Raven's Mountain Read online

  I do what Amelia says.

  That feels better. Not just because I’ve stopped feeling like I’m going to burst, but because I’ve never peed outside before without Lily or Mum watching out for me. I automatically feel braver now I have.

  Maybe that’s why the other voice, the Dad one, suddenly pipes up: If you can move chunks of rock the size of a car . . . you can do anything. Even get out of here alive and rescue Lily and Scott.

  It’s still too high for any bushes or normal plants to grow, but the mountain’s starting to get that softer look, as if the rocks are more settled into the ground. Sometimes little tiny plants are tucked in beside them.

  And up ahead there’s a sticking-out rock that just about says Raven is on the right trail. It’s the hail-shelter rock.

  ‘You could camp here if it was bigger,’ I said when we were squatting under it this morning. Which is another of those things I wish I’d never said.

  ‘You could. I’d rather sleep outside again.’ Which is something I wish I hadn’t heard Lily say.

  ‘Or you never know – if everything goes smoothly, we could even drive home and sleep in our own beds tonight,’ said Scott.

  Maybe it would have been better if nobody had said anything.

  There’s still a small white drift of hail against the north edge of the shelter rock. The bottom stones are dirty, but the ones on top are ice-cube clean. My mouth is so happy it could make an ad:

  When you’re lost and all alone

  What you need is a good hailstone!

  The lichens are still there too.

  A terrarium seems like a pretty Lily and Scott aren’t home safe, a pickle jar of moss is never going to make Mum smile.

  Suddenly I can’t help it – I hate them, I hate them, I hate them! – because six hours ago I was happy and excited to be so far up a mountain that lichens were the only plants, and now they make me feel like a fat black F on a spelling test. I kick those pretty golden cups right off the rock and stomp them into dust.

  I’m sending Mum an ESP message: Don’t wait till Sunday! Call 911, get a search party, drive up and find us!

  But Mum’s not a mountain climbing, rescuing sort of person. She’s more like a mum in a kids’ book: she likes cooking, flowers and music – and even though she used to whack in nails and fix things around the house before she married Scott, she just did it because she had to, not because she liked it. She’s too pretty and nice to be a hero.

  About a year ago, the hot water heater in the basement burst. It wrecked the carpet, and the laundry cupboards got so soggy they fell apart. The landlord sent a carpenter to build new ones.

  He came back about twenty times to make sure they were exactly right. Then, one night, Mum was making chili and cornbread. She always makes too much, so she asked him to stay for tea.

  He stayed.

  11

  6:48 FRIDAY EVENING

  Here’s a list of all the things I don’t want to see: bears, wolves, cougars, bobcats, coyotes, rattlesnakes – and sunset.

  I didn’t know that sunset was on the list until the sky started turning red. Last night I loved the way the mountains turned different shades of purple, with the sky all pinky-gold behind them – but scenery is only beautiful when you’re safe. Tonight sunset just means it’ll be dark soon.

  I’ve got to get to the truck first.

  It’s not like I’ve been dawdling. I’ve built three more little Inukshuks, but I’ve been going as fast as I can in between. And the faster I go the more I hurt. My body is nothing but a bunch of sore bits joined together.

  Think about the parts that don’t hurt.

  That’s a shorter list than the things I don’t want to see:

  My eyelashes.

  My right eye. (The left one got dust in it.)

  My left ear.

  The inside of my left elbow.

  There must be somewhere else!

  My hair.

  And my front teeth. (The back ones feel like I chomped on a rock. I probably did!)

  I don’t know if this is the tree where we ate lunch, but it’s definitely a tree. I’m glad to see it again now, and not just because it means I’m about half way. Even skinny, deformed trees are friendlier than rocks.

  Trees make shadows too, and shadows aren’t so friendly. Shadows are tricky and twisty, and now I really wish I had my glasses because some of the shadows look like bears, and what if there are bears that look like shadows and I can’t tell the difference?

  The farther down I go the more trees there are and the longer their shadows are. The more shadows there are, the harder it is to follow the trail. It’s not much of a trail anyway.

  On the way up it didn’t matter so much; we were going to get somewhere where we could see the summit. But the bottom of a mountain is a lot bigger than the top. There are a lot more places you can end up on your way down.

  Besides, Scott was in charge. Lily and I were just looking out for animals and interesting things, we didn’t have to worry about where we were going.

  If I could find a lookout place before I get into the forest, maybe I could see the lake. I’d really like to see the lake!

  Try that big stack of boulders.

  My knees whine that they aren’t in the mood for scrambling up any more rocks today. And that there’s no point since I can’t see anyway.

  ‘Tough luck!’ I tell them. ‘I’ve got to try!’

  My knees were right. It’s too dark. I can see the shapes of nearby trees but everything else is a black soup. The sunset has gone.

  I’m going to get lost, I’m never going to find the truck . . .

  Stop panicking! says the Dad voice. Just figure it out.

  The last of the sunset is on my left. The sun sets in the west.

  The peak is due south from the lake, so the lake is due north from the peak.

  Line myself up now and go absolutely straight. No zigzagging.

  Another list: useful things I had on the way up that I wish I had now:

  My compass.

  The maps.

  My torch.

  Scott’s GPS.

  Scott.

  When we left yesterday morning Mum had the boxes lined up in the living room, ready to unpack. We knew she was just itching for us to back out of the driveway so she could rip the first one open and drink her coffee in a muddle of bubble wrap and crumpled newspaper.

  Of course she won’t be unpacking now. She’ll be at the Coffee Corner, giving other people whatever they want to eat and drink.

  The truck has food. There are cans of baked beans and wieners for our dinner tonight, and apples and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. I can’t remember if there are any marshmallows left. Lily toasts hers so they’re perfectly gold all around but I like them best when they catch on fire, and when you blow them out they’re black and blistered on the outside but sweet and gooey on the inside. If I had a packet now I’d eat them all raw, pink, yellow or white, I wouldn’t care.

  I don’t know what I’ll have first. I don’t know if I’m hungrier or thirstier.

  Scott and Lily have all the dried fruit, energy bars and two extra bottles of water.

  It’s fair that I’m the one who’s hungry because everything’s my fault. I’ll just eat something very fast before I drive for help.

  You can’t even drive, Amelia says in her I-know-better voice. How are you going to do it in the dark?

  The truck’s got lights, says Jess. Raven will figure it out.

  I’ll call Mum, and she’ll tell me to crawl into my sleeping bag and sleep till the rescuers pick me up. She’ll say everything’s going to be all right. And when she’s called 911 she’ll start cooking a midnight feast for when we all get home.

  ‘All get home; home, home, home!’ The words have been running around in my head for so long I can’t remember what they mean. The only thing I believe in is how much my feet hurt, and my finger, my bottom, and a new scratch across my cheek from walking through branches in the
dark.

  And I’m tired. Beyond tired. There’s not even a word for how tired I am.

  The moon’s coming up, and it’s round and shining bright enough to see, but it makes the shadows spookier; the world is in black and white. Everything looks blurry too, even blurrier than usual without my glasses. It might be because I’m crying again. I can’t tell anymore. My feet can’t be bothered to lift themselves over roots and rocks and every time I trip it’s harder not to fall.

  Every time I fall it’s harder to get up.

  This time I can’t. Can’t get up again. I’ll just stay where I am.

  It’s not safe here, says the Dad voice. This is too cold; too hard; too out in the open. You’ve got to keep going till you find somewhere better.

  You can do it, says Jess. You’re a hero. Remember, you’re Coyote Girl!

  It’s hard to believe in Coyote Girl right now.

  I thought you were going to save your sister, says Amelia.

  Lily. I remember now: I have to get up, and I have to get to the truck.

  Or that log.

  The trunk is taller than my head. The skeleton of its bare roots twists into the air like a haunted forest.

  Suddenly it seems like nothing in the world is safe. Mountains move when you dance on them, and trees that are quietly minding their own tree business get ripped out of the ground. Just like that, from one minute to the next, the tree’s life was over, just like the bear Scott shot.

  I’m shaking so badly my knees are wobbling. I’ll never be safe or warm again. But in the curve between the bottom of the trunk and the roots there’s a little den, with a floor of pine needles and moss. A Raven’s nest.

  I’m not sure if I’m lying down or falling.

  Some digging-in stones wake me up before I knew I’d gone to sleep. I chuck them out, grab some moss off the top of the log for a pillow, pull my hood tighter around my face, and drink the last swallow of water from my bottle. The bear spray is digging into my other hip: I take it off my belt and curl myself around it. It’s the last thing I own and I don’t want to lose it.

  Good night, Mum, I wish.

  Sleep tight, Lily.

  Get well, Scott.

  Last night, when I was going to sleep by the fire and I couldn’t say goodnight to Mum, I reached out to touch the end of my sister’s ponytail, gently enough that Lily didn’t notice but I knew she was there.

  Amelia has all those stepfathers and uncles and everything but she doesn’t have a sister.

  Lily’s crashing around on her side of the bedroom. I try to tell her to be quiet but can’t wake up enough to talk. When she finally settles down she snores like a pig, and I dream about how cross she’s going to be when I tell her that in the morning.

  Then I tell her my nightmare about falling off a cliff and starting an avalanche that trapped her and Scott inside a mountain. I’m so happy it was just a dream that I go back sound asleep.

  But I don’t know why she’s getting up before it’s even light, and I don’t know why she has to take my blankets. She’s even spread gravel on my mattress which is the meanest trick she’s ever played. It’s lumpy and horrible and if I could wake up I’d go and get into her bed instead.

  I can’t wake up. I go on shivering and curl up tight like a puppy.

  12

  8:05 SATURDAY MORNING

  I’m lying on the ground. I’m cold right through; my neck is stiff, my bottom hurts and my legs ache – but even in my sleep I know waking up is going to be worse.

  I open my eyes.

  It’s morning. The sun is high in the sky. I’m snuggled into the roots of a dead tree; I’m very hungry, I need to pee, and Lily is locked in a cave at the top of the mountain.

  But I’m not alone.

  On the other side of the log are the white mother bear and her two cubs.

  I freeze.

  I don’t mean freeze like when you’re playing statues. My body has turned to ice.

  Scott’s lectures race through my mind like a video screen: Don’t run away, a mother bear with cubs is the most dangerous, don’t turn your back, don’t look it in the eye, a black bear that’s not afraid of people is the most dangerous, don’t scream, lie down with your hands over the back of your neck, no, that’s grizzlies, this one’s a black bear except it’s white, if a black bear is aggressive you should shout and use your spray instead of lying down . . .

  My bear spray is behind my back.

  Mama Bear lifts her head, grunts to her cubs, looks straight at me, grunts again and takes another mouthful of grass.

  The cubs are playing tag, white Gretel chasing black Hansel . . . They’re on the log. They race along it to the roots I’m hiding under, and stare down at me.

  I’ve got the spray in my hand.

  Hansel is on the root above my head. Gretel’s following, bumping her brother’s bottom to hurry him along. Hansel slips, swings upside down, and: ‘Oof!’

  I’ve got a bear on my chest!

  He’s bigger than I thought. I can’t move; I can hardly breathe.

  Double ‘Oof!’ That was me and the black cub together. The white cub was staring so hard that she fell off too, and thumped on top of her brother.

  The two faces stare into mine – they’re as surprised as I am.

  They’re playing! Just like Coyote Girl but with bears.

  There’s no way I could spray them.

  No way I can lift my arm anyway. I let go of the can.

  Hansel’s patting my hair.

  ‘Ouch!’

  I was wrong. Turns out I could move: I just needed to have my hair yanked hard enough.

  I can’t believe I just shoved two bears off me!

  Baby bears. Don’t get smart thinking you could do that to their mum.

  She’s standing up, calling them with a clucking sort of grunt.

  I grab the spray can again.

  The cubs scamper off around the end of the log. There’s a nest on the other side a lot like mine, with scuffed up pine needles and grass.

  Lily crashing around, Lily snoring . . . it wasn’t a dream – it was bears! I slept beside the three bears all night! If I had blonde hair I could be Goldilocks.

  I peek through the lace of the tree roots: Mama bear is still watching me. Hiding doesn’t seem to trick her at all.

  She makes the clucking sound again.

  Is she calling me?

  I stay where I am, but take my finger off the safety catch. ‘Thank you for not eating me.’

  She looks at me again and ambles into the forest. The cubs follow; one blink and they’re gone. If it weren’t for the trail of waving branches and a steaming pile of poo, I’d think I had made the whole thing up.

  I’m safe; they’re gone. I put the bear spray back on my belt.

  I should feel happy.

  I shouldn’t feel even more lonely and jealous. But the cubs have their sister or brother to play with and their mother to look after them; this is their home and they’re safe.

  Maybe they’ll come back, and Mama Bear will look after me till I find the truck. I’ll ride down to the lake on her back like Lyra on the Armoured Bear and when everyone’s rescued I’ll come back and be friends with the cubs.

  You’re crazy, you know that?

  Of course I know it. This is not a new Coyote Girl play. I know that just because Mama Bear didn’t mind me sleeping near her cubs doesn’t mean she’s going to look after me, and I know that if I’d done just one little thing to upset her this morning she could have killed me with a single swipe of her paw.

  It’s just that imagining playing with the cubs is the nicest thing I’ve thought since I fell off the mountain. I thought-message Jess: I need a happy ending for Coyote Girl! Right away!

  We were arguing about how to finish the play when Amelia suddenly said, ‘You know your mum’s going to marry Scott?’

  ‘Mum told us she was never getting married again!’

  ‘My mum said that last time too.’

  ‘
Mum and Scott are NOT GETTING MARRIED!’

  I marched straight into the kitchen to ask Mum.

  She hugged me and said, ‘I’m sorry it came up like that. I was going to tell you tonight.’

  All I could do was wish that my real dad would come back before it was too late and that Scott would go to Australia instead.

  Now I’m just hoping he’s still alive.

  And wondering if Lily even knows it’s morning inside that dark cave.

  At least I don’t have anything to do to get ready before I leave. No bedroll to pack away; no hot flapjacks to eat; no clean clothes to change into; no Insect-Off, hat or sunscreen to put on. No water to drink or clean my teeth or wash with.

  I wish I’d told Lily about the deer poo I saw before she washed in the lake.

  Lily’s so pretty.

  Picking up rocks makes my finger throb again but I need an Inukshuk on the Raven’s nest log. It would be too terrible if I couldn’t show the rescuers where to go.

  I just wish I knew where to go now. I wish I hadn’t lost the rocky ridge that we followed up from just above where we saw the bears.

  But if I walk downhill I’ll have to hit one of the trails we took up to the ridge.

  Or not.

  They were such skinny, wandery trails that we had to go single file. Scott checked them with the GPS and I double-checked with the compass to make sure we were mostly going south.

  What was that thing we did at Girl Scouts to tell direction? I just wanted the badge; I never thought it was something I might really need to do when I was lost in the woods.

  I’m not lost! I just don’t know exactly where the lake is.

  I stick a straight bit of alder branch in the ground. Now I need to mark the top of the stick’s shadow, wait ten minutes, and mark the shadow again. Then I’ll know exactly which way is north.

  The stick falls over.

  I can’t wait around for another ten minutes.

  The sun rises in the east; I’m going north. All I need to do is keep the sun on my right, and head downhill. Easy.

  I’ve only been walking for fifteen minutes, and I’ve found the ridge, the wonderful rocky ridge that’s just like it was yesterday when the world was in one piece.