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“We should go to the hut or just turn around and go back to Jeb’s,” Peter said.
“I’m not going back there,” Hannah replied. “You don’t know how long the storm or Jeb’s … thing will last. I need to get to Timmins for my mom’s insulin.”
“It’s faster to just go back,” he argued.
“But how do we know Jeb will be okay?” said Hannah. “If she’s not, we’ll have to turn around again.”
“I could at least get the snowmobile,” he said, but even he didn’t sound like he wanted to do that.
The rain was coming down harder, and Hannah turned back to the sled. “Do what you want,” she said. “I’m making lunch.”
“You could at least help,” said Peter.
“Help what?”
“Help me get the sleeping bag.”
“I thought you were just going back,” she taunted.
“Forget it,” he said. He walked to the sled and pulled out his snowshoes.
“I’ll wait here,” she said.
“Whatever.” Peter stepped into the bindings. He used the same tone Hannah did with her little sister.
She pulled the snowhook out and set it. She unhooked Sencha, but left Bogey on the gangline with the sled dogs. Unlike Sencha, Bogey was easygoing and adapted pretty quickly, as long as there were other dogs or humans around.
Peter had almost disappeared through the trees by the time Hannah had detached Sencha from the neckline and the gangline and taken off the harness. She left the harness lying across the packs on the sled. Leaving it on would have allowed large packs of snow to get lodged under Sencha’s chest and armpits and chafe her. Hannah was pretty proud of herself for remembering that.
It was a small comfort, though. Beyond the rain trickling down her face, her sodden gloves, and the heaviness of the snow sticking to the bottom of her snowshoes as she followed Peter’s trail was a feeling of frustration that she couldn’t shake. She had planned so carefully and now Peter had ruined it all with his stubbornness and making her feel like she didn’t know what to do. She did know what to do; she just hadn’t been anticipating Jeb, or the rain, or going the wrong way.
She glanced up. The iron-filings clouds had moved away, and the sky above them now was dark, like a big hand pushing down on her. She could not see much of it through the trees, but it looked as though it had lightened a bit in one direction. She hoped it was a break in the weather, and that it was heading their way.
She thought about how far they had come from Jeb’s house as Peter’s form came trudging back a half hour or so later, hugging a sleeping bag. The dogs had run for a long time, but she had forgotten to check her watch, and she now realized that the trail had grown indistinct as the day grew darker. It was 3:30 p.m. The freezing rain was still coming down, and with it, the darkness of a winter night.
Outside.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Knowing they would be sleeping outside sent a jolt of fear and energy through Hannah. The rain was starting to feel even colder, and the air was rank with the rotten, heavy smell of sodden bark and ice. Darkness would be upon them in half an hour or less; they had to set up their camp. There was lots of work to do before Hannah could get herself dry, but she knew she could do it. She was going to be a hero, despite the weather and despite Peter. Wasn’t that what heroes did — succeed in spite of their obstacles?
Peter trudged to the sled. Trying to greet him, Bogey began to pull toward him, ducking under the gangline and tangling it. Hannah yelled at him and he doubled back, tangling it even more. Finally, she just unclipped his lines. The big brown Lab went bounding over to Peter, who was crouching, adjusting his snowshoes. Seeing the dog coming toward him, Peter stood quickly and turned away, crossing his arms over himself and showing his back to the dog.
“Get him away!” he shouted. Sencha, noticing the action, trotted over to investigate. Peter turned and twisted awkwardly on his snowshoes, trying to keep the dogs at his back. They thought it was a grand game, as they kept trying to get in front of him to see what he was hiding. They gambolled and tripped over his snowshoes, and soon it was a frothy, snowy mess.
“Hannah, get them off me!” he shouted.
He sounded so frightened that Hannah felt disgusted. They’re just dogs, she thought.
Sencha — clearly enjoying this game of what have you got? — rounded on Peter with determination, wagging her tail furiously and thrusting her nose into his clasped hands.
Peter shouted and kicked at her, striking her chest with the blunt tip of his snowshoe, sending the Dal yelping and sprawling.
“Hey, watch it!” shouted Hannah. She ran over to where Peter was and pushed Bogey away. He went over to the sled dogs and hovered around them, eventually lying down. Hannah grabbed Sencha, hauled her to a tree, and tied her off to it with one of the pieces of rope that had been tying down the packs. Sencha was shivering, she noticed; Dalmatians lacked an undercoat, unlike Labs and huskies. Her fine white hairs were plastered to her body, and her tummy, which had almost no hair at all, was pink from the cold and rain.
Hannah cursed herself. At the cabin there were coats for Sencha that protected her belly and kept her warm, but she hadn’t thought to bring any.
“Keep them away from me,” Peter said. He was looking off the trail at a small copse of young trees that were barely higher than he was.
