Page 87 of No Hope of Rescue

We ascend the stairs. It’s a beautiful night—pitch black and a million stars are out there. There’s no light pollution, and every time I look up to check our progress, the Milky Way lies thick, undulating above.

I’ve never shared this view with a woman. I never shared this place with Crystal. My dad used to bring me here, and after he died and over time, I brought my brothers. But no one ever came regularly. Just me. This was—is—my thinking spot.

She gets to the top and hoists herself into the small cabin. It’s just an opening in the back side, and in a second, I’m standing beside her.

“I’m freezing,” she says, taking her hands out of the mittens and removing the headlamp. She starts to blow on her fingers.

“I can fix that.” I light the small propane stove I brought up yesterday.

She stands next to it for a moment, and then I take her hand and lead her to the lookout window. It’s all open, no glass, and the cold breeze lifts her curls.

“Look up,” I say. “And wait for your eyes to adjust.”

She stands completely still for a moment. The black dress glitters along the hemline with whatever light is being cast by the moon and stars. Her skin is illuminated as well.

My dick tingles.

I reach up and take a pin from her hair. It slides down glossy, gold and silver.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, looking out at the wide sky, the gray ghosts of jagged mountains, and the narrow flickering silver of streams. It’s as if the night is jeweled.

“Right?” I say.

“Is that the—?”

She points to the far-right corner of the sky, against the dark distant mountain, to the northern part of the sky. A green lick of light undulates at the horizon line. A green ripple. It’s the Aurora Borealis.

She grabs my hand. “Oh, Brock.”

We watch for ten minutes as it flares wider across the night sky. The green moves, changing from yellow to deep purple, spreading between shades we can’t quite define.

She whispers, “I’ve never seen the Aurora Borealis.”

“This is really far south.” I can’t believe it either.

“Have you seen it before?”

I nod. “Once, a long time ago. I was up here with all my brothers, camping out, driving our mom crazy, I’m sure. Jace was maybe ten. Ryan woke us all up, and we watched. But it wasn’t like this—it was just a little bit of greenish red.”

Despite the open cabin, the propane heater is doing its job. When I take her hand, it’s warm.

“But up here, I’ve seen all kinds of things I never thought possible.”

“Like what?” she says, staring at the red sky. The red waves undulate and shimmer, casting her features in a rosy glow. I reach up and touch her cheek with my finger.

“I was up here once with Carter, and there was a lightning storm.”

She tears her gaze from the sky. “Up here? In a storm?”

I shrug. “We were idiot teenagers. Anyway, the lightning is going up, down, and sideways and we think it’s awesome, and then all of a sudden Carter’s yelling, and I look over and there’s these glowing blue orbs just floating in the room here.”

“No. Get out.”

“Yes. About the size of a beach ball and a basketball and then maybe a couple of tennis balls. Bobbing along right about where you’re standing.”

She sidesteps to get away from my invisible memory. “No, stop it. You’re making this up.”

“It’s real. We looked it up later. It’s an electrical anomaly. It’s made from lightning. Few people ever get to see this. There were several others that were smaller. We didn’t touch them, thank goodness. We had enough presence of mind not to do that. We just watched them, and then they floated out the window.”