Ice Island (12 page)

Ice crystals swirled like fine sugar, floating around the snowy bed. The puppies must have been born right away. They had been cleaned up by the time Tatum found them.

Tatum was thinking three puppies was a tiny litter when a fourth one appeared. When it didn’t move at first, she did the only thing she could think of. She quickly wiped away the membrane, and was relieved when the wet ball stirred.

“You’re okay, little guy.” She nuzzled him against her
neck, feeling his warm breath before setting him beside the others.

Bandit licked him head to toe, nudging him toward warm milk. Tatum settled on her heels, cooing to her dog. She’d never seen anything like this before. Bandit cocked her head, smiling and letting herself be petted.

Tatum did her best to explain what had to be done. “You’ll be warm as wool in my sled,” she said. “You have to trust me, okay?”

Bandit flashed her doggy smile again.

One by one, Tatum lifted the puppies, nestling them inside her parka. Bandit got to her feet, and slowly they made their way back.

Cole met them halfway. “Puppies?” He looked dumbstruck.

“I can’t believe it either,” Tatum said.

“Beryl didn’t know?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Four’s a small litter.” He ushered them back to camp, opened a thermal blanket, and spread it out on the bottom of Tatum’s sled. He lifted Bandit as carefully as if lifting a sleeping baby.

Tatum set the four puppies beside their mother. The family was reunited. Safe, warm, happy. Only Alyeska sniffed the sled curiously.

Cole shooed him away.

Tatum stared at the miracle. It really was unbelievable.
Puppies
. Out here in the frozen wilderness.

She knew Cole was exhausted by the way he moved. He
seemed different too. Something Tatum couldn’t pin down. She watched him fish stringy meat from the cooker with his knife.

His cheek looked bad, bruised and swelling. “Wolf’s gone.” He said it flatly, his eyes on her.

“What do you mean?”

“Guess he’d rather be a lone wolf than run with a pack of dogs.”

Tatum stared at him as the reality of their situation sank in. Bandit couldn’t pull. Chugach and Brooks were sick. That left Kenai, Alyeska, Wrangell, and Denali. Four dogs couldn’t pull two sleds, one of them with a broken runner. Not towing three dogs, two mushers, gear, and a caribou carcass.

“How far is it to Anvil?” She shifted, afraid of the answer.

The flicker from the cooker burned in Cole’s eyes.

He looked away.

The moment hung.

“One of us has to wait here,” she said, knowing she was right. “Is that it?”

His silence was a hundred times worse than if he’d been shouting. He must have been thinking about it while she was gone. He got up, pushing back the hood on his parka. He started digging through his sled, taking out equipment. Making two piles.

That said it all.

“Six hours?” She pressed him, hating the one-sided conversation more than ever. “Six days?”

Tatum didn’t know if she could survive out here on her own. What if another storm blew in? She figured she’d crawl inside the sled with Bandit and the puppies. Wait it out.

We have food now
, she reminded herself.
It doesn’t take a lot of brains to boil a chunk of meat
. But she deserved to know how long she might be stuck out here.

“Anvil is on the coast, like Wager.” Cole finally broke his silence. “You’ll smell salt air before you see any buildings. It’s probably thirty miles, maybe forty.”

Tatum knew the drill. On a good surface that would take three or four hours. Coming back for her on a snowmobile would take another two hours, depending on the weather and snow conditions. She watched as Cole wielded the ax, hacking a caribou shoulder into hunks the size of pot roasts.

“They’ll thaw fairly fast in hot water,” he said, not looking at her. “Cook them longer for yourself.”

Then he tilted her sled, careful of the living cargo, and glazed the runners with ice. “Remember, a glassy surface works best in this kind of snow.”

Tatum wobbled from shock as his words sank in. Cole was staying behind—she was the one going for help. Her watch showed 11:20 a.m.

She stared at the dogs, barely getting the words out. “But …” Her voice quivered. “Why me?”

“Alyeska, Wrangell, Denali, Kenai. They know the way.” He said it simply. “If another storm blows in it’s better if I’m the one stuck in one place.”

Tatum didn’t bother telling him how afraid she was. What was the point? She smoothed her snarled hair into a
ponytail and dug out her scrunchie. “You should keep one of the healthy dogs,” she said. “Just in case.”

“Okay, Kenai can stay with me.” Cole took off his gloves. “Take these. They’re warmer than yours.”

“But—?”

“I have another pair. Chugach, Brooks, Kenai, and I will be here waiting,” he said. “I wish we could finish together.”

Then he pulled a fur pouch from his pocket. He untied the strings and took out a tan-colored tooth carved in the shape of a bird. It was longer than the one her mom had bought from the Eskimo woman—about five inches, and a lighter color.

“Is that a whale’s tooth?” she asked.

“An old one.”

“How can something so strong look so delicate?” she asked.

“Elders believe that swallows carry warnings to protect hunters.” Cole held the small totem like it was the sun, moon, stars. “Swallows teach us to think quickly. Here, take it with you. It’ll keep you safe.”

“It’s beautiful.” It was the closest she could come to good-bye. She put the small bird in the pocket of her parka. Then she lined out the dogs, tied up her hook, and stepped on the runners. “Let’s go,” she called.

Tatum glanced back at Cole one last time and waved a final farewell.

Her team hesitated, as if they didn’t want to leave him. She’d have to earn their respect all over again, now that Cole wasn’t with them. “Hike!” she shouted.

Alyeska and Denali ran like they hated it, constantly
twisting to look over a shoulder. Hating it that she was in charge. Tatum wasn’t that thrilled with the situation herself. But if she could deal with it, so could they. “Get up there!”

They kept on, dipping into an icy swale. Tatum glanced back again, but Cole had already vanished.

•  •  •

Tatum knew they were somewhere on the stretch between Wager and Anvil, probably closer to Anvil, like Cole had said.

Might as well be a million miles
, she thought. No roads. No other villages in between. Just a barren white landscape that looked the same in every direction.

She couldn’t help measuring time: minutes, hours, days. It felt like they’d been out here longer than three days.

None of that mattered to Cole. He didn’t even wear a watch.

The air was biting cold. What else was new? No wonder trees couldn’t survive here.

Noon was cold.

Two o’clock was colder.

The frozen whiteness went on and on. Tatum glanced at her thermometer. The needle hovered at five below. She ordered her body to make heat.

To keep from being lonely, she thought about weird things. Like the massive sandbar that had once stretched between Asia and North America. Supposedly the sandbar had flooded, and the people who lived there had taken refuge on a rocky island, Santa Ysabel.

She focused on her dogs, barely conscious of anything else. She knew they ran better, smoother, when she let them find their own pace. She didn’t think about her mom and dad as much now, didn’t listen for the sound of a snowmobile. Being alert and in the present, that was what mattered most.

Two hours on this kind of snow equaled about fifteen miles. They stopped for a snack and moved on. Bandit and the puppies were snug and warm. Tatum could hear the sound of her sled—that was all.

The dogs know the way
, she reminded herself, touching the totem through her parka.

They moved in an easy lope, climbing steadily toward a wide saddle. The sides were piled high with snow. It looked like they’d mushed into a giant tub of whipped cream.

The view to the west was flat and straight to the horizon. There was a sameness about it. Tatum felt more at ease now that the dogs were listening to her. “Good going!” she called to them.

The pinks and purples of sunset painted the frozen land. Suddenly a full, guiding moon looked down on her. With moonlight glinting on the ice, she didn’t need her headlamp.

They kept on.

Her three-dog team settled into a no-nonsense stride.

When Tatum felt sleep creeping over her, she knew it was time to make camp. She stopped, set her snow hook as an anchor, and studied the area. Clouds blew in. The moon disappeared. The night turned colorless, empty.

She switched on her headlamp and checked on Bandit. The new mother was lying on her side, licking her nursing
bundles of fluff. Tatum’s routine was the same as when she had been with Cole: shovel snow into the cooker, add hunks of meat, take off booties and check feet.

While waiting for the meat to thaw, she talked to the dogs and massaged their shoulders. The cooked meat steamed when it hit the icy air. Gobs of grease floated on the water.

Tatum cut up the roast and tossed it out. She fed Bandit by hand. She forced her own dinner down, hating the strong, gamy taste, like the wild animal it was. She ate and ate, finally forcing herself to quit.

You’re eating too fast. Too much
.

She remembered hearing the story of an Eskimo woman who had been lost in the snow for a week. All those days close to starvation, and she died after being rescued because she’d eaten too much. Tatum doubted it was possible for dogs to overeat.

She tossed around the idea of building a dogloo. She’d never done it herself, but she’d seen enough of them. How hard could it be? She picked up the shovel and went to work. She took her time, not wanting to sweat. Any kind of moisture would freeze. She shoveled a rounded snow cone, hollow inside, and with an entrance.

Alyeska, Denali, and Wrangell watched, their tails wagging hopefully. But when she tapped down the outside, the whole thing collapsed.

The dogs whined.

Then they pawed the snow, circled a few times, and lay down.

Tatum climbed inside the sled for her third uncertain night. The heat from Bandit’s body warmed the sleeping bag. In turn, the quilted folds warmed Tatum. She curled against her dog, careful not to disturb the puppies. Gently, she reached around and stroked Bandit’s fur. “I wonder how Mom’s doing?” she whispered.

Bandit whined and wiggled a few inches closer, resting her chin on Tatum’s shoulder. The temperature rose even more. “Sleep tight—don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Tatum slept, actually slept hard, a deep, dreamless sleep. She couldn’t believe she awoke calmly in the darkness. Unless the moon and stars were out, the landscape was all black or all white.
No, that’s not true
, she thought, picturing the northern lights.

Outside the sled, the air burned with cold. No morning sounds. No chirping birds. No rustling leaves. Every second
it grew colder. She pulled up her face mask and tightened her hood.

They had camped between two cliffs. The walls rose like guards. The taller one looked like a skyscraper and drew her attention. “I hope Anvil’s on the other side,” she said to herself.

The dogs stirred when they heard her voice. They stood up and shook off. Alyeska and Denali growled playfully. Wrangell had shredded another bootie. Tatum fired up the cooker, wondering what Cole was doing right now. Probably still asleep.

Caribou stew: breakfast, lunch, dinner. The dogs didn’t complain. She forced herself to finish a bowl of broth. Before packing up, she sliced off slivers of meat from a bigger hunk and wrapped them in foil. She put the bundle in her pocket. That way, snacking the dogs would be faster.

With Alyeska in the lead, and fatty meat for breakfast, her team ran like a house afire, their ears flat as airplane wings. Tatum had iced her runners like Cole had shown her. They hummed, the kind of comforting sound her mom made when she kneaded bread dough.

Soon
, she told herself.

It was more than an hour before the dogs crested a rise that passed between the sentinels. Tatum had been anxious the whole time, hoping to see smoke billowing from chimneys—or at least a sign of village life. Instead she peered down at a frozen field that stretched wide and endless.

“Whoa!” she called.

Tatum set the hook, rushing forward. As far as she could
see, frost heaves, like an eerie army of mounds marching toward her. One behind the other, all the same size and shape.

Her dad had explained what made them. Waterlogged ground expanded when it froze, and pushed itself upward. “There has to be another way,” she murmured.

She put Denali in front. “It’s up to you now.” Then she walked back, tied up the hook, and took her place on the runners. “Let’s go!”

Denali hesitated before lunging forward. Slowly, he picked his way over the first frost heave. Tatum relaxed her knees, trying to ride loose. She worried about hitting a chunk of ice. It wouldn’t take much to knock her off the sled. No way she could risk an injury.

She squinted against the glare, which was magnified by the whiteness. “Easy now,” she told her dogs.

Suddenly the frost heaves were too high, their sides too steep. Her team plowed around them. Every minute was torture. She wondered if they were going in a huge circle. She stopped, snacked the dogs. Wrangell curled into a ball, ready to rest. Alyeska and Denali did the same.

Tatum slumped inside her parka.
Patience
. She had to stay calm, conserve whatever energy she had left. She checked on Bandit. The dog’s muzzle twitched as she slept. The puppies snuggled against her peacefully. Sleep and eat. Then do it all over again. That was their life.

Tatum shivered when a breeze ruffled the fur around her hood. The cold was a type of tightness that worked its way under her skin. She felt the carved tooth through her pocket and thought of Grandfather, remembering the light in his eyes.

The spirits live inside him
, he’d said with his gentle smile.
They live inside you too. Remember that and you will always be safe
.