Behind Mt. Baldy by Christopher Cummings

the
fog. ‘We will never see anyone who is creeping up on us in this mist,’ he
thought. He tried to tell himself he was being stupid. Why would anyone bother
to creep up on them?
    Stephen was obviously feeling a
bit embarrassed at his performance.
    “I’m going to make a brew. Anyone
else want one?” he offered.
    Graham and Peter both said ‘no’
but Roger suddenly felt thirsty. And he needed to go to the toilet badly.
    “I’ll join you,” he said. He
slipped out of his sleeping bag and pulled his boots on, then crawled out of
the hutchie. Stephen crawled out, dragging his webbing.
    “I’ll just have a leak,” Roger
said. He turned and began walking in the direction of the toilet, his torch
cutting a dazzling pattern in the thick fog. He glanced back and saw the black
shape of the hutchie and the dim glow of Stephen's torch.
    After twenty paces Roger stopped.
He knew he didn’t have the courage to go all the way to that toilet up in the
darkness of the jungle. For a minute or so he stood uncertainly, listening.
Then he turned off his torch and stood staring anxiously into the darkness.
    Without the light the fog seemed
to close in and to physically envelop him. He seemed to have trouble breathing.
With mounting alarm he looked rapidly in all directions. The glow of Stephen’s
torch steadied him. ‘I can’t just sneak back,’ he thought unhappily. And he did
need to do a pee, urgently.
    So he stood there and did it,
eyes searching around him in fear; half ashamed at his cowardice and half
ashamed at his poor hygiene. As soon as he was finished Roger turned his torch
on and walked quickly back to join Stephen.
    “Don’t sit down, the grass is
soaked with dew,” Stephen warned. He was crouched over his stove.
    Roger joined him, dug out his own
stove and got it alight. The flames were very welcome but nothing could be seen
beyond ten paces. It was eerie.
    The two boys stayed up for nearly
half an hour talking quietly. Roger nibbled some more chocolate and then they
made their way back to their sleeping bags.  Both Graham and Peter were
asleep, Peter snoring softly.
    Roger took off his boots and slid
into his sleeping bag again, then lay back, sure he
would not sleep a wink. He listened to Stephen adjusting his bedding.
     
     

CHAPTER 5
     
    DAY 2 STARTS WELL
     
    “Wake up Roger!”
    Roger groaned. He tried to roll over
to escape the hand shaking him. Graham’s voice came again. Reluctantly Roger
opened an eye. He saw Graham grinning at him.
    “Breakfast time, up you get.”
    “Bugger breakfast!”
    Graham pretended horror. “What’s
this?  Roger doesn’t want food!”
    “Is it cold?” Roger asked,
lifting his head to look out of the tent. It was light but everything was still
enveloped in the fog.
    “No, it’s quite mild,” Graham
replied.
    Peter and Stephen appeared at the
entrance of the tent. Stephen towelled his head and called in, “Come on Roger.
Get up or we’ll chuck you in the lake.”
    “What’s the time?” Roger parried,
hoping for a few more minutes in bed.
    “Ten past six,” Peter replied,
crouching to move into the tent. A shower of cold drops fell on Roger.
    “Oy!   Don’t make it rain,” he
wailed. He looked up. The inside of the plastic was coated with droplets.
    Reluctantly Roger crawled out of
his sleeping bag and pulled on his boots.  The cold leather soon woke him
up. He got out and stood up. As he stretched he was instantly aware of all
sorts of twinges and aches from the previous day’s hike. He wasn’t really
looking forward to the day’s march.
    Graham struck a match and lit a
hexamine tablet. That seemed to break the spell. Roger looked around. He could
just see cars and other tents but no other campers seemed to be awake yet.
    “Go and wash your face. That’ll
wake you up,” Peter suggested.
    “No thanks,” Roger replied. He
dragged out his webbing and squatted to light his stove. A cup of hot Milo
cheered him up. He followed this with a tin of