“I think so,” Morgan lied.

  At a bend in the trail, Mom stopped. She gazed out at a large bulge of rock jutting out above the ridge. James, Dad, and Morgan joined Mom.

  “Charlies Bunion!” Dad exclaimed.

  The Parkers approached the rock formation. A warning sign said CHARLIES BUNION—CLOSELY CONTROL CHILDREN. A side trail led right to it.

  “Let’s stay together,” Mom said.

  The whole area near the trail became more and more rocky. And the plants and trees were stunted, sheared by the wind. “It kind of looks like a Japanese bonsai garden around here,” Mom described. “Everything is in miniature.”

  Near the end of the rock outcropping, the family put down their packs, climbed up a small, protruding point, and stood up. “Look at the clouds being whipped across the peaks,” Dad exclaimed.

  “Yeah, it’s windy up here too,” Mom added. “Let’s get back to the trail.”

  The Parkers climbed back down. Dad pulled out some trail mix. “Snack time,” he announced.

  Mom grabbed a handful and passed the bag to James. James took some trail mix and handed it to Morgan. “No, thanks,” Morgan said.

  James looked at Morgan, thinking, That’s not like her.

  The Parkers spent a few more minutes at Charlies Bunion. Then they packed up and continued on their journey.

  Morgan, James, Mom, and Dad rejoined the AT Trail after the short side trail to the bunion. Again the family hiked along following the rolling ridgeline.

  James caught a glimpse of an orange centipede crawling slowly along the path. He bent down to inspect it.

  Mom caught up to James. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she said.

  The Parkers hiked on in silence, except for the sounds of their footsteps crunching and unseen birds chirping and singing in the forest.

  The trail continued to roll along, and as it did, the family gradually spread out. Soon Morgan was behind her parents, who trailed James.

  They approached a crew of young men and women strewn along a short section of trail. Morgan noticed picks, shovels, and wheelbarrows scattered among the trail crew. They were busy clearing the trail but paused briefly to let the Parkers pass.

  “Hey, this is what your grandfather did,” James said to Mom.

  “Yep,” Mom said. “It’s good to know that groups like the CCC are still maintaining the AT Trail today.”

  After passing the crew, Dad stopped for a second and wiped sweat off his forehead. “This is a hard trail!” he muttered.

  “Hard trail” echoed in Morgan’s head. It does feel extra hard, she realized. Or is something wrong with me? Morgan’s back and legs ached even more. I feel like I’ve been hiking forever, she thought. Then Morgan looked up, and the scene she saw was very different.

  The Smokies in Morgan’s mind were now in black and white. Morgan imagined the trail builders of the past coming to life.

  Everyone her great-grandfather had written about was there: Freckles, Mop Head, Slim, and Jar Head.

  Morgan walked by the imaginary trail crew toiling away at the difficult work. Some were using shovels to haul away chunks of dirt and small rocks. Others pounded axes into the ground, breaking down the rock into smaller pieces, then tossing the rocks into the woods. And some were hammering in wooden planks along the trail. The crew seemed oblivious as Morgan walked by. One crew member glanced at Morgan, then scratched under his arm.

  Morgan trudged along looking for a familiar face. Finally, a tall, slender man stood up and leaned over on his axe. He was coated in dirt and sweat and nodded to Morgan. Now I know why they call him Bean Pole, Morgan realized.

  Morgan approached the man. She grabbed her water bottle and held it out to her parched great-grandfather. “Thanks,” he replied, then took a long gulp. “I needed a break. This hard work is really taking its toll on me.”

  Dad put his hand on Morgan’s shoulder. She finished drinking water from her bottle, then looked up at her dad.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Morgan replied.

  “I turned a corner on the trail and looked back for a second and didn’t see you,” Dad explained. “Boy, did that make my heart jump. So I ran back to get you.”

  “Thanks,” Morgan said. “I guess I was daydreaming. And I stopped to drink some water. Where’s Mom and James?”

  “They’re waiting up ahead.”

  Morgan and Dad rejoined James and Mom and they all continued hiking.

  The trail seemed to go on and on. Morgan struggled to keep up. Each hill seemed to be more of a burden. Morgan soon fell behind again.

  This time, Mom stopped to wait for her.

  “Sorry,” Morgan said when she caught up.

  “There’s no need to say you’re sorry,” Mom replied. “I saw you back there, so I stopped.”

  The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees. Morgan, James, Mom, and Dad all walked slowly. “I think we’re running out of gas,” Dad said seriously.

  Finally, after what seemed like endless hiking, James saw a trail junction sign. “Pecks Corner!” he exclaimed.

  James waited at the junction for the rest of his family to arrive. Morgan took off her pack and gingerly sat down. “Can’t we just camp here?”

  James looked at the sign. “The shelter’s just four-tenths of a mile down this trail.”

  “Let’s just hang out for a few minutes,” Mom suggested.

  A while later, Morgan slowly stood up. “Okay, I think I’m ready now.”

  The Parkers headed to Pecks Corner.

  Soon enough, they passed the privy and bear wires and arrived at the wooden shelter.

  Morgan grabbed her mattress pad and unrolled it, placing it on the lower wooden shelf. She put her pillow down and crawled onto the pad without even blowing it up.

  Dad came over and fluffed out Morgan’s sleeping bag. He put it on top of her. “How are you?” he asked.

  Morgan looked up, glassy-eyed. “I feel awful,” she finally admitted.

  10

  Dad unrolled his mattress pad and blew it up.

  He put it down next to Morgan. “Here, roll over onto this, it’ll feel better.”

  Morgan followed Dad’s suggestion. “It hurts to move,” she complained.

  Dad moved the sleeping bag back on top of Morgan. “Is anything else bothering you?” he asked.

  “My stomach hurts, and I’m dizzy like I have the flu. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  Dad felt Morgan’s head. “Just a second, I’ll be right back.”

  Dad walked over to Mom, who was helping James prepare dinner. “Where’s the first-aid kit?” he inquired.

  Mom nodded toward the side. “It’s in our stuff sacks.”

  Dad went to the supplies and fished around until he found the kit. He opened it and pulled out the thermometer. Then he returned to Morgan.

  Morgan stared up at Dad. Her face was flushed and sweaty.

  Dad placed the thermometer under Morgan’s tongue, and Morgan held it in place.

  Dad looked at Morgan, then at his watch. He stared off into the woods and waited. “We’ll make you some soup,” Dad said. Then, after a few minutes, he took the thermometer from her mouth and glanced at it.

  “Is it bad?” Morgan asked.

  “No,” Dad answered. “You don’t have a fever. But obviously something’s wrong.”

  Mom came over. “How long have you been feeling sick?” she asked.

  Morgan closed her eyes and tried to remember. “The last couple of days, really,” she answered. “It’s just gotten a lot worse today.”

  Mom gently combed her fingers through Morgan’s hair. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin the backpack,” Morgan replied.

  “Sweetheart, your health is a lot more important than this backpack,” Mom said. Then Mom and Dad stepped away and started talking.

  Morgan rolled over and saw James stirring something on the stove. Then she looked around the room.

  Pecks Corner was now crowded with people. Backpacks, mattresses, and sleeping bags were strewn about. Morgan slowly sat up. She saw that the upper bunk was full of camping gear too. And several other hikers were also cooking dinner just a short distance away.

  Morgan slowly lay back down. Then she heard Dad’s voice. “A ranger!” he said. Dad walked over to the person in uniform.

  Morgan listened to their conversation.

  “Actually, I’m a Ridge Runner,” the woman replied.

  “Well, you’re just the person we’re looking for,” Dad said. Then he gestured toward Morgan. “Our daughter’s sick.”

  Morgan saw Dad and the Ridge Runner talking earnestly. Mom came over to join them. Meanwhile, James turned off the stove, covered the pasta, and stepped away from the shelter to drain the water. James ducked down as drops of water kept falling on him. It’s raining again, Morgan realized. Then Morgan saw James return to refill the pot and start boiling water for soup.

  Meanwhile, Mom, Dad, and the Ridge Runner walked over to Morgan.

  The Ridge Runner smiled at Morgan. “This isn’t a great place to get sick, is it?”

  Morgan shook her head.

  “There’s one thing we can check now,” the Ridge Runner said. “Can you look at where you removed the tick and see if there’s a red, circular mark around the bite? It would appear like a bull’s-eye.”

  Since it was nearly dark, Mom pulled out a flashlight. Morgan propped herself up. Mom shone the light back and forth on Morgan’s head and neck. “I don’t see anything like a round bull’s-eye,” Mom reported. “There is a red mark, though.”

  “Hmm.” The Ridge Runner thought. “You did say the tick was embedded in there. The red mark might be swelling or an infection. Have you cleaned the area out?”

  “Absolutely,” Mom responded.

  Dad looked at the Ridge Runner anxiously. “Are tick bites problematic here?”

  “Ticks can transmit diseases from their bites,” the Ridge Runner explained. “It’s very rare. Still, Lyme disease and Rocky Mountain spotted fever are quite serious. If that’s what she has, it’s best to get her to a doctor as soon as possible.”

  Morgan looked at her dad, then at the Ridge Runner. “Are you going to have to rescue me out of here in a helicopter?”

  “We’ll carry you out of here ourselves first before we even think about that,” Dad responded.

  The Ridge Runner chimed in. “There are several rescue and medical alternatives available,” she said. “But there’s also the chance she has something else.”

  Mom came over to Morgan with a cup of warm soup. “Can you try drinking some?” she asked.

  Morgan sat straight up. “I’m really nauseous,” she groaned.

  “I think getting at least a little warm food in you might help,” Mom said.

  Morgan slid down to the wooden step below her sleeping area. She took the warm soup and managed a small sip.

  Mom smiled at Morgan, then looked at the Ridge Runner. “Since we’re not certain what’s wrong, why don’t we wait and see how she’s doing in the morning?”

  “Okay,” the Ridge Runner agreed. “And I have my radio if we need it.” She walked off and chatted with the other hikers.

  Morgan slowly drank some more soup. Then she leaned back. It was nearly dark, and the other trekkers were cleaning up and getting ready for bed.

  Rain poured steadily down outside and cascaded off the roof, showering the perimeter of the shelter. The inside, although dry from the rain, was musty, cool, and damp. By the light of the lantern, Morgan noticed steam pouring from her mouth as she breathed.

  Dad and James came in with rainwater dripping off their parkas. They hung up their wet gear. “We’ve got fresh water,” Dad announced. “And all the food is hung up in our stuff sacks.”

  James walked up to his sister and sat next to her. “How are you?”

  “I wish I was home in bed,” she answered. Then she shivered. “I want to get back in my sleeping bag.”

  The Parkers organized the rest of their gear and piled into their nook in Pecks Corner. Mom and Dad slept toward the middle, followed by Morgan. James was up against the wall. Eight other people also stayed in the shelter, two more on the bottom rack and six on top.

  Morgan could hear people shifting around in their sleeping bags. Her stomach growled angrily, and she felt a wave of wooziness sweep through her body. Morgan grabbed her stomach.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Morgan whispered to Mom.

  Mom turned over. “Now?”

  “Yes,” Morgan answered urgently.

  Morgan and Mom got out of bed. They turned on their headlamps and put on their rain gear. Mom put her arm around Morgan and guided her into the woods, heading for the privy.

  As they hurried along the rainy, wet path, Morgan remembered how going to the bathroom was for the Walker sisters. In the distance she and Mom saw the privy at the top of a small hill. Mom guided Morgan to the door and unlatched it. Morgan lunged inside, lifted the lid of the toilet, and threw up.

  Later, back in bed, Morgan kept her eyes closed, hoping that would help her sleep. She saw light flickering through her closed eyelids. Then, somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. The rain poured down even harder. It cascaded off the roof in buckets, and Morgan could hear trees rustling in the wind.

  Morgan rolled over and opened her eyes. She looked outside through the opening of the shelter and waited.

  The sky lit up brightly and flickered off and on for a second or two. Morgan got a brief glimpse of the colorless, ghostlike world that surrounded her before everything quickly became dark again. Then, thunder boomed loudly. Morgan scrunched into her sleeping bag.

  Lightning flashed again. This time, Morgan saw a tiny mouse scampering across the dirt floor of the shelter. Then, deafening thunder chased her deeper into her bag and up against Mom. It’s going to be a long night, Morgan thought.

  Finally, exhaustion got the best of Morgan. She drifted into a restless sleep.

  Morgan was now wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the porch of an old wooden cabin. Several women were going about their business. One was peeling apples and dropping them into a bucket, another was spinning yarn using her spinning wheel. One was off to the side, writing in a journal. Another sister was peeling potatoes.

  One of the women came over with an antique-looking saucer. The liquid in it steamed up into the cool, damp air. “This tea always helps us when we’re sick,” the woman said.

  Morgan took a sip of the soothing, warm drink. Then she noticed several centipedes on the floor of the cabin. One started crawling up the blanket Morgan was wrapped in. Trapped, Morgan watched the large insect climb higher. Then, to Morgan’s horror, she noticed a frenzy of ticks were also on the blanket. Morgan looked at all the ticks scurrying about. She tossed and turned, hoping to throw them off.

  But the ticks did something unusual: They shed their shells and transformed into a flurry of moths and butterflies. The winged creatures immediately took flight. They fluttered about looking for a place to land in a beautiful garden full of fruit trees and flowers, which had replaced the cabin. Morgan ran around the garden delightfully. The moths and butterflies followed her, some landing on Morgan’s arms and head. Morgan twirled around, enjoying the bright, warm sunshine. She headed for the open, grassy bald at the top of the mountain. But then Morgan tripped on a rock and fell into a slick, muddy ravine. Morgan scrambled back to her feet and realized she was in the middle of a cemetery in a driving rainstorm. The graveyard was filled with tombstones from early pioneers. Morgan noticed an engraving on a tomb: 1894–1904, Sarah lived barely ten years. Morgan gulped in her sleep. That’s my age, she realized.

  Morgan saw several of the moths and butterflies still fluttering about. What the butterflies didn’t see was that the tombs all around her were infested with salamanders. Some of the salamanders were tiny, but several were well over a foot in length. A few of the salamanders clutched nets between their toes. They held their nets up, trying to catch an unsuspecting moth or butterfly. Still the winged insects hovered closer, looking for a place to land.

  Suddenly, Morgan felt compelled to warn the butterflies and moths of their impending doom.

  “No!” Morgan shouted. Then she turned around and noticed several other butterflies approaching the ground.

  The salamanders, some crawling on the gravestones, lifted their eyes, opened their mouths, and salivated, anticipating their imminent meal.

  “No!” Morgan shouted. “Don’t land! It’s not time to die!”

  Morgan bolted upward. She shot out of her dream and was instantly awake. Morgan noticed that dawn was breaking and light was creeping into the shelter.

  Morgan looked around frantically. She wondered if she had yelled out loud and woken anyone. But everyone appeared to still be asleep. Morgan scratched her arm. She kept scratching, then noticed James’s eyes were open. They looked at each other. “You were having a bad dream, weren’t you?” James asked.

  “Did I say anything?” Morgan asked.

  “No,” James lied. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m itchy,” Morgan replied, then scratched some more.

  11

  Morgan looked up. Her parents were talking to the Ridge Runner again. The Ridge Runner had a park service radio in her hands. “What are they talking about?” she asked James.

  “You.”

  “We could get medical personnel up here,” the Ridge Runner said, “to assess her condition. But I can also call in and get advice.”

  “If it is from ticks,” Mom asked, “it’s very serious, right?”

  “The onset of a tickborne illness is three to fourteen days or longer,” the Ridge Runner explained. “That tick was on Morgan just two days ago.”

  “Unless she had one on her earlier that we didn’t know about,” Mom added.

  Mom, Dad, and the Ridge Runner talked some more. Then Dad spoke emphatically, “Wait, hold on. Let’s see how Morgan is doing first.”

 

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