Whiteout (7 page)

Mitts. Scarves. Tuques. In a few minutes they were bundled up and ready to go.

The snowflakes were small and hard like sharp pebbles, sweeping sideways across the frozen lake. The cold bit through Robin’s jacket and snow pants and stung her cheeks. She ducked her chin into her scarf and hunched her shoulders.

The ski track was still faintly visible, and the girls set out across the bay. How long until the track was buried in the new snow? Robin pushed back a wave of panic and concentrated on each stride.

Hurry!

It was impossible to know how much of a head start Molly had. Robin could hear April panting behind her, trying to keep up. Every few minutes her eyes swept the lake for a flash of purple jacket, in case Molly had turned
around. Would she even see her? The island was a blurry smudge, and she couldn’t see the trees on the opposite shore. It was like being inside Molly’s Christmas globe.

Suddenly a gray shadow appeared beside the girls. It stood frozen for a second in the driving snow, staring at them. A coyote. It was beautiful, with thick ruffled fur and yellow eyes. Then it turned and ran, melting into the snow. It’s going home to its den, thought Robin. It knows better than to stay out in this.

Doggedly she pushed on, ignoring the warnings screaming in her head. Minus twenty, the thermometer had said, but with the windchill factor it must be almost minus thirty. The ski track was completely drifted over now, and she searched desperately for landmarks. The beaver lodge...the split pine tree.

Gasping, the girls climbed up the small bank at the edge of the lake. It was darker in the forest. The wind howled high above their heads, and the tall, thin, black tree trunks swayed back and forth. Robin pulled her fingers into the palms of her hands to warm them. She clumsily tightened her grip on her poles. Her face felt like it was made out of Plasticine. Her toes were numb.

“We should have worn face masks,” mumbled April. Her voice sounded stiff and different.

There were a lot of things they should have done, Robin realized, as the cold formed an icy ball inside her chest. The emergency survival pack—why had she forgotten to grab that? She thought miserably of all the things inside it—matches, a space blanket, a tiny stove...

This was stupid. They should go back. People died of hypothermia in this kind of weather.

“Keep going,” said April.

She was shouting, but Robin could barely hear her above the screaming wind. She took a big breath and started to climb. Dad had marked blazes on the trees and Robin searched frantically for each one. She had skied this trail hundreds of times, but everything looked so different in the blinding snow. What time was it now? The light was flat and gray, but she had a horrible feeling it was already getting dark.

Keep going. One step at a time...Robin knew she was at the top of the ridge because suddenly the ground stopped going up. She leaned on her poles and sucked in a gulp of air. It was so cold it made her chest hurt and the inside of her nose freeze.

“We should stay together going down,” said April. Her breath had formed a rime of ice around the edge
of the scarf she had pulled up over her mouth. Only her eyes, wide with fear, were visible.

Robin grunted. She held out her pole. “Hang on to the end. We’ll go down side by side. It’s going to be slow anyway.”

Robin pushed off with her other pole. It was like skiing in slow motion, plowing down the hillside through the deep snow that had drifted, in places, over their knees. Robin squeezed her eyes to slits to keep out the stinging flakes.

Cold. It was so cold.

She tried to shut out the fear growing inside her. Molly had to be at the cabin. She
had
to.

They slid to a stop on the frozen pond at the bottom of the hill. Robin had lost all sense of direction. “Go right,” she said blindly.

Push, push, push, through the thick snow. April skied beside her, grunting with each stride.

A tiny break in the driving snow.

A black shape.

The cabin.

A hard gust of wind turned everything white again. And then the tip of Robin’s ski hit the cabin porch with a thud.

Chapter Eleven

Molly was curled up on the bottom bunk, sobbing quietly. Her boots, tuque and purple snowsuit were caked with snow, and a trail of snow led from the door to the bunk.

Relief mingled with anger slammed into Robin. “Molly, this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done!”

Molly sat up. Her sobs turned into howls.

Robin’s legs felt as weak as water. She sat on the bunk beside Molly and brushed the snow from the little girl’s arms and legs.

Molly gulped in air. “I’m freezing,” she whimpered.

“Matches,” said April. She was standing, frozen, by the door. “Where can I find matches?”

“Hang on a sec,” said Robin. “We need to turn on the radio.”

Robin put the radio in the middle of the table and turned the switch. “Dad, can you hear me? Dad? Dad?”

No reply. Did the radio even work in a blizzard like this? Robin had no idea. She turned and swept her eyes along the shelf. A fishing reel, a glass bottle, a box of nails, a stick curved like a snake.

Matches. In the tin can. A whole box of them.

“We’re going to light the stove, Molly,” said Robin. Her breath made a white cloud. “It’ll warm up in here fast.” She squeezed Molly’s shoulders and then stumbled to her feet.

Newspaper, split logs and a few pieces of kindling were stacked beside the woodstove. The girls tugged off their mitts and with stiff fingers tore paper into strips. Robin opened the stove door, and April piled the paper in the bottom.

Robin laid all of the kindling on top of the newspaper. Her hands fumbled as she struck a match. Nothing happened. Had the matches somehow got damp? She tried again, biting down on her lip. The end of the match burst into flame, and Robin held it against the edge of the paper. The paper flared up with
a reassuring
whoosh
, and then a wave of smoke swept into the cabin. Robin couldn’t see the sticks or the paper anymore, just thick choking smoke.

“What happened?” coughed April.

“The damper! I forgot to open the damper,” Robin grunted.

Stupid. How could she be so stupid?

Robin yanked the wire handle on the side of the black stovepipe, trying not to breathe in the smoke. The handle wouldn’t budge at first but finally it turned, and the smoke cleared. She peered hopefully into the stove. The paper had turned to ashes and the sticks of kindling were charred.

“That’s all the kindling we’ve got,” said Robin. She felt sick.

“Blow on it,” suggested April, peering over her shoulder.

Robin blew gently and bluish flames sprang up, licking one of the sticks. April passed her more crumpled-up paper, and Robin pushed it around the kindling. She kept blowing on the flames, and after a few minutes, the sticks crackled and snapped. She carefully rested three logs on top and closed the stove door. “We did it,” she breathed.

Molly had climbed off the bed and was standing behind the girls. “I’m hungry,” she whimpered. There were tear streaks on her face.

“We’ve got food,” said April. “It’s going to be just like having a picnic, Molly.”

The wind whined like a wild animal outside the cabin, rattling the windows. Robin unpacked the sleeping bags from the bins under the bunks. The girls took off their boots. They each snuggled inside a bag and huddled on the floor close to the stove. Molly opened the bag of trail mix and took a huge handful.

“Don’t take all the Smarties,” warned Robin. She dug into the bag. As she munched, she tried to organize her thoughts. She wasn’t ready to think about the horrible experience in the blizzard yet. It was still too real—the numbing cold, the pellets of snow stinging her face, her terror that Molly was lost somewhere. She slid a glance toward April. Her cousin had pulled her sleeping bag up to her chin and was picking at some trail mix.

Robin frowned. The fight with April seemed so long ago. One minute they had been having fun, cutting up magazines, and then she had found that stupid letter. She tested her feelings, trying to remember exactly
what April had told Stephanie.
The school is boring... Robin is acting weird.
She sighed. None of it was fair, but she didn’t feel angry anymore. Just kind of tired.

Suddenly Dad’s voice, full of static, filled the cabin. “Girls, do you read me? Do you read me?”

“Dad!” screeched Molly.

Robin hopped to the table in her sleeping bag. Dad always sounded like he was trying to contact Mars when he spoke on the radio. She pushed the speaker button. “Dad! It’s us! We’re fine!”

“All of you? Molly?”

“Molly too. We’re fine,” repeated Robin.

“Thank God.” Robin could hear Dad take a big breath. “What happened?”

Robin glanced at Molly. “It’s a long story.”

Dad quickly turned into Mom’s clone. “Have you got anything to eat? Have you managed to fire up the stove?”

“We’re toasty,” said Robin proudly. She eyed the woodbox. “We have enough wood to last all night. And we’ve got power bars and trail mix.”

“Do not...I repeat, DO NOT go outside. Do you have any idea...almost thirty below...” Dad’s voice became buried in static.

“We won’t,” promised Robin.

Molly wriggled free of her sleeping bag. She danced at Robin’s side. “I want to talk to Dad.”

“I don’t know if he can hear you.” Robin held the button down and Molly shouted, “Daddy! It’s me.”

For a few seconds, Dad’s voice was clear. “Molly, why do I think you’re behind this? We’ll talk at home.”

More static and then snatches of Dad’s voice.

“...snowmobile in the morning...NOT GO OUTSIDE...I repeat...”

Robin grinned. Even dads could freak out.

“See you tomorrow,” she said. “Over and out.”

The girls stripped off their jackets. Robin peered out the window at the darkening sky. It was hard to tell if it was still snowing. While April put another log in the stove, Robin lit the two oil lamps.

Molly filled the empty space between Robin and April with chatter. “Do you think I’m going to get in trouble? Should we play cards? I wish we had some hot chocolate.”

“We do!” said Robin, jumping up. She had remembered the tin of hot-chocolate powder in the cupboard. She grabbed a pot and opened the door a crack to
scoop up snow that had drifted up against the cabin wall. Then she set the pot on the stove.

It was amazing how much snow it took to make three cups of water. Each time Robin opened the door, a blast of frigid air swept inside, making Molly shriek with excitement.

They all agreed that it was the best hot chocolate they had ever had. Molly finished first. Full of huge yawns, she only protested a tiny bit when Robin tucked her into her sleeping bag in the bottom bunk. “I’m going to stay awake because I don’t want to miss anything,” she mumbled. Her eyes floated shut and her thumb drifted into her mouth.

April had found a deck of cards and was laying out a game of solitaire on the table. “There’s another deck if you want to play double,” she said.

“That’s okay.” Robin sat on a chair beside her. She sipped her hot chocolate and watched April flip cards for a few minutes. Suddenly April shoved all the cards across the table. “I’m going back,” she said.

Robin froze. “What do you mean?”

April stared at her. “I phoned Stephanie this morning. She says I can live with her.”

“But Mom and Dad—”

“Your dad knows. We discussed it. He has to talk to your mom, but he was pretty sure she’ll understand. He said it might have been the wrong decision for me to come here in the first place.”

“So it’s not definite then.” Robin stalled for time, trying to make sense of the feelings colliding inside her.

“It’s definite enough. Your dad’s on my side.”

“And I’m not?”

April’s cheeks flushed. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered.

Robin opened her mouth to protest. Then she clamped her mouth shut tight. She didn’t know what to say.

Silence.

Finally April said, “So are you mad again?”

“No,” said Robin. Her hands were shaking. She put her mug of hot chocolate down and pressed her hands against her legs. She swallowed. “It was all my fault anyway. The accident and everything.”

“What do you mean?” said April.

Robin’s words came out in a rush. “I told Aunty Liz I would never ever forgive her if she didn’t try. I begged her.” She twirled the hot chocolate around the
bottom of her mug. “I think that’s why she did it,” she finished miserably.

“That’s not why,” said April slowly. “It was because of me. I had a fit. I even cried when Mom said we might have to miss Christmas at the ranch. I said she was going to wreck everyone’s Christmas. I acted worse than Molly ever does.”

Both girls were silent for a moment. Robin’s heart pounded. “Why do you talk to Molly about the accident but you don’t talk to me?”

“Because she’s interested,” said April.

“So am I,” said Robin.

“So then why do you change the subject every time it comes up?” said April. “You’ve never even asked me one question.”

“I have,” said Robin weakly.

“No, you haven’t. You act like it never happened. Like everything is just supposed to be normal.”

Robin swallowed. “I guess I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“Maybe I would get upset.” April’s voice shook. “But this is worse. It feels like you don’t care.”

“Then tell me. Please,” said Robin.

April stared at Robin. She took a big breath. “I was so scared when we were driving. Mom wasn’t saying anything. And I kept thinking I should tell her to go back. But I didn’t. I’ve wished so many times that we could do that day over again.”

“Me too,” whispered Robin. “What happened? I mean, exactly, when the truck hit you.”

“It was so fast. You couldn’t see anything. Just white. And then suddenly there was this huge truck right in our face. I don’t know after that. I remember hearing screaming. I think it must have been me. And then Mom kept saying, ‘Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.’ And then there were flashing red lights and people, and I don’t remember much after that.”