She lines up the map, charts the quickest way up the mountain, then sets off at a brisk pace. It seems like just a few minutes ago that she and Todd were tearing along this same route, the worm’s crushing din behind them, and Ana again suppresses a pang over her missing companions. Once she leaves the lowlands behind, the mountainside is rocky and almost completely bare of plant life. There’s some hardy scrub and a few spindly skeleton plants that might have come straight from the Dead Forest. But that’s it. Over everything rises the permeating smell of sulfur. It’s so strong, in fact, that less than half an hour into her climb, Ana’s eyes start watering. She leans into the slope, shifts her backpack so it’s centered between her shoulders—wincing as she grinds her still-painful shoulder—pops another water capsule, and climbs on. There’s no trail, no path, no obvious way up. After skidding down several mini rock slides, she pulls up her map and zooms in and out, looking for an easier course of ascent.
