said.

Reluctantly, Purdue crawled out. While Kottke held the flashlight, Purdue gathered a bunch of kindling and branches and handed them up. He had no gloves and his hands were wet and freezing, but in very little time he’d amassed a heap of sticks big enough to do the job.

Purdue crawled back in while Kottke lit the fire. Even though the wood was a little damp from the snow, dry grass and leaves had blown into the cave, and he soon had a fire going, the smoke being drawn out through a crack near the front. It was close to perfect—a miracle.

Purdue warmed his hands at the blaze. “You got another doob for us? I need something after all that work.”

“Coming right up.” Kottke unzipped his pack and took out another plastic bottle of rum, a small jar with a couple of buds, a hand grinder, some rolling papers, a Kit Kat, a Snickers bar, a bag of Peanut M&M’s, and a large can of Pringles.

“You came prepared, bruh.”

“If I carry weed, I also carry munchies. Straight-up rule.”

Purdue grabbed the new bottle, cracked the cap, and took a deep swig, trying to revive the warm feeling he’d enjoyed earlier, before the snow began to fall. He watched as Kottke stuffed a bud into the grinder and gave it a good twist, the smell of herb drifting in the air. Then he proceeded to roll a fat one.

The fire was now throwing off so much warmth that Purdue unzipped his jacket. He took another long pull on the bottle. His head was whirling pleasantly once again, he was warm, and they had found themselves a cave. The wind howled outside, the snow falling. Tomorrow would be crap—but that was tomorrow, and for now they had shelter and they were buzzin’.

“Whoooo, this the shit!” Kottke said, firing up the blunt. They swapped the rum and the doobie. Purdue sucked in a hit, then another, then a third.

“Hey, check that out!” Kottke said.

Purdue turned and saw what Kottke was pointing at. In the light of the fire, near the narrow back of the cave, was a long flat surface of stone, and on it were pecked several designs. Petroglyphs.

Purdue squinted. In the firelight he could see a spiral, several faces, a zigzagging arrow, a bird, and a hunchbacked figure playing a flute. Hallowe’en. Being here, tonight of all nights, he felt a bit creeped out despite his buzz.

But Kottke, unfazed, just picked up a rock. “Two points if I hit that spiral.” He threw it and missed, striking one of the faces. “Three points for that!”

“No points for that,” said Purdue, determined not to act like a wimp. He picked up a rock of his own. “Five points for the bird.” He lobbed it and smacked the bird right in the middle, leaving a gash. “Yes! Five points!”

Kottke picked up a bigger rock. “This is a ten-pointer.” He heaved it at the spiral and it struck with a crash, shaking a few pebbles loose from the ceiling. “Ten points!”

Not to be outdone, Purdue began prying a bigger rock out of the side of the cave, wiggling it loose. Then he took a step closer.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

“The hell it is.” He chucked it at the bird, where it impacted with a big hollow boom. Now a bunch of small rocks fell from the ceiling. “Fifteen points!” he cried, laughing uproariously.

“Fifteen points, my ass.” Kottke pried out an even bigger rock, so heavy he could barely carry it, then shuffled all the way to the back and slammed it against the flute player. It jarred the stone wall so hard that it moved, and a sudden grinding noise came from the ceiling. With a yowl, Kottke leapt back as a torrent of rocks were shaken loose and came down with a clatter, raising a cloud of dust. Kottke, who had barely escaped being brained, fell into the dust settling from the small cave-in. He was laughing hysterically.

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