Wilderness (12 page)

 

 

“Wil-derness!”

They shouted into the dark, but nothing came back.
They listened; they leaned forward on the sleds.
They'd only heard her once.

“Where did it come from?” said Tom.

He meant their mother's voice.

“Over there,” said Johnny. “I think.”

Tom looked, and could just make out where
Johnny's arm was pointing.

“Wil-derness!”

Nothing.

“Wil-derness!”

“What will we do?” said Johnny.

“Just go,” said Tom.

“Yeah,” said Johnny.

“The dogs will find her,” said Tom.

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Ready?”

“Ready when you are, my friend,” said Tom.

He was scared. But he felt good. They'd heard their
mother's voice. They weren't lost. They'd nearly found
her. He heard Johnny scraping ice off the metal
plates, where he put his feet. Tom did the same. He
took one foot off the brake and knocked the ice off the
plate with his boot. They got ready for the last push.

He heard, and saw, Johnny's sled advance. He took
his feet off the brake, and he was moving. They were
on good snow now, and the dogs were soon moving
fast. There was space between the trees.

“Wil-derness!”

Nothing.

“Wilder-nessss!”

They followed the dogs. The snow was thick again,
crashing into their faces. Johnny's hands were freezing
cold, even inside his gloves. He had to tell his fingers
to move – he even said it out loud. They were so stiff,
sore. He couldn't feel the stick that held Kalle's hat.
That part of his hand was numb, like it was welded to
the sled.

They kept going.

“Wil-derness!”

Tom watched the dogs' backs. He tried to get ready
for jumps or bends. He tried to see ahead. But they
were in the trees again, and it was even darker. He
used his elbows and arms like shields against the
grabbing branches.

They kept going.

“Wilder-ness!”

They heard it, together. They heard her voice. It
was near, and miles away. It was left, right, straight
ahead, behind them – they didn't know from where.

Johnny stopped.

Tom stopped.

Johnny shouted.

“Wil-derness!”

They heard her again.

“Shout something else!”

It was definitely their mother.

“Something else!” Johnny shouted back.

Tom laughed. His throat was dry, so it sounded like
a bark.

They heard her again.

“I'm over here!”

“Where?!”

“Here!”

Tom saw Johnny's outstretched arm.

“Over there,” said Johnny.

Tom agreed. Her voice had come from that
direction. Left, and forward, behind what looked like
a black mountain of trees.

“How do we make the dogs go that way?” said Tom.

“We don't,” said Johnny. “It's the way Rock's been
bringing us all along.”

He was right. It was another surprise, although Tom
had always known it. Rock had led them this far, and he'd bring them the rest of the way. That was it –
Johnny and Tom could make the sleds stop and go,
but it was Rock who decided where they went. And
Rock had decided to help them find their mother.

A branch slapped Johnny's face; he didn't care.

“Where are you?” he shouted.

She didn't answer; they didn't hear her. They were
in the black trees now, and another branch lashed
across the side of Johnny's face. Snow had gone down
the back of his suit; he could feel it rolling and
melting on his back.

“Where are you?!”

No answer.

The dogs kept running. Tom could see each tree.
They were different trees, and the bottom branches
were way above their heads. Maybe she couldn't hear
them; their voices were trapped beneath the
branches. Tom shouted again.

“Hell-ohh!”

Nothing.

It was warmer and quiet here, beneath the tall
trees. But Johnny wanted to get out. It was too like
being in a cave. Like a new, high wall between him
and his mother. She was very near – he knew it – but
he couldn't hear or see her. The snow was thin here;
Johnny could feel that in his feet. The sled vibrated
over solid ground as the dogs dragged him further
under the trees.

“Hell-ohh!”

No answer.

They were out of the trees. The snow was on them
again. He heard Tom.

“Wil-derness!”

The word in the air was like hope coming back.

“Wilder-ness!”

They heard her. Johnny heard her. He definitely
heard her voice. There was an echo of it, a memory,
and it seemed to be right in front of him. They were
on a slope, going down. He had to lean towards the
hill, his whole weight, to stop the sled from toppling
over. He couldn't shout; he had to concentrate.

Tom was suddenly on the hill, suddenly going
down. He thought he was falling off. But he saw what
was happening. He saw the slope and Johnny's sled in
front of him and, before he decided, he was leaning
into the hill, his right leg bent, and he stayed that way
until they were off the slope, and they were going
along a valley, slopes now on both sides. They could
stand straight on the sleds. They could shout again.

“Wilder-ness!”

“Wilder-ness!”

“Lads!”

They saw her dogs before they saw their mother.
There were four of them, and it looked as if they were
climbing all over a fallen log. Then they saw her lying
in the snow, away from the log.

“I can see you!” Johnny shouted.

They'd found her.

They came closer to the log. Her sled was broken
and on its side, and the straps were tangled in the
branches that were jutting from the log. Her dogs
were trying to free themselves. And, as they came
closer, one dog became more frantic. They watched
and heard him trying to bite through the leather straps
that had him trapped. It was Hastro.

Their mother was lying on the slope. She was
lying beside a boulder that was almost buried in the
snow.

“Hiya, lads,” she said.

Her voice sounded weak and wavy, as if she'd been
shivering when she spoke.

It scared Tom. She hadn't got up to hug them.
She'd just turned her head, to look.

It scared Johnny. She hadn't moved at all. He
stopped his sled. He didn't want to bring it any closer.
He put his feet on the brake, made sure the steel
teeth were deep in the snow. He stepped off the sled.
Tom did the same. He jumped on the brake, to bury
the teeth down deep. And he stepped back, off the
sled. He put his feet into the snow.

Hastro was snarling and whining, and dragging the
other dogs with him. But he was getting nowhere. He
was tangling the straps even more.

The boys went the last deep steps to where their
mother lay. They lifted their feet out of the snow; they
made sure they didn't fall.

“Hiya, lads,” she said again.

“Are you OK?” said Johnny.

“I'm grand,” she said. “But I think I'm after breaking
something.”

“What?” said Johnny.

“My leg,” she said. “I think. Hiya, Tom.”

“Hi,” said Tom.

He saw her smile. Her arm came up, although she
didn't move much. He saw her hand. She wanted to
hold his hand. She looked at Johnny. She wanted his
hand too. They did it at the same time. They let
themselves drop to their knees, and they landed right
beside her.

She laughed – she tried to laugh.

“You're great lads,” she said. “Where are the
others?”

Then they heard it.

And they saw it.

Rock had pulled his sled, even with the brake teeth
dragging piles of snow. He'd pulled it right up to
Hastro. He stood now, right over Hastro, right on top
of him. His paw was on Hastro's head, and his mouth
was full of Hastro's neck. There was a yelp – it was the
first thing they'd heard, before they saw anything. It
was Hastro that had yelped. And there was a growl.
That was Rock.

The boys didn't move. Rock stopped growling. He
didn't move. Hastro didn't move. None of the other
dogs moved. It was total silence – white silence. Rock
stood over Hastro, with his teeth holding his neck.

Johnny whispered.

“He's teaching him a lesson.”

“Yeah,” said Tom.

He'd thought at first it was going to be horrible, that
he'd have to watch one dog killing the other one. But
then he knew it wasn't going to be like that. Without
shifting his legs or paws, Rock lifted his head from
Hastro's neck. They watched as Hastro stood, making
sure he didn't touch Rock. He had to crawl out from
under him. He was still trapped in the straps, tied up
to the fallen log. He had hardly any room as he got
back up on all four legs. But he didn't touch Rock.
Rock was the lead dog, and he was making sure that
Hastro knew it.

“Cool,” said Tom, very quietly.

“That was amazing,” said Johnny.

They looked down at their mother, and they knew it
wasn't over. It was only beginning. She was shivering
now, her whole body. They could hear her teeth
chattering. She was trying to smile, but they could tell
that she was frightened.

It was weird. It was terrible. Tom had expected her
to hug him when they'd found her. He'd been cold
and tired and very frightened. He was a kid; she was
his mother. But she was lying on the snow, and she
was broken and sick.

And something happened.

He knew what to do. He just did. He knew what
had to be done.

“Fire,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Johnny.

It had happened to Johnny too. He thought it was
the dogs, being alone with the dogs. Being with the
dogs had changed him. He was still a kid, but he'd
become something else as well. He'd been alone. He'd
learned from the dogs. He knew how to survive. He
just knew it.

“Wood,” he said.

Tom was already getting up. He broke small twigs
off the fallen log. But they were damp. They'd take
ages to light. He waded through the snow, to where
some trees were close together. The twigs and needles
around the trunks were dry and almost crispy. He
filled his arms.

They couldn't move their mother. It was dangerous
to move someone with a broken leg; it would only
make it worse. Johnny was pushing snow away, trying
to clear a gap for the fire beside his mother. He was
sweating and cold. He could feel the ground through
his gloves, but he couldn't see it yet. He sat, and
pushed with his boots. He did a full circle. It was good
they weren't too near a tree. Not because it might catch fire. Aki had told them, the snow sometimes slid
off the branches, right on to the fire. He cleared the
snow, right up to his mother's side, where she lay.

Tom dropped his first load in the space that Johnny
had cleared.

“I'll get bigger sticks and branches too,” he said.
“For when the fire's going.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Good.”

His mother had gone very quiet. She was too quiet.
Johnny knew – they'd have to keep her awake. They'd
have to make her talk and answer.

“Are you OK?” he said.

He gently pushed her shoulder.

“Hi,” she said.

He heard her teeth.

“Are you OK?” he said.

“I'm grand.”

She closed her eyes. He pushed her shoulder again.

“Don't go asleep,” he said.

Tom came back and dropped more wood and
needles.

She opened her eyes.

“You're not to go to sleep,” said Johnny.

“I'm cold,” she said.

“We're making a fire,” said Johnny.

“Great,” she said. “That's great.”

He had to keep her talking.

“What happened?” he said.

“What?”

“What happened? How did it happen?”

“Oh,” she said. “The usual.”

She closed her eyes. He pushed her shoulder.

“The bloody dog,” she said. “What's his name –”

“Hastro.”

“Yeah, Castro.”

“Hastro,” said Johnny.

“Him,” said his mother. “We were way behind
everyone. Then, whoosh.”

“What?”

“He took off. Swerved off the path. And the other
bow-wows went with him.”

“Were you scared?”

Tom was back, with bigger pieces of wood.

“Good man, Tom,” she said.

“Were you scared?” Johnny asked again.

He helped Tom with the wood. They made a small
hill of the twigs and needles.

“They won't last,” said Tom.

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “But they'll start it. Were you
scared?” he asked his mother.

She moved her head slightly – that was good – so
she could look at them while she spoke.

“No,” she said. “Not really. But, like, I've been
scared since we got here.”

Tom had unzipped the front of his suit. He took his
knife out, from the pocket in his jeans.

“Where did that come from?” said his mother.

“I bought it,” said Tom. “With my own money.”

“You should have told me.”

“You'd have said no,” said Johnny. “And we'd be in
trouble because we didn't have a knife.”

“OK,” said their mother. “You win.”

Tom was slicing the wood, the same way Aki had
done it. He cut around the end of the branch, so it
looked like a mad haircut, or a pineapple.

Their mother was closing her eyes again. They
could see the shivers running through her, even in the
dark. They could hear them.

Johnny leaned over and tapped her shoulder.

“What happened then?”