Ice Island (8 page)

“Take care of each other!”

“We will!”

•  •  •

A floodlight lit Cole’s yard, turning the snow a runny egg-yolk color. “Hey!” she hollered. He was fastening a ski pole to the side of his sled with duct tape. Ski poles made trusty walking sticks. Tatum figured he’d packed a camp stove, sleeping bag, snowshoes, and other gear to make sure the sled had the same weight as it would during a race.

“Most of these guys are my uncle’s dogs,” Cole said. “He names them after Alaskan mountains. I’m taking seven dogs to Kotzebue.”

“That’s all?”

“Three more are waiting for me there—a friend’s dogs. I worked with them last summer. They pulled a cart with wheels,” he said. “The rules say no fewer than seven dogs and no more than ten.”

“So they’ve all raced before?”

“All but Wolf. And he thinks he’s boss because he’s the biggest. But I raised Wrangell and Alyeska. They’re both smarter. I usually hitch up the cat, but her harness broke.”

Tatum laughed and glanced from dog to dog. She wondered if any of their ancestors had been in the original serum run.

One of her history lessons had covered the Klondike Gold Rush, which had begun in the late 1890s. In those days, dog teams hauled ore, mail, supplies, and people. Later,
airplanes took over the mail routes, and gold fever cooled down.

She petted the mishmash of huskies. They weren’t any different from the dogs she’d seen in the Iditarod. She wished her gloves had fur so she could turn them inside out. The thermometer on her parka read twenty below zero.

Ursus maritimus
could freeze out here
, she thought, feeling bad that the rogue bear had to be shot.

Cole hitched four dogs to each sled. Wrangell took the lead on his team. Brooks chewed the tugline that connected Alyeska’s harness to the gangline, and Denali chewed on Alyeska’s ear. Wolf took position as swing dog.

Bandit was leader on Tatum’s team. Wolf acted like he didn’t want her there. His head was down, his jaw jutting out, all snarls and teeth. If he hadn’t been hooked to Cole’s line, he would have taken a bite out of Bandit’s rear end.

Bandit ignored him, tossing her head around.
Let’s go!

“We’ll switch ’em up later,” Cole said.

“Sounds good.”

“Most people think speed wins races. But endurance, that’s what counts.” He tied up his brake and stepped on the runners. “Pacing isn’t everything—it’s the
only
thing.”

Tatum knew that.

She checked her watch, grateful for the lighted numbers: 6:50 a.m. This time tomorrow she’d be packing for Nome.

And suddenly, they were off.

Bandit sprang forward with such force Tatum had to grapple for the handlebars. A lucky grab; she didn’t tumble off.

The dogs trotted down the main road, yipping with excitement. Leaving the village, the road narrowed to an old game trail that roped its way around a cliff. Tatum hated breaking her promise to her mom.
We won’t be gone long
, she told herself. Cole had to be back for school.

The dogs jogged by a field of ice-covered boulders, then climbed steadily toward a saddle. Tatum found a rhythm, keeping her eyes on the dogs. “Easy now,” she said above the quiet
shush
of the runners. “Easy there.”

Cole looked back, the light from his headlamp bobbing. He shouted something, then disappeared around a curve. Tatum followed as closely as she could.

Minutes slipped into an hour. The sky grew pale, but the sun wasn’t really up. When you’re on the edge of nowhere it takes forever for the sun to fully rise. First it has to wake up all of North America.

An hour later, it had turned the top layer of snow to slush. Cole’s team looked like they were swimming down the trail. Snow sprayed up from his sled like the wake behind a speedboat. Tatum hit a series of ruts,
bam-bam-bam
. She held on tighter, keeping her legs flexible.

Soon Cole was a dot the size of a blackbird. How had she gotten so far behind? He made a half circle, dragging his boot in the snow. “You okay?” he asked when she caught up.

Bandit slowed beside his sled, sniffing Wrangell. Alyeska yipped, getting in on the act. Cole tossed turkey skins to both teams. The dogs swallowed the half-frozen snack, barely chewing. Bandit rolled around, begging for a scratch. Tatum rubbed her absently, taking in the broad expanse below. Distant brown clumps looked weird in all that white.

“Caribou,” Cole said, digging out binoculars. “Brought here in the nineteen hundreds after a famine nearly wiped out everyone on the island. Those who didn’t starve boarded a ship for Nome.

“Check out those feet. Built-in snowshoes.” He handed her the glasses. “Fat reserves get them through the long winter.”

Tatum focused on the cinnamon-brown bodies, their long white necks and snowy manes. The herd stood motionless, antlers gleaming, as if posing for a picture.

“It’s the law of the wilderness,” Cole said. “If you shoot a big animal, you have to gut it while the carcass is still warm and share the meat with the rest of the village.”

Tatum refused to think about killing one of these magnificent animals. “They look at home out here in their heavy winter coats.”

Cole swapped the position of the dogs on both teams. Not easy since they were too excited to hold still. Bandit barked from the wheel dog position, directly in front of the sled. Instead of leading, she’d help steer.

“Bandit looks like a puppy compared to Denali,” Tatum said, sizing up the wheel dog on Cole’s team.

Cole repacked, ready to go. “She can handle it.”

Tatum went to the front of her team and walked Alyeska in a U-turn, until he faced the village.

Cole hesitated. “We aren’t going back yet.”

“What about school?”

“Kotzebue’s only ten days away—this is the first time all winter I’ve gotten to train with another team,” he said, back on his runners. “Thought I’d play hooky.”

Tatum swallowed, trying to calm her nerves. “But my mom,” she said with an uneasy feeling. “I told her …”

He tried to shrug, which was impossible in his heavy parka. “Go back if you want to.”

She wanted to tell
him
where to go. But she knew better. “I thought we’d
race
back,” she said stubbornly.

“No way I’m letting this weather go to waste,” he said, being just as obstinate. “Tie up the dogs behind the house when you get there.”

His gaze went from her to his dogs and back. At first she thought he might change his mind. He had to know it wasn’t safe to split up. Then he gestured at a distant peak, washed in pale light from last night’s moon.

“The trail winds around down there,” he said, taking off. “Stay close to me. It’s a nasty hill.”

Snow began falling, lightly at first.

“Easy now,” Tatum called to her team. They slowed going down the steep hill. She strained to see Cole’s orange parka, searching for his tracks. The ache in her gut told her she should have gone back. She could spend the rest of the day sledding in front of the lodge. If Bandit got bored, she’d set up another obstacle course.

Her fingers started throbbing, a dull pain that shot up her arms. She’d been strangling the handlebars. Snow was falling harder now. She pulled up her neck gaiter, slid her goggles in place.

Stupid Weather Channel never got it right!

What would her dad tell her to do? His voice flooded her head.
Trust your gut, Tatum. You know more than you think you do. Just be smart—play it safe
.

She couldn’t imagine how she was going to explain this to her mom.

Alyeska dug in.

Another steep hill.

Tatum clung to the handlebars. “Cole!”

No answer.

Her team struggled along a ridge with turns that curved back on themselves. Tatum braced one boot against a bank on the downhill side, fighting to hang on, terrified of slipping and falling. It was impossible to keep her face turned away from the wind.

Don’t panic
, she told herself.

It wasn’t about her—dogs ruled the snow.

Another hairpin turn. Snow was piled in deep drifts, some as tall as a barn. Alyeska kept them moving forward, taking the easiest route. The sled brushed Bandit, who still ran wheel dog. She whined, pricking her ears, speeding to keep from being crushed.

“Slow down!” Tatum stomped her brake. It grabbed, barely. She should have gone back! “Whoa! Not so fast!”

“Cole!” She shouted over a sudden gust, as it tried to drive her and Cole apart. Another gust and she fell off the sled, but didn’t go all the way down. Her runners were instantly covered with snow and the soles of her boots were caked. She barely scrambled back on.

“Cole!” She desperately needed to stop and regroup.

The only response was a howling wind. No other sounds seemed to exist. Even her team was silent in their agony. Wind whipped up the snow, turning their dark fur white.

She’d heard endless stories of mushers getting stalled in whiteouts. Mushers who couldn’t find trail markers and had to camp out. One guy hadn’t zipped his sleeping bag all the
way. Wind had packed snow into every crevice. Hypothermia had set in overnight. A race official had found him half frozen and radioed for a medevac helicopter.

Tatum gripped the handlebars as another fist of wind rumbled at her from nowhere. Her shoulders screamed as she battled to keep her sled from flipping. This kind of wind usually brought foul weather.

Usually?
No, it
always
did.

Two and a half years in Alaska had taught her that.

It shrieked louder, a warning.

Tatum knew she had to stop. Put Bandit in front. Bandit would have to be her eyes and ears—communicating wordlessly through her harness, down the line, into the sled and its handlebars, to Tatum.

She felt as if she was choking on snow instead of taking in air. It was cold, really cold. Wind scoured a patch of exposed skin where her neck gaiter had slipped.

Suddenly, the wind let up.

Tatum lifted her goggles and spotted Cole hunkered out of the wind in a gully not far away.

“Gee!” she hollered. She felt like she was riding on a sheet of tinfoil pulled by a speedboat. Alyeska brought her team to a shaky stop. Tatum stumbled downhill toward him.

“Dumb rookie move!” he said angrily, wrestling with his sled. It had slammed into an embankment. The ski pole had pierced a nasty hole in the canvas. He retaped it back in place. “Just so you know, we’ve been on a loop, heading back.”

All she could see was white, white, white.

“How long will it take?” she asked.

“An hour max.”

Tatum checked her watch. They’d already been gone three and a half hours. Dread filled her as she pictured her mom in the lodge, frantic with worry. She helped gather Cole’s spilled gear and repack. Then she put Bandit back in the lead, breaking up a carrot for her.

It started snowing again, heavier than before. It swirled in a tsunami that crashed over the dogs. A second wave struck, harder than the first. Cole’s parka spun in a void of nothingness. There wasn’t even a tree to break up the expanse, as if she’d be able to see one.

Tatum tied down her hood, tightening her goggles. They were useless. Snow battered the lenses, building a sheet of ice. It was like looking through a horribly scratched window. Her lenses fogged. Her sled was a ghost. Her dogs phantoms. She was definitely in over her head.

Some mushers went crazy in whiteouts—attacking trees they mistook for giant monsters. Or seeing villages and freight trains that weren’t there.
Hallucinations
. Lack of sleep made it worse. They’d doze on their sleds and dream of mushing, then wake up and see their dogs. After a while it was hard to know what was real and what wasn’t.

She struggled for balance, fighting dizziness.

Visibility dropped to zero.

Vertigo
.

It felt like she was whirling in space.

Needles of fear pricked her. She yanked at her goggles. Her eyelashes felt frozen. The temperature had dropped. If she stayed on the sled too long she’d risk frostbite. If she
jogged beside it, her lungs could burn from the inside out. She was tired, disoriented.

It hurt to
think
.

Trust your gut. Be smart
.

Cole appeared from nowhere, stumbling toward her. Bandit stopped, head down, panting. She was wet, her fur matted. Tatum had never seen a dog look so miserable. She cleared snow from Bandit’s eyes.

“There’s an old cabin,” Cole shouted against the wind. “We can hole up till it blows over.”

Tatum nodded, shielding her face with her gloves.

Before moving to Alaska she didn’t know anything about blizzards. If it was stormy in Portland, she stayed inside. During the first fierce storm after they moved, her dad told her they were going out. “In this?” she’d asked, hoping he was kidding.

“How else will you learn?” he’d answered.

They’d headed out in their heaviest clothes, each holding one end of a four-foot-long rope. “So we won’t get separated,” her dad had said.

They’d come back after about forty minutes. Once inside, her dad asked her how far they’d walked. She guessed a mile. “We never made it to the woodpile,” he’d said. That was less than a hundred feet from the house.

After the storm cleared, he showed her how to make an emergency snow cave. They tromped down snow on a short hill, then used shovels to dig in about four feet. “You need some kind of insulation for the floor,” he’d told her. “That’s really important.”

“Okay,” she’d said.

Just last month a record-breaking blizzard had grounded planes and ships. Trucks stayed in garages.
Now we’re prisoners too
, Tatum thought.

Waiting it out sounded reasonable, so why did she feel so uneasy?

Cole worked the door against a bank of packed snow outside the cabin. If you could even call it a door. Bears had nearly totaled it. “Home, sweet home,” he said with a crooked grin.

Was he kidding?

The cabin looked more like an oversized lettuce crate. Gasoline cans, hammered flat, were nailed over gaping holes. But four walls, no matter how sorry-looking, were better than fighting a storm. They’d never win. Besides, the dogs needed rest.