Page 78 of Fight

“You made the right choice.” I knead her thigh with my palm. “You’re not selfish.”

DAY 4

After four days in the lookout, we’ve fallen into a pattern. Every morning, we wake in each other’s arms, get up to add wood to the fire, shovel the catwalk and stairs, make a trip to the outhouse, then crawl back into bed until there’s enough light streaming through to heat water on the stove for our packets of oatmeal. Life is simple in the fire tower.

However, this morning, something is different. I can’t quite place it. My mind is still drowsy, and with Cal folded around me, I’d rather close my eyes and sink back into a slumber where there are no worries about whether I have a job, no divorce papers, no shitty apartment. I must be doing awesome if my current precarious predicament of being marooned on a mountaintop is preferable to real life.

Then it hits me. It’squieter. I can hear the crackle of the fire from the bed. Since we arrived here, the wind has been constant and unrelenting, blowing and whistling through trees and rock. It became white noise that faded into the background.

“Cal.” I rotate in his embrace, jostling him awake. “Do you hear that?”

“Mm?” he mumbles, still half asleep.

“It’s quiet. I think the storm is coming to an end.”

That has him blinking awake and sitting up. He squints, peering through a hole in one the slats of the shutters behind us. He climbs out of bed and not so gracefully throws on his jacket and boots. The door isn’t thrown off its hinges when he opens it and steps outside.That’s new.

He sticks his head in. “Scottie, come outside, I wanna show you something.”

It’s not my first choice. Blankets warm, outside cold. But I drag my butt out of bed and shuffle over to my gear, pulling on my clothes and hiking boots. I grab my jacket and draw up the hood. When I open the door, I brace for that first gust to suck the breath from my lungs, and it does. The wind may be lessened, but it’s still raw and breezy enough to snatch your soul.

Squinting against the light reflecting off the snow, which has taken on a golden color, I shield my eyes, and he guides me down the catwalk. I slowly drop my hand, noticing a patch of orange through the clouds—it feels like weeks since I’ve seen a sunrise or sunset.

Callahan ushers me in front of him, looking out over the railing, and I gasp at the vista laid before us.

It’s a mountain top. And another mountain. And another. I’m speechless. It doesn’t look real. A good portion is hidden behind cloud cover, but the bits that peek through are nothing short of magnificent. The range of summits to the north are washed with pink and orange where the sun reaches their snowy caps, and every shadow and ridge is painted in a cool blue. It’s living art.

“Great, huh?” His voice is rough with sleep.

“Wow.” It’s the only word I can think of, and it’s not enough. There’s no use in taking a photo, the pictures will never do it justice. There’s no use in talking about it either. I'll never be ableto describe it. It’s something that has to be experienced firsthand and will only ever be understood by the person at your side.

My hair blows in the wind. I’m freezing, but nothing could steal me from this spot as we watch the sun rise from the top of the world. It’s unbelievable. The most breathtaking place on the planet as far as I’m concerned.

This is one of those experiences that alters one’s brain chemistry. Nothing matters. Blinking back tears, I realize every problem I was facing is so insignificant in comparison to the untamed landscape before me. The past few years have challenged my faith, but if there is a God, he’s not at The Fold. He’s here.

Cal wraps his arms around me from behind, rubbing my shoulders to keep me warm. We stand in silence until the sun passes over the mountains to the east. A break in the clouds has us blinded by the bright light, so I close my eyes, and for a moment, when the wind dies down, I feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my cheeks.

We hurry back inside. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” he announces.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Early. The snow’s stopped. I’m going to check avalanche conditions, and if it looks good, I’ll make tracks today. I’ve only got one headlamp, so it’ll get us a good start and give us something to follow until the sun rises. I’ll make them close together so they’re easier to follow. There’s going to be some deep spots.”

“I know.” I’ve been trudging through it multiple times a day when I take a trip to the outhouse. Prior to Washington, I’d only seen snow a handful of times, and each time, it wasn’t more than a dusting or a couple inches at most. When I was young, there was a year we had eight inches, but I barely remember it.

I thought deep piles of snow were equivalent to walking through foam. It’s not. Snow is dense and unforgiving. It packshard like soil and ices over into bricks. Since being at the top of this mountain, I’ve learned just how ferocious Mother Nature can be. When she whips those pretty little flakes around in a negative windchill, they might as well be throwing stars.

“No, Scottie, there are drifts that could be above your chest in certain spots. And we have no equipment. No snowshoes, skis, or sleds.”

My eyebrows shoot to my forehead. “What?”

He nods. “I’m gonna try to text the guys and see if I can get something through, now that the snow stopped and there’s more visibility, we might be able to get a signal to the tower. I’ll let them know what route we’re taking so they can meet us halfway or at the very least be watching for us.” He grabs his phone off the table, and a sense of urgency settles over me. Obviously, I knew we weren’t staying up here, but now that things are being set in motion, I need to do something. One second we’re watching sunrises, the next we’re making plans. I spin around to find a way to make myself useful. Heat water.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“What?”

He pinches his brow. “I forgot to turn the phone off yesterday. Can’t believe I did that. I’ve only got four percent left.”

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