Zenith Part 2: The Ascent

Ding dong.

 

“Mrmph...”

 

Ding dong!

 

“Nhh, go awehh...”

 

Ding Dong!

 

“Argh, fine... Be Right There!”

 

You slowly get out of bed and make your way to the door, it’s way to early to get people trying to talk to you. Better not be someone trying to sell you magazines. You unbolt and open the front door.

 

“Good morning sir, package for you. Please sign here.”

 

Oh, it was just Zenith delivering the mail. He hovers a quill and parchment out of his saddle bags, holding them out to you, enveloped in a light blue aura of magic.

 

“Hey, morning to you too Zenith.”

You mutter sleepily, then blearily sign the parchment in front of you. Both it and the quill disappear back into the bags, and out comes a small wooden crate.

 

“Here you go, have a good day!”

He hovers the crate over to you, and turns away, trotting back down the driveway.

 

Taking the crate and turning back inside you reply,

“Thanks, you too.”

 

Well that was a nice surprise, it’s always nice getting something in the mail. Even if it was early. And the something is beeping. Wait, beeping?

 

The small crate in your hands is indeed beeping, softly at first, but louder and louder with each passing second. Oh-God-What-If-It’s-A-Bomb?! You quickly put the crate on the floor, careful not to jar it, and back away. The beeping is still getting louder! Uh, uh, quick, hammer! You grab the sledge hammer from its normal place in the freezer, trying to run back to the crate, but now your foot hurts really bad, and the floor seems to be made of ice. The beeping is almost deafening, you’re now in full panic mode.

 

You slip and slide, eventually getting over to the crate, raise the hammer high, and bring it down with an ever so satisfying crunch on the incessantly wailing box.

 

You are laying in bed, covered in cold sweat, hand resting firmly on the large snooze button on top of your now silent alarm clock. It’s digital face glows an even 5am, it’s light illuminating the dark outline of plushie Zenith lying on your pillow next to you.

 

What. The hell. Brain. Your crazy dreams aren't usually -that- crazy. Heart rate returning to normal you sit up and swing out of bed, walking straight to the shower. You stand beneath the shower head and crank the water all the way on, not even waiting for it to warm up. AH! Ah! Cold! OK, awake now! You kind of wish you had waited, this is like liquid ice crawling over your skin; tendrils of winter clawing all the heat from your body!

 

You sit there and shiver, and after a torturous few moments the hot water finishes its journey from the heater to the shower.

 

Glorious warmth inches its way back into your frosted bones, and you regain control of your furiously shivering muscles. You reach out and grab the shampoo, measuring a dose into your hand, then lather up your scalp. Man, sure is nice to have relatively short hair, it’s so easy to take care of. You rinse, shave using the small mirror suction cupped to the tile, and take a minute to relax under the water before shutting it off and stepping out onto the floor mat.

 

You towel off and stretch slightly, why were you so sore this morning? Going back to your room you toss on your lightweight hiking clothes and a thick jacket over them, it would be cold out this early, but you knew it wouldn’t stay that way all day. You eat a bowl of cereal with milk and lace up your boots, then munch on a granola bar as you heft your backpack into the back of your old red honda SUV.

 

It what it lacked in luxury it made up for in stubborn refusal to die. It had gotten you through some tricky mountain passes, and kept right on going, so it was fine by you.

 

All ready to go you go back inside to lock all the windows and turn off the lights. As you set the bar in the track of your bedroom window you spy Zenith lying on your pillow.

 

“Oh, man, wouldn’t want you to miss out on this trip, would we?”

Despite the mysterious circumstances of his arrival you had grown somewhat fond of him. Perhaps it was a mix of the appreciation of effort that went into making him and the free spirited-ness that he represented. Whatever the reason, you tuck him into your jacket pocket, and finish battening down the hatches.

 

You finally climb behind the wheel of the car and pull out of the driveway, headlights illuminating the road and trees as early morning glow rises slowly over the eastern horizon.

 

It’s almost 5:45 when you pull into the parking lot of the local market. Good thing about rural communities, especially farming ones, is that they are up -early-. You grab your bear canister from the back, tucking it under your arm, and head inside. Your breath steams in the morning chill of the valley as you try to keep your hands from freezing by shoving them in your pockets. You absently rub the soft plushie, its stuffing returning a comfortable warmth.

 

“Morning Joe, sure is cold out.”

 

“Sure is.”

Joe was never one for words.

 

You grab the food you need, mostly dehydrated veggies, beans, and fruits, along with a sizeable bag of jerky, and another of granola mix. Considering it for a moment you also grab some packs of various dry pastas. Joe silently checks your items while you pack them into the bear canister.

 

“Takin’ a walk?”

 

“Yeah, got a good week till my order gets here, so I’m heading up to the falls.”

 

“Have a good one then.”

 

“Thanks, will do.”

At least he was pleasant.

 

You pay in cash, and heft the now full bear can back to the car. You secure it to your pack and get back behind the wheel, ready to make the somewhat long drive up to the trail head.

 

The drive is mostly uneventful, the sunrise fills the sky with pretty hues of pink and blue, but it soon fades to a nice, if partially cloudy, day. Traffic is light, and it’s about 7:30 by the time you get to the trail head. You pull into a spot in the empty parking lot, get out, and deposit your trip itinerary in the drop box by the empty ranger kiosk. You pack your jacket back into your pack, and Zenith into his side pocket. You zip the pocket up over his face, stare at it for a moment, then unzip it again. You pull him out and put him in an empty water bottle pocket, his front legs and head reaching over its side.

 

“There, wouldn't be a very good adventure if the explorer couldn’t see where we’re going.”

 

After one final check of all the packs straps you heave it up onto your back, securing all its buckles around you. You set off down the trail, two snowy peaks stand tall in the distance, the white line of the falls crashing down between them. The smell of pine trees and soft earth warming in the morning sun surrounds you, and you feel the relaxing rhythm of your footfalls lead you to that special zen that trekking brings. Birds tweet to the wind that glides softly between the tall trunks, and the occasional squirrel or chipmunk can be seen darting across the trail, or up a tree.

 

You make your way down the trail and the foliage becomes more dense as you drop down into the river valley. Your legs are taking longer to warm up then they normally do, and ache with each impact. You reach the river and stop for a minute to get a wide brimmed hat from your pack. You reach down and douse it in the river, placing it wetly onto your head. Zenith seems to eye you from his perch in the pack. You shiver slightly as the first few drops go down your back and soak into your lightweight shirt, but you quickly set off down the trail once again. The hat keeps you cool from the sun, now higher overhead, as you climb upward along the river.

 

You turn back to Zenith in your packs pocket, a few drops from your hat landing on his head,

“See, good idea eh? You can stay cool too.”

 

The river burbles and splashes over its rocks as you move up the valley, the deep river pools inviting you to stop and swim as the sun climbs higher. A few have fish swimming in their depths, and at one a dear on the far side stops drinking abruptly to stare at you as you pass.

 

By 1pm you are thoroughly ready for lunch; you ache far more than you should for a normal hike, and your legs are burning with the strain of lifting you up the large rocks and dot the river trail. You knew that trying to get all the way to the lake today would be rough, but whew, maybe it had been a bit to long since your last hike. You break out some dried fruits and jerky and set up your hand pump water purifier in a river pool to refill your water bottles.

 

“Maybe I should be going on more walks between trips huh Zenith?”

 

He stares at the small waterfall feeding the pool you’re sitting next to.

 

Heh, talking to yourself again? People gonna think you’re crazy if you keep that up. Good thing you haven’t seen another soul on this trail all day. You’ll probably have the lake all to yourself tonight, if you can make it up there that is. You grab another handful of food and readjust your position next to the pool, making sure to keep the purifier tube underwater as you pump. Man your legs hurt, that last two miles up from the bottom of the falls to the lake are gonna suck.

 

You finish filling your water bottles, put away your food and pump, and take off your boots and socks. Seated on a rock near the pools edge you roll up your pants and dip your legs into the cool water. You suck in a breath, this was definitely high sierra snow runoff, no doubt. The cold helps to relieve some of the aches, and you sit like that for about ten minutes, enjoying the scenery, before you start getting seriously chilled. Moving to the warm stone river bank you let your legs and feet dry before pulling your boots back on.

 

Check watch, just past 2pm. Welp, time to get going again, you recheck the straps and make sure Zenith isn’t in danger of falling out before lifting the pack once again to its place on your back. The trees have started to thin out considerably since you first reached the river, the altitude and rocky ground finally starting to slow their ability to grow. You feel bad for those poor trees, if only they could be just a bit more hardy you wouldn’t be hiking under the 3pm sun with no feaking shade! Stops to wet your hat in the river become more and more frequent as the heat climbs, but even so you find yourself soaked with as much sweat as river water.

 

You trudge up a particularly barren and steep section of the rocky trail, sun blazing down on you, river out of reach about 30 feet down the hillside, when you hear a faint white noise in the background. It almost sounds like wind in the trees leaves, but with so few trees you find that unlikely. As you near the top of the climb the sound becomes a dull roar, and a slight breeze does indeed wash over you. And better still, tiny flecks of moisture are blown against your face! Could it be? You hasten your pace, and rounding the next turn shows you just what you hoped it would: before you stands a vast stone cliff face, several hundred feet tall, and down its middle a mighty torrent of water slams from mammoth boulder to mammoth boulder, cascading downward before crashing with a mighty roar into a pool below.

 

Water from the falls is carried by the heavy downdrafts it creates forward and down the valley, creating a small area of lush coolness in which trees, ferns, mosses, and flowers grow, and in which you now bask, thankful for the break from the oppressive heat.

 

You sit on a rock by the pools edge, pack propped against another nearby, and try to let your burning muscles relax. Okay, this was starting to get worrisome, if you couldn't make it up to the lake tonight, so what, but the fact that you hurt this much wasn’t normal. It was like you had been run though the wash several times and just never noticed. You slowly stretch your arms and back, popping a few joints. Why did your arms even hurt? Not like you were walking with them!

 

“OK, ok, under 5 or over 30.” The old hiking mantra dictating the length of stops sprung to mind automatically. If you took more than five minutes the muscles would start to cool down, and if you then didn't wait at least half an hour all the lactic acid they would normally release would just lock into them as you tried to warm them back up.

 

Come on, stand up, it’s late enough as it is already. Watch says it’s nearing 5 o’clock, and with the valley, sundown would be all too soon. You stand painfully and hoist your pack, god sometimes you hated ‘under 5’ breaks. Now all you had to do was just pop up over this hill.

 

How fucking tall is this hill?! The path stretches away from you as it curves around the cliff that leads up to the falls. The trail is only about two feet wide, and the steep drop off on your right only gets a little longer with each step. The shadow of the ridge to the west rests over the pool at the bottom, and is slowly chasing you up the cliff as the sun nears the horizon on your right. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. God your legs hurt, sweat is pouring off you, and your stomach turns over and over. Last time you checked you weren’t out of shape, out of practice maybe, but not the tottering mess your body was currently proving you to be!

 

The crawl up the trail all runs together, one plodding footfall bleeding into the next. At some point you notice the ridges shadow has caught you; the sun is setting. Doesn't matter. Just need to get to flat land. Need a place to eat. Need a place to sleep.

 

“Some explorer.. I turned... out to.. be... huh Zenith?”

You say between heavy breaths. You don’t dare turn to look at him, not with the drop off that close and your head as fuzzy as it was, but even so you can feel his gaze. He’d never let a stupid hill get the better of him! He’d plow right up that damn thing, hell, he’d take notes on it, not wheeze like some pansy!

 

You grab a water bottle from a belt loop and drain what was left of it, jamming it back into the loop and steeling your gaze on the trail ahead. The bottle misses it’s catch and clatters to the ground, rolling over the side of the cliff unnoticed. You feel an angry clarity, and straighten your posture, stepping more evenly, and with purpose. Your pace picks up, a look of determination across your face. Your arms, legs, and generally every other part of your body complain loudly, but all are met with a solid wall of endorphins.

 

“Fuck this pain, fuck this queasiness, and Fuck! This! HILL!”

 

From barely being able to get one foot in front of the other you accelerate to a respectable hiking pace, then faster, and faster. Your strides lengthen, carrying you faster still. Going about 4 or 5 miles per hour without actually jogging isn’t easy, but jogging take too much energy with the weight of a pack, and even through the haze of your endorphin high you remember the basics.

 

Ground is eaten up beneath your feet, the cliff bottom drops further away, and the lake draws ever nearer. The top of the falls is coming into view over a hump in the trail. Wait, that's not just a hump, that's the top! You charge ahead, cresting the mound and begin the sweet descent toward that sweet sapphire blue jewel of water, the last rays of sun reflecting golden light off of it onto the surrounding rocks and flowered slopes. The sky is awash with a wide spectrum of colors between the two peaks that mark the top of the valley. Combined with the golden light glinting off the lake, only one thought crosses your mind as you finally reach the shore.

 

“Look Zenith, it’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow!”

 

And with that you collapse backwards into a patch of thick grasses, out like a light.

 

>Later that same evening

 

“Owww...”

You awake sore beyond belief, and shivering. The sweat from your exertion had done its job dropping your body temp, as had the now set sun, and cool sierra nighttime breeze. You ache down to your very bones, and your joints pop and snap painfully as you stiffly uncurl and sit up, unclasping your pack from you. Your jittering hands fumble with the buckles, eventually digging out your first aid pack. You rip the pack open and grab the mylar space blanket, its thin plastic capable of reflecting almost all of someone’s body heat back to them. You wrap the sheet around you, tucking into it as best as your body will allow.

 

Crouching there, shivering in the dark, hurting all over, and suddenly quite hungry, you have a hard time remembering why you told Zenith this place was such a pot of gold.

 

You look over at your pack, Zenith’s lying near it in the grass, small drops of dew clinging to him. The dew on his horn and eyes catch the meager moonlight and seem to twinkle at you, speaking of sympathy and comfort. Well, if you ever needed sympathy and comfort now would be the time. You reach out and grab him, huddling with him beneath the slowly warming blanket.

 

You eventually get your shivering under control, the tiny fabric form clutched to your chest radiating warmth; at least it feels like it to your still freezing skin. You gather your sleeping bag and bedroll from the mess you pulled out of your pack, along with your stove, fuel, and bear can. You lay out the bedroll, and sit down on it in both the space blanket and sleeping bag.

 

“ah- aH- aCHoo!”

Your nose runs, and your head throbs painfully. Freaking great, as if you didn’t have enough problems. You set up the stove and fumble with the lighter, eventually getting it lit. Ahhh, warm hands, that really rocks right about now. You dump half a water bottle into the pot, toss in a random pack of dehydrated food, and add a handful of jerky. While it heats you retreat back into your layers of clothing, feeling feverish. It’ll be okay, you can just eat and go to sleep; you’ll have plenty of days to get better, and everything you need it right here.

 

“Arhhgh-”

You grunt into the sleeping bag, doubled over, as a sharp pain shoots though you, leaping from nerve to nerve up and down your huddled form. Fevers can give you horribly sharp, bone splitting, full body pains, right? Right? It’s nothing, it’ll all be better by morning, you just need some food, and some rest, that’s all. You shakily reach out your arm, the muscles stiffly resist, and the bones seem to creak, but you manage to life the lid of your cooking pot. You lean forward, deeply smelling the delicious mea-

 

Oh god that reeks! Even through your stuffed nose you can tell that something in that pot is rancid! You heave once or twice, but get it under control before you puke out whatever you -do- have in you. You move the pot off the stove, setting it on a rock where it won’t get tipped over, and reach out to grab the jerky bag, and sniff lightly. Oh, yep, definitely the jerky, dammit. You heave one more time before tossing the bag off to the side in frustration. The sudden motion causes your back to seize up in the worst cramp you’ve ever had.

 

“FUCKAAAHHHHH-”

You are pulled backwards into an arch as the muscles along your back do their best to free themselves from their bone and ligament prison.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck, owwww!”

 

OK, things might not be as good as you keep telling yourself. The cramp calms down, but things might be very much worse, was this some kind of seizure?! Was there a self-test for that?

 

“Quick, Zenith, am I speaking in gibberish?!”

 

Fuck, right, plushie, okay, maybe I’m just going insane, and it’s not some chest-burster bone parasite! Or what if it’s both?! Breathing too fast... Too fast! Hyperventilating! FULL ADRENALINE DUMP COMMENCING IN 3, 2, 1-

 

Calm.

 

“Why are we calm right now Zenith?”

 

“Because you just went into shock,”

he replies matter-of-factly, poking his head out from your sleeping bag.

 

“Oh. Is that also why you just answered me?”

 

“No, that’s your tentative grip on the basic nature of reality slipping from your psyche.”

He climbs out and sits down on your lap, looking up at you with pity.

 

“Oh... So everything will -not- be all better in the morning?”

 

“Depends on your definition.”

 

“...Oh. OK, one second.”

 

You dig around in the remains of your first aid kit and find the small cell-phone sized device you were looking for. The words “Emergency Personal Locator Beacon” were stenciled on the side in bold red letters. You undo the latch and flip open the front cover on it to reveal a single thumb sized red button labeled “ACTIVATE”. You press and hold the button for three seconds. The device beeps loudly, then lets out a building whine that ends a second later with a flash from the strobe light on its top. The whine and flash repeat as you set down the device and pick up a bag of granola. You slowly chew a handful. Zenith looks up at you, expression blank.

 

“Forry, chou wvant shome?”

 

“Sure, thanks.”

 

You pour a small pile onto your lap in front of him, and you both eat for a few minutes, you watching Zenith, and him with his eyes closed, legs folded under him. You wonder how he’s eating, since as far as you know his mouth didn’t even open, let alone connect to a digestive tract. But then again it was already established you were insane, so you suppose that’s a fine explanation.

 

“Umm, Zenith? I think I’m gonna take a quick nap now, I been feeling under the weather lately.”

 

“Alright. Remember, human: tomorrow will be a new day, full of exploration and adventure.”

 

Sleep comes for you, cold and fast, like a wraith on darkened wings.