Age:
High School
Reading Level: 4.1
Chapter 1
Gwen drove home from the last day of school to find that her dad had already finished packing the truck. It sat in the driveway, the truck’s bed popped open and the keys in the front seat. She drove into the garage and got out of her beat-up Subaru, slamming the door shut. Both cars were covered in a layer of dust. Gwen considered this a testament to the fact that she and her father lived in the middle of nowhere, where dirt roads still existed.
Gwen frowned as she hauled her bag out of the trunk. She made sure not to crush the expensive camera hanging around her neck. For God’s sake, couldn’t she have one day to relax before Malcolm threw her onto some random mountain? Hadn’t he promised her that? She glared at the fully packed car. Damn him.
Gwen didn’t doubt that Malcolm knew exactly what he’d promised. But Malcolm had never really been one to heed his daughter’s wishes—especially not over the summer.
Gwen let out a long sigh of frustration, then kicked open the bent screen door and stomped inside. She plodded through the mudroom without taking off her shoes. She slammed her backpack down in the kitchen loudly to notify Malcolm that she was home.
“I didn’t get any C’s!” she shouted into the empty air.
“Congrats,” came the dry, semi-sarcastic reply. Malcolm’s boots became visible on the stairs. “You’ve got your bag ready?”
As his face came into view, Gwen directed her most scathing glare in his direction. Normally, it worked. Despite her short stature, she was an intimidating young woman. But her glares had never really worked on him.
Malcolm paused, his shaggy dark gray hair framed his cheekbones. He raised a grizzled brow at her. “What?”
“I didn’t get any C’s,” she said again.
“Well, you still suck at negotiating,” he said. “I know you asked for a week off this summer, but you forgot to specify when you wanted the week off.” He brushed past her to get to the fridge. When he opened it, she saw that he’d already cleaned it out. “I thought I taught you to think more carefully about your words.”
Gwen bit her tongue and shook her head. She wished she could blow her top at him, but she knew that wouldn’t change anything.
“Well, Malcolm, not everything is a hostage negotiation. I thought I was clear enough.”
He threw a glance her way when she used his proper name but shrugged off her icy tone. “Yeah, well, you’re not a princess, so buck up and take the lesson. You have your bag ready?”
Without a word, Gwen picked up her backpack and left the kitchen. Who was he kidding? She always had a bag ready. That was one of the first lessons she’d learned.
She snapped one last photo of the bright white light filtering through her bedroom window, reflecting off a bare canvas she had yet to paint. Then she grabbed her bag and left.
* * *
When they pulled into a motel parking lot at two in the morning, Gwen was floored. Normally, they’d leave civilization completely behind as soon as they got in the truck. In fact, she’d powered off her phone and handed it over to Malcolm hours ago.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked blearily.
Malcolm shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “Migraine,” he said with a grimace.
Gwen put out a hand. “Gimme the wallet. I’ll take care of the room.”
Malcolm slapped the beat-up wallet solidly into her palm and buried his face in his hands, groaning.
Gwen got out of the car and stretched, slightly worried. The truth was Malcolm was getting old. They both knew it. His joints gave him more trouble, his migraines had gotten more frequent, and he could feel every storm approaching in his bones.
At least he’d been sober for three years. That, more than anything, kept her hopeful.
She booked the room, went back to the car, and dragged Malcolm inside. She forced him to drink a glass of water and take some medicine before allowing him to sleep. He grumbled his way through it all. He distrusted medicine, but Gwen watched him down the pills anyway. Then she got him into one of the beds.
She wondered how long he’d been on the road, waiting and feeling his migraine get worse but not waking her up. Something in her stomach sank. Malcolm was no father of the year, but damn it, he tried—especially now.
* * *
Gwen got her camera out of the car when she was sure that Malcolm was asleep. She spent a few minutes in the yellow-lit, slightly misty parking lot of the motel. She wanted to take a few good shots of the car in the eerie light. Maybe she’d make a photo series of the trip for her art portfolio.
The air outside was crisp and clear. She could hear the crickets chirping. When she finally got cold and started feeling weirded out by the empty parking lot and looming mist, she crept back into the room. As she turned on the bathroom light to brush her teeth, a thin strip of light fell across Malcolm’s face. His features were smoothed out in a way they rarely were when he was awake.
Gwen instinctually raised the camera and clicked the shutter. For a moment, she was still. Then she sighed and removed the camera from her neck.
Chapter 2
Gwen woke up before Malcolm the next morning. She snuck quietly out of the room to get some food from the motel’s complimentary breakfast. She got a bagel and some tea and brought Malcolm black coffee and a bagel of his own.
He woke up the way he always did. He shifted, and his breathing changed. His eyes fluttered and then, quite suddenly, they were wide open. He sat straight up, running a hand through his hair and hastily throwing off the blankets. He squinted at Gwen as he picked up the coffee from the table.
“You’re up early.”
She shrugged. “Learned from the best, I guess. And I slept a lot in the car.”
Malcolm grunted, possibly in agreement, and continued to drink his coffee. Then, in a motion she almost missed, Malcolm tossed something small in her direction.
Mostly on instinct, Gwen snatched the shiny thing out of the air. Her stomach flipped over in shock and excitement. He’d tossed her the car keys.
She looked up at him, somewhat awestruck. He’d never let her drive on a trip before. Hell, he usually never told her where they were going.
He gave her a wry smile. “Wanna drive a leg of the trip?”
“Really?” she breathed, turning the key over in her hand. It was like being handed a sacred relic—the keys to Malcolm’s truck.
“Figure you’re old enough. It’s about time,” he said gruffly, shrugging.
Gwen pressed her free hand to her mouth. She wondered why he suddenly thought she was ready. She sure hadn’t earned the privilege, especially not with her whole attitude towards the trip. So why?
Malcolm finished the coffee, chucked it in the bin, and made his way into the bathroom. Gwen, still in awe, slowly raised the camera. Light peered through the half-closed shutters. She took a picture of it falling across her open palm and the beaten-up keys. The angle was perfect. The keys looked fiery gold-orange. Even the dust motes in the air were visible.
* * *
“So, where are we headed?” she asked as they got back on the interstate.
“Bottom of Idaho. Murphy Hot Springs.”
Gwen nearly snapped her neck as she turned to look at him. “We’re doing the Idaho Centennial?”
He nodded firmly. “You’re ready for it.”
Gwen’s stomach turned over, partly in excitement and partly in fear. The Idaho Centennial Trail was 900 miles long. Only ten people had ever completed the full trail. It would take about 52 days—almost all of summer break.
“I want to re-check all our supplies when we get there.”
Malcolm nodded and smiled as he looked out the window.
Gwen bit her lip. Had Malcolm arranged checkpoints? He must have—they’d never be able to carry enough food, and she wasn’t about to make that mistake again. Maybe it was a test. If they ate less than 3,000 calories a day, they were going to start losing weight. In fact, they might even need 4,000 a day, just to be safe.
She glanced at Malcolm. Was he going to let her use a calculator?
* * *
Gwen repacked her bag three times in the trailhead parking lot before she was sure that she was ready. But then Malcolm surprised her.
“I’ve got one more thing to get,” he said. He set his pack on the tarp that Gwen had laid out.
Gwen tightened her ponytail and looked up at him in surprise. “We’re not missing anything, I checked.” In fact, she’d checked the food over so carefully she was pretty sure she could list everything they were carrying by memory.
He looked off into the distance, flipping the car keys through his fingers. “I know.” There was a long silence as the wind tore at their clothing and packs. “I won’t be long.”
Still, when he got into the car and drove away, Gwen’s stomach tightened. Where the hell was he going? What would she do if he didn’t come back?
It was an irrational fear—she had all the food for the first leg of the journey. But she looked into the little valley, with its small town and beat-up houses, and wondered if they were friendly to strangers.
He’d be back, she told herself. He always came back.
Chapter 3
The deep blue truck pulled up just as the sun was beginning to set. Gwen could feel the muscles in her shoulders loosening up. Her curiosity was back in full force but so was her suspicion. If he’d just gone and gotten drunk, this was going to be hell. But his driving hadn’t seemed impaired.
She looked at his face through the windshield, surprised to see a small smile drifting over his lips. She lifted the camera from where it hung around her neck and focused on the reflection of the darkening sky in the windshield. She held her breath and clicked the shutter.
He opened the door and went around to the passenger side. Gwen watched in confusion as a small, light-colored thing bobbed in and out of sight. Then, on the other side of the car, four paws hit the ground.
Gwen gasped and leapt to her feet as Malcolm made his way around the truck. He was guiding the well-behaved dog by an army-green leash. Malcolm looked satisfied.
Gwen bent down to let the dog sniff her. She rubbed its ears. She’d wanted a dog for ages . . . but to walk the trail?
She looked up at Malcolm. “Where’d you get him?”
Malcolm smiled. “Bought him last year as a puppy. Went up for a week to make sure his training was alright and then went back this March to make sure he still remembered everything. You remember those trips, right?” He looked down at the dog.
Gwen remembered. Malcolm had a habit of disappearing on long trips. It was part of his work often enough, and she’d gotten used to it. Still, it scared her every time. It left so much of his time unaccounted for. To know he’d spent a week each year training a dog relieved her.
If there was one thing Malcolm was made for, it was training animals. He spoke their language. They had some kind of connection Gwen didn’t yet understand, but she hoped to someday.
She thought back to the barn and horse arena Malcolm had built behind their house. She’d watched him take in horse after horse, usually broken, pathetic, skinny little things. And she’d watch him retrain them. He’d turn them back into trusting creatures with gleaming coats before finding them the perfect new owner.
That was what he did at the end of every summer—find a few rough “projects” to adopt and love and train. She’d watched him at five in the morning, delivering a colt. She’d seen him standing nose to nose with a horse that everyone else had called “vicious,” talking quietly to it as the sun rose.
To know that he’d trained the dog was something special.
“He’s coming on the hike?”
Malcolm shrugged. “That’s up to you. If he comes, I want you to take care of him. Make sure he eats, has water, stays nearby. I’ve trained him well enough, but you’ve got the choice. And if you do well, we’ll keep him.”
Gwen could already feel the responsibility of the dog settling onto her shoulders like a weight. But she’d wanted a dog for so long . . .
She nodded. “What’s his name?”
Malcolm’s smile split into a grin.
* * *
Zim was extraordinarily well trained. By the seventh day, Gwen was surprised at how routine taking care of the dog had become. He was young and full of energy, but he was sweet. He was a good distraction from the difficulties of the hike.
At first her feet were in a lot of pain, and her legs were burning and sore. It took a few days to adjust to the pace of almost 25 miles per day. But one week in, and she was past the worst of it. She had, so far, done an excellent job navigating.
She looked up at the sun, which was beginning to set. Just as she was about to open her mouth, Malcolm said, “Let’s pull off the trail. That little ridge up there seems like a nice shelter.”
Gwen gave him a thumbs up and whistled. Zim came bounding into sight. That night, as they sat by the fire, Gwen took her camera out of her bag and took a picture of Malcolm petting Zim. They were both illuminated by the flickering orange-red flames. The desert landscape was just barely visible in the shadows behind them, more of a suggestion than a concrete detail.
Malcolm shot her an uneasy glance, and she lowered the lens. But he didn’t say anything. Carefully, she kept the angle and pointed the camera into the flames. But she couldn’t bring herself to waste the film, so she didn’t take the shot.