Ice Island (10 page)

We’re sledding through a deadly maze
, Tatum thought.
This is what happens to people who drift onto the frozen sea, and their ice island slowly melts inch by inch until there’s nothing left
.

Stupid thoughts! She had to push them from her mind or she’d go insane. But she couldn’t ignore the thunderous cracks, like the roar of a horrible monster. The din echoed beneath her boots, freight cars bumping into each other, hooking and unhooking.

She forced herself to concentrate on her dogs. “Easy now.” She encouraged them as they inched forward, heads down. “Easy there.”

Cole’s route had to be safe. Otherwise he would have already broken through the ice. Then suddenly ice was attacking them from all directions. The flood of killing water came from all sides.

Tatum screamed. She couldn’t help it. She imagined her team being dragged under, ice closing over them like a
deadly lid. The pressure of the grinding floes could take a dogsled and crush it like an eggshell.

Stop it!

They struggled a few yards, only to discover a break too wide to cross. They stopped, retraced their route. The dogs howled. They fought to balance on the shifting ice. Booties were torn off. Claws scraped ice.

Tatum’s heart pounded in her ears. Her head ached. She shoved back her goggles. “There are times on the trail when nothing makes sense,” Beryl had told her last summer. “When it seems like you’re traveling in a parallel universe.”

Another section of ice buckled.

If she survived this she’d never be the same.

Cole’s team squeezed around a fissure.

Tatum spotted a narrow ice bridge. “Is it strong enough?” she called.

Cole stopped and studied the confusion of jagged up-thrusts. They looked solid enough, but underneath was a treacherous crevasse. “It’s impossible to know how deep it is,” he said.

A frozen plug was hammering the ice bridge. Every second grew colder, the shadows longer. She tried not to look down. Hypothermia, the killing cold of the north.

Her dad said it didn’t take long for body temperature to plunge from the normal 98.6 to 95 degrees. Further drops, and the heart rate decreased. Finally, the most important organs—lungs, kidney, brain—simply shut down.

People need built-in antifreeze
, she thought fiercely,
like animals that hibernate
.

“Is there another way?”

Cole shook his head. He stepped off his sled and tilted it onto a single runner.

Tatum watched him move forward.

Then the unthinkable happened.

In a swirl of confusion, Wolf scrambled from Cole’s sled. He leaped over an open channel and bounded for shore. Wrangell and Denali fought the lines, trying to follow. They slipped and splashed headfirst into the freezing water. “Wrangell!” Cole shouted desperately. “Tatum! Set the hook!”

She was paralyzed by the sight of the sinking dogs.
They’re going to die
. Wrangell howled wildly, trying to claw his way onto the ice. The sound was horrible.

“Set the hook!” Cole repeated, frantic to save his team.

Tatum shook herself free. She slammed the snow hook into the ice, unsure how long the anchor would hold, then grabbed the gangline in a deadly tug-of-war. Her on one side, two drowning dogs on the other.

“Get the ax!” Cole struggled to keep his lead dog from going under. “Cut the line!”

Tatum clutched the ax and hacked furiously. She’d reached her limit, her brain played out. “The nylon … it’s … I can’t cut it!”

“Just do it!”

She slammed down with all her strength. One strike, then another. Bandit let out a deep-throated bark.
I’m losing my battle with this nightmare
. But she couldn’t give up. She
kept raising the ax and slamming it down, until the line frayed; then,
Snap!

Cole fell backward on his butt. Wrangell and Denali scrambled to shore, dragging the rest of the team, their dark eyes crazy with fear.

Tatum staggered back to her sled. She gave a kick, and her team flew over what was left of the collapsing ice bridge.

Brooks and Alyeska stood shivering on the bank. Cole grabbed a blanket and rubbed them furiously. Wolf paced the uneven slope, his shoulders hunched. “Bandit,” Cole said, as if he couldn’t believe it. “She’s one smart dog. None of mine knew we were on overflow ice—not even Wrangell.”

Bandit yipped, like she understood.

Tatum didn’t answer. She was doubled over, afraid she was going to be sick, and this time she was. She shuddered, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She coughed, her throat raw with cold. Her bottom lip stung.

They had survived. She let that fill her with hope. Then another sheet of ice buckled and the area where they had been standing filled with killing water.
That could have been us!

“Fire up the cooker,” Cole commanded.

Tatum pulled the pot from his sled and began shoveling snow, wondering how long the weather would hold. Bandit
stayed on her like a shadow. “I wish we had logs for a real fire,” Tatum said to herself.

On an island without trees? Not a chance.

The dogs lapped up the meager meal with satisfied growls: hot water with chicken fat and turkey skins mixed in. Not much nutrition. But it was warm and kept them hydrated.

Wolf got his appetite back, along with his nasty temperament. He snarled at anything that moved, especially Tatum.

“Knock it off!” Cole growled back, smacking him on the head.

Wolf tucked his tail between his legs and retreated.

Tatum slumped beside the cooker. “Did you have to do that?”

“He’s too stubborn to learn any other way.” Cole dragged Wolf by his harness and staked him away from the others.

Cole came over to warm his hands. He stared at the quilt of sleeping dogs. Just one big furry patchwork, piled up to stay warm. “They need a good hour before we go on,” he said.

Tatum shared the last of the pretzels with him. They tasted like sawdust, and barely took the edge off her hunger. She licked her cracked lips, tasted blood, uncapped her beeswax. The sun was dropping fast, like it was in a hurry.
What are we going to do?

“The dogs need solid food. Meat,” Cole said, cutting into her thoughts. “They aren’t starving, yet.…”

His words punched her. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve heard of Admiral Byrd?” His eyes were on the breathing pile. “And his expedition to the South Pole?”

Tatum shifted uncomfortably.

“Know why they took so many dogs?” Now he turned to face her.

It was probably the same reason mushers started the Iditarod with twice as many dogs as they needed to finish. “In case some of them got hurt or sick?”

“They couldn’t transport enough dog food,” he said slowly. “Not for a whole year. If a dog got sick they sacrificed it, to feed the stronger ones.”

Tatum glared at him. “You can shut up right now.”

Cole glared right back. “It’s history.”

“
Ancient
history.” No way she’d let Cole touch one of these dogs. He could eat her first. “And it’s
cannibalism
.”

“Grandfather hooked thirty-six dogs to his house,” he said, looking away. “They towed it more than a hundred and seventy-five miles across the ice, from Anvil to Wager.”

Tatum knew all about sled dogs and their strength. But what was his point?

Cole walked over to the dogs, calling them by name. Only Denali raised his head, sniffing for food. When he didn’t see any he tucked a paw over his nose.

Cole grabbed his harness. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Denali went limp.

“Up!”

The other dogs watched, but didn’t budge. Except Wolf, who raced around his stake, tangling his line and nearly choking himself.

Tatum knew it was impossible to force a team to run when they were worn out. It happened in the Iditarod too. Sometimes teams just refused to get up after a layover. “They need more rest,” she said.

Cole knew it. He stomped off to untangle Wolf.

Tatum turned her sled on its side and butted it against an embankment. Cole came back and pulled a deerskin hide from his sled. He spread it on the ground, hair-side down. “Can you rig up some kind of roof?”

Tatum switched on her headlamp, hating the way it dug into her chapped skin. But it was getting dark fast. She looked around for something she could use as a tie-down. She found a piece of cord and used it to secure a sheet of canvas over the two sleds.

She admired her work, thinking her dad would approve, then realized there wasn’t any way to get inside.
If brains were fish guts, I’d never stink!

She quickly untied a corner and folded it back. The makeshift shelter was good enough for two people for the night. Tatum headed over to the dogs, shining her light on the lumps.

Bandit had settled in with the others, looking snug under a blanket of snow. Tatum bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Good night, girl.”

Bandit yawned and licked her nose.

Tatum wiped it off before it could freeze.

Now she stood over the cramped space, the beam of her headlamp shining on the deerskin floor. She crawled inside and struggled out of her boots, snow pants, wet parka. Long
underwear and wool socks would be warm enough inside a sleeping bag.

Cole settled in on his side, stooping under the low roof. He bundled up his outer clothes to keep moisture from seeping in. “An old Eskimo trick,” he said. He reached up and closed the flap.

Tatum switched off her headlamp and shoved it deep in her bag so the battery wouldn’t freeze. She scooted into her sleeping bag, yanking on the zipper until her fingers nearly fell off, then put on wool mittens. She used her parka for a pillow, breathing into her fur ruff. It radiated back like a heater.

“Don’t worry,” Cole said. “Grandfather knows we’re safe. He’ll talk to your mom.”

Every cell in her body wanted to believe it. But this was their second night out here. Her mom would be a basket case no matter what Grandfather said.

A while later, Cole peeled back a corner of the roof. “Some people think those are stars,” he said, eyes skyward. “But they’re really holes so our ancestors can smile down to let us know they’re happy.”

Tatum tried to imagine it. “Or lights to guide weary travelers,” she said.

“Like the red lantern in the Iditarod.”

Cole was quiet for a long time before he spoke again. “We’ll chop a hole in the sea ice.”

He’s talking about a breathing hole for a seal
.

“The dogs need meat,” he said. “Fat.”

Tatum listened to the wind whip through the darkness.
She and her dad had been fishing more times than she could count. She’d helped him gut fish. They had roasted filets over a crackling fire and picked meat off the bones. She’d seen locals gut fish by tromping on them with a boot. The insides shot out the mouth and were saved for bait. But
seals
?

Tatum sank deeper in her bag. She didn’t think she’d been asleep, but she awoke with a start and realized she’d been dreaming about summer at Skilak Lodge. She drifted off again and slept so hard she awakened in the same position. The lumpy ground poked at her. Every muscle ached.

Tired as she was after two long days out here, she rolled onto her side—eyes and ears adjusting to the dark—and peeked out. The dogs slept soundly, tails curled to noses. She looked up the slope where Wolf was staked. He was standing up, shoulders bulging, head forward. Snow dusted his wiry coat.

Why aren’t you asleep?

He looked enormous, standing there alone. He lifted his nose to the wind, his head blocking out the moon, and howled.

The sky was sprinkled with stars. Not a snowflake anywhere. The wind had died down, but the air was still electric. Tatum was about to lie back when a kaleidoscope of yellowish green streaked overhead—wispy fountains swirled across the sky. Then streamers exploded in blue violet, flickering off the sleeping dogs.

She lay there, very still, watching the light show. There were many legends about the northern lights.
Aurora borealis
. One said the lights were torches held by spirits who were looking for the souls of people who had died recently. Others
claimed the sweeps of color had healing powers. She imagined spirits dancing on stars.

Somewhere beyond the bank, she heard ice move in the river. It sounded like a monster thrashing in its bed. She rolled over and dozed. After an hour of fitful sleep, she sat up with a jolt. Her stomach rumbled. She was too aware of being cold and hungry—and of the dogs’ need for food.

Cole stirred. “Is it light?”

Tatum’s hair felt dirty, her face raw and chapped. “Yeah, and it’s clear.”

Cole struggled to untie the rest of their roof. His fingers were red and puffy. “H-E-double-hockey-sticks!” He swore when a pile of snow fell on him.

Tatum had a tough time convincing her body it was time to get up. She forced herself to put on her outer gear and checked her thermometer. Sun pulsated on the snow, but the temperature hovered around zero. She helped Cole roll up the deerskin rug.

“We have some blubber left,” he said. “And half a stale candy bar.”

Each lump of dog stood up and stretched. Bandit yawned and shook her fur clean of snow.

Cole fired up the cooker and hacked the blubber into smaller pieces. Tatum didn’t bother asking about their route back. She knew they’d be taking the shortest way to the beach to hunt for seals.

They finished mugs of watery cocoa and the last bites of trail mix before packing up. Bandit raced around the sled, barking. She wanted the lead. Tatum gave it to her.

Wolf was better, and back on Cole’s line. He ran with his
head down, constantly nosing the ground. It took a few miles for the dogs to loosen up and find their stride. The snow was deep, choppy—an endless tract they were forced to deal with to get someplace else.

Tatum felt the strain of every curve. It took more fuel to keep a body going in this kind of cold. Even wearing two pairs of wool socks, she stamped her boots every time she could. She slipped heat packs inside her gloves and tightened her goggles.

She couldn’t remember ever being so tired. The more tired she became, the more she worried about her sled hitting a hidden chunk of ice. It wouldn’t take much to knock her off her feet. For the first time since they’d left the village, she wished someone else could take care of her dogs.