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“It’s the area of the park with the highest density of grizzlies. That’s one of the hazards.”
Riley cut her eyes to Emerson. “One of the hazards?”
“There may be one or two others.”
Vernon and Wayan Bagus joined them. Vernon had already strapped on his pack and changed into a camouflage hunter’s jacket and tan pants. Wayan Bagus, still dressed in his orange robe and sandals, had the duffel slung over his shoulder.
Vernon looked the little monk up and down and shook his head. “Are you the Lorax?”
Wayan Bagus looked confused. “Who is the Lorax?”
“He’s a little orange man who ‘speaks for the trees.’ At least that’s according to Dr. Seuss.”
“I speak only for myself,” Wayan Bagus said.
“That’s what I thought,” Vernon said. “So if you’re not the Lorax, you have no business wearing his clothes on a two-day hike through this here upcountry forest. You’re going to freeze your ass off.”
Wayan Bagus was his usual pleasantly calm self. “These clothes should suffice. I am just a simple monk, but I will overcome the cold.”
Vernon looked at Emerson. “What the heck is he talking about?”
“Some Buddhist monks are able to withstand extreme temperatures,” Emerson said. “It sounds crazy, but it’s been documented that they can raise their skin temperature by as much as seventeen degrees and lower their bodies’ metabolic rate by up to sixty-four percent.”
Vernon looked back at Wayan Bagus. “Is that true? How do you do that?” he asked.
“Simple concentration. You must focus your mind on nothing else but the image of a flame running down your spine.”
“Huh, I reckon there just might be something to it,” Vernon said. “I focus my mind on an image of boobs, and it raises my wiener by as much as ninety percent. Works every time. Do you think it’s the same thing?”
Riley stared openmouthed at Vernon. Emerson smiled. Wayan Bagus looked skeptical.
“Only problem is I’m not loving the idea of a flame going down my back, so I’ll just stick with my wool socks and fleece pants,” Vernon said. He pulled a .45-caliber revolver from a holster inside his hunting jacket. “Besides which, there’s no good place to keep this in a monk robe.”
Wayan Bagus wagged his finger at Vernon. “Guns. Very bad for our karma.”
Vernon put the gun back in the holster. “Little Buddy, this here’s my lucky gun. The only bad karma this gun has is for any woodland critter we happen to come across at dinnertime.”
Wayan Bagus shook his head. ?
??The Sage teaches us first learn how to live and then learn how not to kill. No good. Very bad.”
“Right. On that note, off we go,” Emerson said, walking in the direction of Sour Creek Dome. Riley followed him into the woods. Vernon and Wayan Bagus lagged a little ways behind, still bickering about guns and karma.
FIFTEEN
Four hours, seven hills, and five miles of breathtaking terrain later, Riley was drenched with sweat. The thirty-pound pack, which had seemed manageable at the beginning, weighed heavily on her back, and her legs ached with every step. She was ready for a break, but wasn’t about to be the one to suggest it first.
Emerson paused on top of a ridge and set his pack down. “What do you say we stop for lunch?”
Riley looked out over the valley floor below. Sour Creek Dome was on the other side and looked not much closer than it did four hours ago. She turned back to look in the direction they’d traveled. No sign of civilization. No sounds from the highway. Except for the occasional bear print the size of a dinner plate, there was absolutely no evidence that any creature had ever been in the area in the last thousand years.
Riley put her pack down next to Emerson’s and stretched. “I’m glad you have some experience with off-trail hiking, because I’d be completely lost. This is beautiful, but it really is the middle of nowhere.”
Emerson didn’t say anything.
“You do have wilderness experience, don’t you?”
“More or less.”
