Snowhook by Jo Storm

That was her mom, over-prepared. Hannah tried to see if there were any telltale signs of low blood sugar setting in — shaky hands, or being hyper. After her mom had first started insulin, she had taken too much by accident and had a severe episode of low blood sugar. Hannah had been very young, only about eight, but she remembered how scared she had been, how her mother had seemed both there and not there. How the doctor had spoken to her father only — ignoring Hannah completely — using terrible words like seizure and coma, and making Hannah cry right there in the hospital in front of everyone.

“I’ll do it,” responded Hannah quickly. She scooped up the thermal sweater that her sister had dropped and carried it to their bedroom. She stuffed it into her own packsack that was stowed over her bed. Their room was like an airplane cabin, or like the train cabin they had been in once when they travelled from Toronto to Timmins in a sleeping compartment: thin and long, with dark plywood on the walls, and all the cupboards had latches and were raised off the ground.

She heard the faint static of CBC Radio coming from the living room and hurried back out. If she was going to leave, she reasoned, she’d better know what the weather was going to be.

“Accumulations of twenty-six inches or sixty-six centimetres of snow and ice buildup have been reported in the last twenty-four hours. Hydro One says it may take up to three weeks to restore power in some areas. Most roads in the Cochrane District are closed, including Highway 11. Both the premier and the prime minister have officially declared the region a disaster area. Stay tuned for more updates.”

Kelli still thought it was all a game. She wanted to have points for being the best prepared, and the person with the most points won a prize.

“Should we check the emergency kit?” she asked. It had everything four people would need for three days, all in one bag that was only a little larger than a school bag. It was on Hannah’s list of things to get.

“We checked it when we got here,” Hannah said quickly. If they dragged it out in the open now, she’d never be able to get it into her packsack without one of them noticing.

“But maybe mice got into it!” said Kelli. “Oooh, or maybe a … maybe a wolverine!”

Hannah made a disgusted sound.

“We have lots of food and water and wood,” said their mother. “We could probably stay here until spring and be fine, especially since your father isn’t around to eat us out of house and home.”

She was saying things in the joking way she had when she was worried. Kelli hadn’t noticed it yet, but Hannah had. Her mom would make things very fun and easy for them to keep their eyes away from real problems. She also wanted to keep everyone busy, so she took Kelli outside to dig out around the woodpile while Hannah cleaned the breakfast dishes and heated water on the wood stove in a big cauldron. As soon as they had gone, Hannah went into the living room and took out a toque and three pairs of gloves from the big communal glove box.

There were at least a dozen pairs to choose from. She chose quickly but carefully. The big difference between mittens and gloves was that mittens housed your fingers together, which was good for keeping your hands warm. When she went ice fishing, she wore mittens. When she went cross-country skiing, she wore gloves. When they had gone winter camping for her mom’s birthday, she had worn mitts, even to bed. When she told that story back home, her friends laughed, Brittany especially. Brittany didn’t care about the difference between gloves and mitts; she didn’t wear either, not even on very cold days. It made getting change for the bus too hard, and it was impossible to use your phone.

Next was the emergency kit. It was on top of the closet in her parents’ room. It had a first-aid kit, emergency blankets, and two flashlights, among other things. Then she opened the side of the dresser that her dad kept his things in and took two pairs of warm socks and the extra utility knife that he kept there. Along with a locking blade, it had a detachable hook, little screwdrivers, even a saw. She unzipped the emergency bag and threw in the knife and the socks as she left the room.

She was walking back into her own room when she saw the two dark blobs of Sencha and Bogey, then Kelli and her mother looming through the living room window, scaring her so much she almost dropped the emergency kit, still half-open. They came in the porch area and stamped their feet to get rid of the snow. The dogs padded around them, waiting for the front door to open. Hannah quickly tossed the emergency kit under her bed, closed her own packsack and stuffed that under the bed as well. She started lacing up her boots as the other two unlaced theirs.

“What are you doing?” asked Kelli.

“I’ll go clear off the tack room,” she volunteered.

Her mom looked surprised. “You will?”

She nodded. “In case it snows again. It’s piling up a lot. I know we were going to put Rudy and Nook inside because of the storm, but I was thinking we could put them in there instead? I think they would be more comfortable.”

“That’s a good idea, Hannah. Very well.”

Hannah got her coat and boots and hat and mitts on, took the shovel, and went around the cabin to the back porch. She shovelled out the bottom of the tack room and untied one edge of the thick oiled burlap that covered the sled she would take. The sled was almost three times as long as Hannah was, but most of that was the long runners that extended for the length of a ski behind the square, open area called the basket. The front of the runners curved up, also like a pair of skis, but they connected at the front, forming a bow that pushed past brush and over snowbanks. The brushbow had a hitch on it called a bridle, which was used to attach the sled to the gangline, the main line that the dogs were attached to. In the basket of the sled was a sealed container full of the dog food they used when sledding — a special mixture of meat and vegetables that Hannah’s father cooked in Toronto, froze in brick shapes, and wrapped up airtight.

Hannah took out the line she would need and hooked it to the brushbow, ready to be hooked to the dogs. She placed an extra gangline in the basket, and two harnesses, and finally, a snowhook. She was so busy that she didn’t notice Kelli until her sister spoke.

“We’re going to the Moss Garden!” said Kelli from below.

“Crap! You scared me to death!”

“Why?” said her sister, leaning into the doorway. “What are you doing?”

Hannah debated telling he

r sister what she was planning, maybe even asking her to go along. The knowledge of her adventure burned in her, and she wanted to share it with someone so they could get as excited as she was. But Kelli would never be able to keep the secret, so Hannah couldn’t tell her, and her sister was too young to go on an adventure like this, even if it was only for a day. “Nothing,” Hannah said. “Where’s mom?”

“Getting her boots on.”

Hannah heard the crunch of snow as her mom stepped outside. She was wearing snowshoes and carrying Kelli’s, which she handed to her.

“Okay,” she said to Kelli. “Let’s see what we can find today.”

Hannah waited until they had become blurs in the forest before hurrying inside to grab both her clothing bag and the emergency bag. On her way out of the cabin, she opened the small cupboard over the stove and grabbed a handful of energy bars, too, stuffing them into the clothing bag, and finally, a closed tin of leftovers that sat in the back of the propane fridge: leftover spaghetti.