Snowhook by Jo Storm

She couldn’t fail before even getting off the road. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t turn around and take the dogs back, either, because then everyone would wake up and she wouldn’t be a hero, and they would still be trapped there, and her mother would still be in danger. She needed to get to Jeb’s place and use that satellite phone or get Jeb to drive her into Timmins, by snowmobile if necessary, to get more insulin. Her mother’s life depended on her being able to make Bogey run, on her making it off the road to Jeb, Peter, and that phone.

Hannah looked at her team. The two sled dogs had lain down, facing the trail, waiting. Bogey stood awkwardly, still staring at her with his anxious brown eyes, blinking away any snow that fell on them. She was hot under her layers — too many layers for the exertion of hauling dogs and a sled around. She unzipped the top of her coat, pulled off her toque, and let the winter air calm her for a moment.

Maybe she could run with only Nook and Rudy and leave Bogey off the line, too. Seasoned sled dogs could carry about twice their weight. With two dogs, she could carry about 220 pounds, she guessed. Hannah weighed 100 pounds, but she had no idea how much the gear weighed. She lifted the two packs again, considering. Maybe 30 pounds? They were hard to lift, and she wouldn’t have been able to hike with them for very long by herself. There was a third lump, as well: the dog food that she had forgotten to split up. She had far, far more dog food than she needed, more than a week’s worth. But she didn’t want to dump it off the sled. She would get in trouble for wasting the food, and it could attract other animals, like foxes or even lynx, and they could cause trouble if they decided the cabin was an easy source of food — especially the foxes.

It didn’t matter how much food she left, anyway, if she never got going. In the back of her mind, like an itch, a piece of her kept urging herself to get going, get going, to do something instead of standing around figuring out how much dog food weighed.

So she walked forward and unsnapped Bogey’s neckline and tugline from the long, loose gangline and let him run free. The big Lab licked her mittens enthusiastically whenever she came near his face.

She took her snowshoes out of the basket and put them on, tugged her toque back onto her head, then tromped to the front of the sled.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said.

The green shoulders of the pines leaned down heavily across the little trail. Only the faint outline of old snowmobile tracks and the thick layer of accumulated ice underneath made them able to walk on the snow. Soon Hannah had taken off her toque again and unzipped the throat of her winter jacket. Closer to Timmins, the trails were very wide and even had signs like a real road, but here you had to already know where you were before you could get anywhere.

They walked for a while until Hannah’s watch chimed the getting-up time of 7:00 a.m. Usually she left her watch on the small night table between her and Kelli’s beds, and she would grab it and try to turn it off in a blurry haze, but this morning she turned it off as soon as it started to ring.

Hunger came then, almost knocking her down like a big dog greeting her after a long time away. Hannah had never felt hunger like this before. It did not wait quietly, but roared through her, leaving her gasping. All the walking, the excitement of being awake so early, and the hauling and tugging had left a hole where her stomach should be. In the lull of that roar of hunger, she felt almost giddy.

Then there were the dogs. The house dogs were used to eating twice a day, the sled dogs once, but Hannah thought everyone should get fed right now since they were working so hard. First herself, though. Hannah guessed she was about halfway to Jeb’s cabin. It wasn’t the best time, but the trail was thickly overlaid with snow, and she hadn’t figured on Sencha and Bogey not pulling. Still, it was an adventure, and an adventure outdoors, with no parents; she wanted to have fun, too.

She walked back, set the snowhook, and dug out the camp stove from the pack. The heating element sat inside its own pot. Then she grabbed one of the fuel canisters and set the whole kit between the runners at the back of the sled so they wouldn’t get knocked over by the untethered house dogs. Nook and Rudy, still in the traces, lay down, their front paws parallel and pointing forward. They were used to stopping, but Bogey and Sencha buzzed around, sniffing the sled dogs and the camp stove and the stumps and the jutting-up branch on the side of the trail and the frozen pieces of moss that hung from the tamarack. Sencha went over to sniff Nook, but the lead dog lifted her head until it was level with the Dalmatian’s shoulder and silently lifted one side of her muzzle, showing a yellow canine tooth. Sencha wagged her tail rapidly and went away. She didn’t bother Nook again.

Hannah cleared a patch in the snow and then dug down until she had a squared-off hollow. She screwed a canister to the bottom of the stove, placed it in the hollow — it was a backcountry stove, just a nozzle and a knob to turn the heat up or down, a heat shield, and three prongs that served as the “stovetop” — and lit it with the waterproof lighter that was in the stove pack. She filled the small pot with snow and set it on the stove, waiting for it to boil.

The waiting was the hardest. The heat from the stove woke her stomach again and it grumbled and clenched. She grabbed one of the protein bars she had taken at the last minute and opened it, but it had spent the last few hours sitting outside in the cold and was hard as a rock. She couldn’t break off any pieces of it. She rewrapped the bar and placed it in an inside pocket, where it would warm up from her body heat. The snow in the pot wasn’t melting. Then she remembered the silver heat guard that was supposed to sit underneath and around the stove, dug it out, and placed it correctly.

Finally, the snow melted and began to steam. Hannah pulled one of the thick grey packets from the emergency kit and, using her teeth, ripped it open slightly. Some of the background rations could be boiled in a pot with water, but some were designed to be boiled right in their container bag. One summer, while camping in the backyard, she had spilled a freshly boiled bag on herself trying to tear it open. Only her T-

shirt had saved her stomach from being scalded, and from then on, she had opened the package a little bit before heating it; better to sit by the pot and make sure the bag didn’t slip underwater than worry about burning herself with food.

The front of the package said “Country Ham ‘N’ Eggz” in greasy blue lettering. The inside revealed a sort of crumbly yellow snow with dots of pink in it. It was barely warm, but Hannah ate it, anyway. The dehydrated ham pieces were still crunchy, but it was the best-tasting meal she’d had since she and her family had come to Timmins — better than spaghetti and meatballs, better than fresh bread.

After she was finished, Hannah took out the two collapsible bowls for the dogs and got out one of the portions of dog food. It was slightly sticky with the molasses that her dad put in to keep it from freezing fully. She broke off chunks of it with a small stick. She approached Nook first and put the two bowls in front of her, one with food and one with water, but the lead dog would not eat. She took a few mouthfuls of water, sniffed at the food bowl, then went back to looking up the trail.

“Come on, Nook, it’s going to be a long day,” said Hannah, but Nook laid her head on her paws and merely looked at her. Hannah added some hot water to the empty grey pouch of her breakfast and swirled it around, then added it to the dog food, and Nook was more interested. She sniffed the bowl and took a small mouthful, but when she raised her head all the pieces dropped out again.

“Fine,” said Hannah, “whatever.” She took the bowl and offered it to Rudy, but the same thing happened. The big husky looked almost confused, sniffing the bowl and then looking at her. He didn’t eat anything, either.

Bogey and Sencha had no reservations. Bogey, sitting nearby, had loops of drool hanging out of his mouth, and as soon as Hannah offered the bowl to them, he gulped down the food, then licked the discarded pouch clean, standing on one edge of it to keep it from moving until Hannah took it away. Sencha’s brown and white flanks heaved up and down as she ate from the bowl, her head bobbing in enthusiastic counterpoint.

After the dogs had eaten, Hannah packed up her camp. All told, she was pretty proud of herself. The dogs were fed — the smart ones, anyway, she thought — and they were ready to go to Jeb’s now. From Jeb’s: the phone call, then the snowmobile and the rescue. She wondered what her mom would tell her dad. Would she say that Hannah had been right and she wrong, about going for help? Because she should, Hannah thought as she packed the stove back into the pot. Her mom was wrong, her parents were always wrong, but they never admitted it.

The sky was still an ugly, flat grey. There was no wind, and the air lay heavy around them. Sounds carried very far, each one magnified. A tree branch groaning under the weight of ice sounded as if it were right behind her, and the angry chittering of a squirrel deep in the forest seemed directed right at her.

This time she called Sencha first. The Dal came over and Hannah took her collar before delving into the sled to find her harness. There was no arguing this time. Hannah knew she had to get the harness on and keep it on, or else Sencha would always think that wearing it was an option.

The harness slipped over Sencha’s smooth, square head and easily onto her back. Hannah lifted each front leg firmly and pulled the harness on. Sencha’s harness was royal blue, Bogey’s purple. The two sled dogs had on their usual red harnesses that they worked in, though Hannah could barely see them through the thick ruff and double coat of the huskies.

She put Sencha next to Nook, who ignored both of them. Sencha moved a little closer after Hannah got her neckline on and Nook backed away, looking off to the side.

Next, Hannah put Bogey’s harness back on and hooked him up, as well. He seemed, if not eager, at least happy to be with the gang. With all the dogs hooked up, Hannah hoped he would remember what to do and settle in. If not, it was going to be a long walk to Jeb’s house. She felt a small queasy turn in her gut at that thought.

“Line out,” she called. Nook and Rudy stood and drew the line out until it was off the ground. Bogey stood where he was a foot or so back, and Sencha moved out sideways, looking back over her shoulder at Hannah. It was ugly, but it was good enough to get them where they needed to go. She pulled up the snowhook.

“Huphup!” she called out, using two different tones of voice, like other mushers did. It was like saying, “Ready, set, go!” only using the same word. Nook and Rudy began to run, then Bogey, and finally Sencha — half being dragged, half rabbiting off to the side, her tail curved up and her head high. The gangline seesawed a bit as Sencha fought the straight line and tried to go sideways, but Nook put her head down and the two lead dogs’ necklines stretched taut as they argued about which way to go. Hannah could see the gangline being pulled into a wide Z as the sled dogs silently tried to get the errant Dalmatian to pull correctly.

After a few metres, Nook pulled suddenly toward Sencha. The Dalmatian, no longer being held on the trail, plowed off into the deep snow for a few strides and struggled to get back onto the trail. The sled slowed down, then bumped into the back of the wheel dogs. Sencha gained the trail again and swerved into the middle of it — where she met the shoulder of Nook, who bumped her hard, as if to say, Smarten up!