Wilderness (3 page)

“Want to go out and play, lads?”

They were already getting into their blue thermal
underwear, the leggings and the long-sleeved vests.
They were dressed again, and gone.

“Seeyeh,” said Johnny.

Sandra sat up, got her boots off, and lay back on the
bed.

The boys legged it down the corridor, past the
reception and the knives – the woman behind the
counter smiled – out the front door, and into the
darkness and snow. Johnny grabbed a handful and
made a ball. Tom did the same. They faced each
other, laughed, and got ready to throw.

Then they heard the howl.

 

 

 

Gráinne was on the bus to the airport. Alone. The way
she wanted it. She was meeting her mother. By
herself.

She looked out the window. It was still dark, and
cold.

The bus was on the motorway now. They'd be there
soon.

She took out the photograph. The speed of the bus
made her hand shake. She put it back in her bag.
She'd know her without the photograph. She'd know.

 

 

It wasn't just one dog. They realized that as they walked
across the wide space in front of the hotel. There were
two dogs, two different howls. The snow here was ice,
packed solid by heavy boots. They slid a bit, and Tom
fell. He wasn't hurt. He laughed, and Johnny helped
him up. They moved towards a high wire fence. There
were lights here too, much higher than the streetlights
in Dublin. But it was darker than the front of the hotel.
They were moving nearer the trees too, and they could
hear the wind in the branches, and the lights swayed.
The wind made a singing, screeching noise and in it
Johnny heard the howls of the dogs. And he knew:
There were more than two dogs – lots more.

They reached the fence. It was way up over them,
like a fence around a prison. They were really cold for
the first time. The snow had seeped through their
gloves. They were nearer the howls now. “It's just dog
noise,” said Tom.

“Yeah,” said Johnny.

They kept going.

Johnny saw the lane beside the fence, to their right.
He pointed, and walked that way. He walked
differently on the ice. He had to lift his legs higher
than usual, and put each foot down flat on the
ground. And he held his arms out from his sides. It
was either that or slide.

They got to the entrance of the lane and saw that it
widened ahead of them. A high branch swayed and
blocked the nearest light. They were right under the
trees; they formed one side of the lane. Tom could
hear them groan, and something, a branch, some ice,
snapped not far away. Tom moved closer to his
brother.

They stopped. It was really, really cold.

“Look.”

A line of them.

“Snowmobiles.”

Parked side by side, about ten of them.

“Coo-il.”

Tom wasn't frightened now; he hadn't really been
frightened anyway. There were people around
somewhere, people who parked their snowmobiles.

They walked towards the snowmobiles. And now,
ahead of them a good bit, they saw small, stomach-high
sheds that they both guessed were kennels. It
was like a village of kennels. The kennels were great, real doghouses. They couldn't see the dogs yet. But
Johnny could smell them.

“God.”

Tom laughed.

“Dog breath,” he said.

Then he heard a howl that didn't sound funny. He
kept going, close to Johnny, over the icy ground,
nearer to the kennels, and the first dog he noticed was
standing on the roof of his kennel. Staring at Tom.
And there was another, in front of his kennel, eating
from a bowl. And another beside him, drinking water.
All staring at Tom.

The wind was blowing straight at Johnny. It was
cold and almost solid; it made his eyes dry. The dogs
were silent now, but they were looking straight at him
and Tom, even the ones that were eating. He could
hear their teeth.

“They're not that big,” said Tom, quietly – Johnny
could hardly hear him.

“Look,” said Johnny. “They're chained.”

The chains were long and fixed to the sides of the
kennels. One of the dogs howled, and others all
around joined in. It was a noise Johnny didn't hear
that much from dogs at home, but it wasn't that fierce
or frightening. The huskies were chained but they
were wagging their tails, and yapping. They really
weren't as big as Johnny had expected, and they didn't
look too wild. Two or three of them stretched their chains to get to Johnny and Tom, but they didn't lunge
at them or growl. None of them barked. They were
curious. And the smell made the boys laugh.

Tom had never seen so much poo. It was all over
the place, sitting on the snow, lodged in the ice,
steaming new, and ancient. He walked carefully. He
was in among the dogs. He could see the breath, and
feel the heat on his cheeks, even though he didn't
bend or go too near.

“Look at their eyes,” said Johnny.

Tom was already looking at them. They all had the
most amazing eyes. One of them, pure white, had a
different colour for each eye, a brown one and a blue.
And one of them, Johnny saw, had different colours in
one eye. He was going to show it to Tom, when they
were suddenly in front of one dog that made them stop.

It wasn't that the dog snarled, or even growled. It
was nothing like that. He stepped away from his
kennel, and kind of turned, just a bit, to face them.
And he stood there, still, in front of them. They knew:
he was blocking their way. A leader. Maybe
the
leader.
They knew, and they didn't have to say it.

They didn't move. They stayed still and looked at
the dog's eyes.

“What colour are they?” said Johnny.

“Don't know,” said Tom.

The eyes were like nothing the boys had ever seen
before. There really was no name for their colour.

“Blue?” said Tom.

“No,” said Johnny.

“Turquoise?”

“Not really.”

The dog stared back at them. He stood there in the
dirty snow, as calm as anything, and looked at the
boys, at Tom, and then at Johnny, at Tom, then
Johnny.

They weren't really like a dog's eyes at all.

“It's like there's someone trapped in there,” said
Tom.

Johnny nodded. He knew exactly what Tom meant.

They stepped back, still looking at the dog. They
were afraid to turn their backs on him. They stepped
back again, into thick, clean snow. They did it again,
and bumped into something hard. They turned, and
looked up at the biggest, tallest, widest man they'd
ever seen.

The man was a solid wall in front of them. The dog
was right behind them.

“Why – are – you – here?” said the man.

Tom had to look up, and up, to see him properly.
He had to stretch his neck right back. He hoped he'd
see a smile when he got to the man's face. But there
was no smile.

“You – should – not – be – here,” said the man.

“Sorry,” said Tom.

The dogs around them were pulling their chains and whimpering. The man said something in Finnish
to the dogs. They were pulling at their chains, trying
to drag their doghouses to the man. They liked him.
Johnny could see that, and so could Tom.

But that didn't make him a nice man. A murderer
could be nice to his dog. The man stood huge in front
of them, right over them. He had a knife on his belt,
like one of the ones they'd seen in the hotel, but
longer. They both saw it at the same time. It was
hanging there, in front of their eyes. It was old and
used-looking; the blade was scratched. The wood of
the handle was black from years of sweat and maybe
blood.

Johnny felt something behind his knee.

The dog.

His left knee. The dog poked it, with his nose. Like
he wanted to topple him.

Johnny didn't look.

He heard the dog sniff. He felt its breath through
his trousers – he thought he did.

“Come,” said the man.

They got out of his way. It wasn't easy – the ice and
poo. He walked between Johnny and Tom. And he
walked through the dogs, past the kennels. He wasn't
wearing a hat or cap. The dogs pulled at their chains.
They whimpered.

The boys looked at each other and followed the
man, to a wall behind the kennels. There were bales of straw, covered by a big sheet of blue plastic. The
man pulled back the plastic. It exploded in the wind –
that was what it sounded like. It lifted, and flapped,
and tried to fly away. He shook it and threw it on to
the dirty snow. He kicked a rock on to it. It still lifted
and dropped, but couldn't escape. The boys stayed
well back.

“Come,” said the man.

The bales were up to their heads, a little higher.
They were like huge bricks. He picked a bale from the
top and turned to the boys. He held it out.

“Take.”

Johnny stepped nearer to the man, and Tom followed him. They were under the bale now. It was
too big for their arms. The man lowered it. They
moved further apart. He held it between them. They
put their hands out, under the bale. He let go.

“God,” said Tom.

“Heavy?”

“Yeah.”

“Not – heavy.”

He pointed at the nearest kennel.

“Go.”

They dropped the bale before they got to the
kennel. But they knew what they were doing now.
They carried it a bit more, and got it to the kennel.
The dog came and sniffed at it.

Johnny looked back at the man. He picked up two bales, one shoulder for each. He turned and came
towards them. The dogs were whimpering again. He
dropped the bales beside the boys. Johnny felt the
weight of them through his boots.

He looked down at the boys. He took the knife
from his belt. He wiped it on his red jacket. He looked
at them, and bent down. He cut the bale twine. He
didn't wear gloves. He put his fist in the straw. He
pulled out a big handful. Straw twirled in the wind.
Tom felt it, rough, on his cheek. The man walked up
to the first kennel. He kicked the roof off it. The
explosion and clatter made the dogs mad. Just for a
second. The man bent down, put his other hand into
the kennel. He took out old, wet straw.

He turned back to the boys. He held up the wet
straw.

“Take – out.”

He held up the new straw.

“Put – in.”

He put the knife back in his belt.

 

“Jesus, lads,” said Sandra when they walked into the
room, an hour later. “Where are you going with that
smell?”

“We were helping the man,” said Tom.

“What man? Don't come in. Take your boots off
first.”

Sandra watched her boys take their boots off. She could tell they were frozen. They could hardly bend
their legs.

“What man was this?”

“He's in charge of the dogs.”

“What's his name?”

“Don't know,” said Tom. “He didn't tell us.”

“Why didn't you ask him?”

“He isn't that kind of a man,” said Johnny.

And Tom nodded.

“What work were you doing?” said Sandra.

“Putting straw in the kennels and stuff,” said Tom.
“Can we come in now?”

“I suppose so,” said Sandra. “But stinky-poo, lads.”

Johnny didn't like that word. It was from when he
was a little kid. But he came in and got up on the bed
beside Sandra.

“What are the dogs like?”

“Brilliant.”

“Brilliant.”

“Big day tomorrow, so?”

“Yeah.'”

They sat on the bed and told her all about the dogs,
and the kennels, and the man, and the snowmobiles.
But there was one thing they didn't tell her. Tom had
bought a knife.

 

 

The plane was delayed. Half an hour. EI 156. That
was the name and number, and it was late.

She sat.

She'd waited all her life. Most of her life.

It was still dark outside. There weren't many people
waiting. There was no one she knew or she'd ever
seen before.

She sat where she could see the screens that
showed the arrival times.

She took the photograph from her bag again. She
put it back. She looked at the waiting people. It was
getting busier.

She looked at the screen. She looked at it the same
time a new word appeared:
LANDED
.

 

 

It was very dark and very quiet. The excitement was
the thing that told the boys it was morning. They
woke up together, both pushed up by it.

“Is she still asleep?”

“No, she isn't,” said their mother. “She's starving.”

They climbed down out of their huge bunk bed and
got in under their mother's duvet.

“That was the best night's sleep I ever had in my
life,” she said.

“So what?” said Johnny.

She tickled him out of the bed, and Tom followed
him on to the floor. They got dressed quickly.

“Don't forget to put on your thermals,” said Sandra.

“Ah, yes,” said Tom. “Our toasty thermals.”

“Our underground knickers,” said Johnny.

They were dressed and ready to go.

“Can we go without you?” said Tom.

She always took ages to get ready, even when she
was in a hurry.

“Sure,” she said. “I'll be right behind you.”

It was very quiet out in the corridor. They walked
and skidded on down to the foyer place. They could
smell food they thought they'd like, and then they
were at the dining room. It was full of quiet people,
and they both noticed it at the same time – no kids. At
all. There were no children. Just Johnny and Tom.

Some people looked over at them. Some smiled.
Some didn't.

“All grown-ups,” said Tom.

“I'm hungry,” said Johnny.

It was one of those places where you served
yourself. There was a counter with cooked stuff –
eggs, sausages, toast – and a table with cereal and
fruit and things of yoghurt.

Johnny went to the table. There was a huge glass
bowl full of muesli.

“Is that all?”

But then he saw the little boxes. Cornflakes, Rice
Krispies, and one he didn't know but was covered in
chocolate. He looked out to the foyer – no sign of
their mother.

“Quick.”

They grabbed a box of the chocolate cereal each,
and a bowl and spoon. There was no empty table.
They had to sit beside a man and a woman who
looked way too old to be messing around with dogs
and snow.

“Hello,” said the man.

He smiled. There was a reindeer on the woman's
jumper.

“Hello,” said Tom.

“English?” said the man.

“No,” said Tom.

“Irish,” said Johnny.

“Ah,” said the man.

He said something to the woman. She nodded. The
man pointed at himself and then at the woman.

“Belgium.”

“Brussels,” said Tom.

“No,” said the man.

Tom looked at Johnny.

“Brussels
is
in Belgium,” he said. “It's the capital
city of it.”

“He's not from Brussels,” said Johnny.

“I never said he was,” said Tom. “I only told him
Brussels is in Belgium.”

“D'you not think he knows that already?”

“Shut up.”

“Muppet.”

“Thick.”

“Muppet.”

The man smiled. The boys opened the cereal boxes
and dumped the chocolate stuff into their bowls.

“Coo-il. They're shaped like dogs.”

“They're not.”

“They are. Look.”

“That's not a dog.”

“It
is
. That's his tail, look.”

“Shut up and just eat it.”

By the time their mother got there, Johnny and
Tom had eaten the cereal, and they'd thrown the
evidence, the empty boxes, into the bin. They'd filled
their plates with cooked stuff, and they were just
starting to eat it.

“Looks good,” she said.

Johnny's mouth was full of sausage that didn't taste
as he'd expected, and he didn't know if he liked it or
not. His mother was staring at his mouth. He
swallowed the meat.

“Is that chocolate I see on your lips?” she said.

“No,” said Johnny.

Tom quickly wiped his mouth. The no-chocolate
rule was stupid. It made no sense. She let them eat
everything else. She was looking at his mouth now. He
could feel himself going red.

Then a man came in, right behind their mother.

“Hello,” he shouted. “People!”

He was dressed in black. He had a black fleece,
and big, black padded trousers. His hair was white,
and he had a beard with a point on it, done in little
braids, like the back of a girl's hair. And a red-andblack
striped cap with the bits for the ears tied up. He
was young, for a man, and he looked nice.

“Good morning, people,” he said. “Everybody speaks
English, yeah?”

Tom and Johnny looked around. Some of the adults
nodded, and two of them said “Yes” out loud. Three of
them looked down at their tables.

“Cool,” said the man. “So. My name is Aki. Spells
A-K-I, I guess. Finnish name, yeah? Aki. I am your
GUIDE.”

“Ah,” said the man who wasn't from Brussels.

Other people nodded.

“And we will go now to get the suits and boots, and
then we will meet the dogs.”

“We met them already,” said Tom.

“And good,” said Aki. “You are Thomas or John?”

“Tom,” said Tom.

“Awesome,” said Aki. “And you are John.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny.

“Also awesome,” said Aki. “And so.”

He turned. They followed.

Sandra grabbed some toast and a sausage, and they
all followed Aki out of the hotel. It was cold.

“Yum,” said Sandra. “The sausage is nice.”

“The meat of the deer is in the sausage,” said the
man from Belgium.

“Oh, Jesus,” said Sandra. “Poor Bambi.”

It was still dark. It was lovely, a silvery grey colour.
She slid on ice, but didn't fall. She'd forgotten her
gloves. Her hands were already hurting, only a few seconds after coming outside. She pushed them into
her pockets, but that made walking on the ice more
difficult. So, she took them out again. She could
balance better now. They weren't going far, just across
the yard and down a little icy hill. To a big, red-painted
shed. The light from the open door cut a
triangle in front of the shed.

She looked at her watch. It was nearly half-nine.
She'd have been at work by now. She looked at the
boys. They were like two rabbits in front of her,
bobbing along; she could see the excitement in their
bodies. They were keeping up with Aki, chatting away,
probably driving him mad with questions.

She wondered how Frank was getting on, and
Gráinne. She was glad she was here, just for a while.
Just herself and the boys. Away from the
complications. Fresh air and deer meat – things were
nice and simple here. She was sure they were fine,
Frank and Gráinne. And the mother, the ex-wife –
Rosemary. What about her?

It was sudden, a shock – she slid, and fell
backwards. But her head landed on the man from
Belgium's boots. She was OK. Hands helped her up.
She was OK, a bit embarrassed.

“You are fine?”

“Yes,” she said. “I'm grand. I'm fine. Thanks.”

Someone behind her slipped, and she felt less
embarrassed and hot. She heard laughter. Foreign voices. She'd like this, the adventure. She was fine.
She walked on.

A few minutes later, they all stood in the yard and
looked huge. They were dressed in big red suits that
made them all look a bit like astronauts. They had
scarves and gloves, either red ones made from the same
stuff as the suits, or caps and gloves of their own. There
was lots of laughing and back slapping. Aki gave them
time to take photographs of one another.

“Stand still a minute, lads,” said Sandra.

But they didn't. Running properly wasn't easy
because the suits were so fat and stiff. But the boys
were able to run slowly, and they ran straight into each
other – and bounced. They were padded, and it didn't
hurt, not when they whacked into each other, not
even when they landed on the hard snow. They made
the noise –

“Ouch, ouch!”

“Agon-eee!”

But they were fine. They got up to do it again, but
then they heard the dogs, and that was more
important.

And Aki thought so too.

“And SO,” he said. “We go.”

The big red people turned and followed Aki. Tom
and Johnny knew the way, and they rushed and
skidded ahead of him. They blew the steam that came
from their mouths straight into each other's faces.

“Killer steam! Die, small boy!”

They were at the dogs again, in among the kennels
and the smell. The dogs were excited, and none of
them were standing on the kennel roofs. They knew
they were going out; Johnny and Tom could tell.

“So, these are the husky dogs, I guess,” said Aki.
“And, hey, I think they like you.”

He was talking to Johnny and Tom, and they were
delighted. They looked at their mother. She was
smiling at them.

“So,” said Aki. “People.”

He waited for the last of the adults to arrive. The
man who wasn't from Brussels had stood on poo and
was trying to rub it off on the snow. And that was
stupid because the snow was full of it already.

“So,” said Aki, again. “These are your huskies. For
four days, I guess.”

Johnny decided; Aki was good at his job. He was
scaring them a bit, but he was making them much
more excited, the way he shouted some words and
whispered others.

“Look at the eyes,” said Aki. “AWESOME.”

And the adults who hadn't noticed, noticed now.

“Oh, look, lads,” said their mother. “They're gorgeous.”

“Very beautiful,” said the not-from-Brussels man.
“You agree?” he asked Johnny.

Johnny nodded. He didn't want to be rude. But he'd
seen the eyes already, and he just wanted to go.

“Too beautiful, I think,” said the woman from
Belgium.

“I know what you mean,” said their mother. “You
could never trust a fella with eyes like those.”

What was she on about now? What would a fella be
doing with a dog's eyes?

But Aki finished the eyetime.

“So,” he said. “How will these dogs bring us on the
safari?”

No one answered. None of the adults wanted to be
wrong, even though the answer was easy.

“On the backs?”

Some of the adults laughed.

“No,” said Tom.

“With saddles?”

“I said, no,” said Tom.

“Right,” said Aki. “I am being a dumb-ass, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Tom.

“Tom,” said his mother.

“Sorry,” said Tom.

“For sure,” said Aki. “So. How?”

He was looking at Tom.

“Sleigh,” said Johnny.

“Me,” said Tom. “Sledge.”

“Right and right,” said Aki. “Sleigh and sledge.”

“There is a difference?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Or sled,” said Aki. “Three words for one thing.
CHOOSE.”

He pointed at Tom, then Johnny.

“Sled!” they said, together.

“Good choice,” said Aki. “Cool. How many dogs?”

“What do you mean?” said Johnny.

“To pull the sleigh and sledge and sled. Each. How
many dogs?”

“Four?”

“Right,” said Aki. “So.”

Tom and Johnny saw the panic on the adult faces;
their brains were catching up. Four mad dogs to
master and control. Four dogs to mush-mush. Four
dogs to point in the right direction and hope that they
would go that way.

“So,” said Aki. “This way.”

He walked across to the nearest sled. They all
followed him. No one was laughing now; no one was
talking. They stopped when he stopped.

“Come,” he said.

They gathered around the sled. There were no dogs
attached to it yet. It was a very simple thing, made
mostly from wood that looked like very thick, shiny
string. There were two runners, parallel, at the
bottom, with a thin plate made of metal on each
runner, to stand on. There was a bar across the back
of the sled, just over the runners.

Aki stood on the runners.

“See?”

He put a foot down on the bar, and they heard it
scrape the ice. Aki got off the sled and picked it up.
Beneath the bar, they saw a jagged line of steel, like
serious teeth or a bear trap.

“The brake,” he said.

“Cool,” said Johnny.

“Right,” said Aki.

He dropped the sled and stood on it again. He put
his foot on the bar, and the steel teeth bit into the ice.

“Doesn't work so well in ice, I guess,” he said. “But
in snow, put your foot down. The sleigh or sled will
stop. I promise this, no problems.”

He picked up the sled with one hand.

“Not heavy.”

He put it down again.

“And the reins?” said the man from Belgium.

“What say?” said Aki.

The man pretended he was riding a horse. He even
click-clicked with his mouth.

“No reins,” said Aki.

“How will the dogs know?” said the man.

“Know what?”

“To go,” said the man.

“They will know,” said Aki.

He looked at all of them.

“And you MUST also know,” he said.

He held the handles.

“Hands here, feet here. No problem.”

Johnny looked at all the adult faces. “But,” the faces
said. “Who, me?” they said. “I wish I was in Spain.”

But no one spoke. It was up to Johnny, and Tom.

“How do we make them go?” said Johnny.

“You do not make them go. Tom?”

“Johnny.”

“Right. You and – Tom?”

“Yeah.”

“You are very young, I guess,” said Aki. “You will go
with Kalle.”