Chapter 11

When the alarm went off at 3:45, I got right up, ignoring the snooze button I'd planned on hitting a couple of times. I thought about all the bullshit we'd gone through over the past couple of days, getting ready for the trip, then compared it to the planning of what to put in a backpack for a five day wilderness trip last winter. The attention was on making it light back then, taking only those things that I believed were essential. This time, space and weight were considerations but being able to survive for an indefinite time, caring for a dying man, keeping a beautiful girl from turning into a witch because she couldn't bathe, wash her hair or change clothes all made their way into the planning. Diplomatically, of course. Dying man and witch were never mentioned out loud.

I would be bordering on heresy if I'd been involved in some organized religion. The key word coming forth from the pulpit, the Vatican and the TV is "Faith." Believe this impossible thing because a book written a couple of millenia ago can be interpreted to say it." I didn't have any faith in my cave. What I did have was hope. Things had happened before, miracles if you will, that had made me hope that other miracles could and would happen. But then, I'd done my own little miracles since I got back and failed miserably in healing my dad. Yes, I'd reduced the areas of cancer but not the cancer itself. Instead, I'd concentrated it, like acid, letting it attack one area with more force than it was attacking the multiple areas before. The cave had fixed me up. But my problems were a little different. Some parts of my body were essentially dead, those with frostbite. And I had a hole in my leg that was infected. But neither of my ills was as pernicious, as persistent, as relentless as this cancer that had chosen my father to attack.

I think Bev thought the same as I. We both hoped the cave or it's water or whatever hung around it was up for another miracle and we'd walk out of there as three healthy people, ready to live another 40 to 80 years. Dad was kind of in the middle but you had to admire the guy's perseverance. He was betting the ranch on this place, literally. Putting all his chips on CAVE and rolling the dice.

Mom had sent her son away, known him to be missing in action and presumed dead and then he had miraculously reappeared. I was anointed by God in her mind and could accomplish anything. Her faith had been truly shaken on a couple of occasions when I had told her I wasn't accomplishing something I'd set out to do. She'd bet the ranch, her love and her life on me when I tried to fix Dad. If he didn't make it, I figure she had a 30% chance of surviving another year.

And Vicky, well I saved Vicky's ass. Literally. I have no doubt she would have been punctured in three holes by most of the guys out there, as would all of the girls they'd kidnapped, if I hadn't done my thing. I could do no wrong and could fix anything as far as she was concerned.

Don 't get me wrong. I was hoping and praying that we'd come out of there whole. It just wasn't a done deal as far as I was concerned.

I don't know what time Mom got up but the coffee was ready and she had a good start on a big breakfast when I went into the kitchen after my morning piss.

"Looks, good, Mom."

"I figured you could all use a good breakfast with your trip ahead of you. And it will be the last home cooked meal you'll get for a while. Might as well make it a good one."

I got some coffee, went back to the bathroom and joined Bev, already in the shower.

"I remembered some things we forgot to pack, Val."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, if I'm going to be there three and a half weeks, I need to take some tampons."

(I don't want to hear about it.)

"And I thought a deck of playing cards would be a good thing to have so we don't get bored."

"Sounds good."

Dad was at the kitchen sink, filling canteens with bottled water. Canteens had been one of the reasons Bev had wanted a cart and we forgot to pack them. Well, I'm sure we'll be happy to have something to drink on the way in today.

We had some thick ham steaks with eggs on top of them. Mom also had plenty of her hash browns with the tomato, onion and green pepper mixed in. There was gravy simmering in the skillet on the stove and a shitload of biscuits that she pulled out of the oven when we were almost done with what was on our plates. I like my biscuits and gravy hot and that's tough to manage if everything is put out at the same time.

We were done with breakfast by 4:30. Each of us used the toilet before we left. Kind of a hassle to have all that food want to recycle when you're on the trail.

We cleared the gate at the end of the driveway by 4:50.

There weren't a lot of cars on the road that time of the morning. Probably half of those we did see were pulling a horse trailer. There were a few long haul truckers, always considerate, making sure we had plenty of room to pass, but not that many came up here to the top of the country.

The air was brisk and clean, I'd say in the low 50s when we started out. About 45 minutes into the trip, we got the first remnants of the sun peeking over the horizon to our right. A sunrise through a forest doesn't have the same impact as seeing it rise over the ocean, but it's impressive, just the same. A miracle that occurs daily and is ignored by most of us. Not as interesting as a starlet in her 30s dieing from a drug overdose (it's OK, she had a prescription for them) or a young rebel from Hollywood getting picked up for driving drunk or a rap star getting nailed for carrying a sub machine gun for protection or beating his girlfriend because she lipped off to him. I'll take the sunrise.

By 7 AM we were on the far side of the mountain from the truck stop, looking at a gate that signified the end of our road. It had been little more than a couple of dirt ruts with grass in between, eroded by car tire after car tire for who knows how long over the last couple of miles. There was even a section to the right where the grass was gone from all the cars that had turned around when they realized they couldn't go any further.

We got our supplies out of the back of the Suburban. Vicky helped Bev and me with the dolly. It weighed a ton and a half. Having someone fly it out in a helicopter and lowering it down in front of the cave would have been great, but the cart was going to be a hell of a lot better than trying to carry it six miles. We'd planned on eight but that dirt path cut our trip considerably. Bev and I both checked our cell phones. Both had a couple of bars so we could probably get a call out from here. If the batteries lasted.

Mom started the goodbyes. First she hugged Bev. I heard her tell her to watch out for us. Like Bev had to be told. Then she came to me. It reminded me of the hug when I returned from my last journey to this place. I could feel her emotions and something almost like desperation. She didn't kiss my mouth but she kissed me five or six times, all over my cheeks and forehead before pushing me back and smiling while the tears flowed down her face. "I know you'll do your best, Val. Take care of Daddy for me."

I told her I would and she moved over to my father. They held each other like they were glued together. I didn't hear any words but I could feel the emotion flowing between them, almost clouding the air surrounding them. They said goodbye, for now and forever and I'll see you soon. It could very well be that last time they'd see each other in this life or the last time she'd see a sick husband. They kissed each other, the way I imagine they did before I was born when the minister gave my father permission to kiss his bride.

Talk about kissing. After Bev and Vicky said goodbye, as only a couple of teenage girls who'd been friends for most of their lives could, Vick came over to me and laid one on me that would have given Karen a run for her money. She said, "I love you, Val," then moved over to say goodbye to my father. He was given the same treatment.

The girls helped me get the backpack on comfortably, then tied my rolled up sleeping bag to the bottom. Vicky helped Bev with her sleeping bag, then put canteen straps around all our necks. The two of them helped me tilt and balance the dolly until the load was all on the wheels and none on me. It would take some effort to keep it that way, but nowhere near what it would take if I had it tilted back so my arms were taking all the weight.

I learned years ago that it's much easier to pull a dolly than to push it. If the wheels catch on something, the worst that will happen is you stop. If you're pushing it, there's a good chance you'll keep right on going and tumble into it if you hit a rock or a branch.

We'd been walking for a half hour or so when Bev said, "Let's sit down and take a break for a bit." It looked like a pine tree had been hit by lightning some time before and there was an eight or ten foot section sturdy enough for sitting. I put the cart back and held her sleeping bag as she got out of the harness we'd made for it, then she helped me get my backpack off. She whispered to me, "We can't push him so hard." Dad was already sitting and had his canteen up to his mouth. His color was off, making his skin look dull, and he was breathing heavily for the short length of the hike so far.

"Are you OK?" I asked him.

He grinned. "I didn't realize how bad I've got it. I thought it would be a piece of cake to do eight miles. This old body of mine's in pretty poor shape."

"Do you think you'll make it OK?"

"I think so. I'm glad we stopped. I'm sure I'll want to rest along the way."

"Are you hungry? We've got some energy bars somewhere."

"After that breakfast? I'm fine. And I don't want to go tearing everything apart until we get to where we're going. Just let me rest for a bit."

Bev, on the other hand, looked great. Like I've said, she's an outdoor person and this walk was doing wonders for her. She was bright and fresh and desirable. Give me an outdoor girl every time. You can take those skinny ass models who can't go anywhere without a ton of makeup and toss 'em.

My backpack had a couple of small loops sewed on it and I'd used one to hold a hatchet. I grabbed it and used it to lop off a branch from our tree bench. I trimmed it down a bit and ended up with a five foot staff, sturdy enough for someone with a cast on his leg to use.

"Here, Dad. Use this. It might make things easier on you."

He grabbed onto it and used it to get himself up. "Thanks, Val. I think this will help a lot.

We got loaded up again, Bev gave the dolly a boost and we took off. She took the lead, Dad followed and I brought up the rear. We'd been going for a while when I hit a root and stopped. I looked for a way around it but it must have been there for years. It went all the way across the path. I just grabbed the handle with both hands and yanked. The wheels hit it at different times so the dolly tilted one way, then the other. It bounced a little when it came down. I continued but it felt like the load had shifted.