Snowhook by Jo Storm

“It’s not really like that. It’s a progressive disease.”

“I know what diabetes is. Your body can’t control the level of sugar in your blood. You can go blind or lose a limb. Your organs can fail. I know you can die from it. But I know it’s not likely.”

His words were so stark and simple that Hannah was taken aback, even though he didn’t say them cruelly. He was just listing things.

“It’s just …” Hannah mentally ran over the fixed gangline of her thoughts one more time. Later she could look back on all that she’d done and wonder or freak out about it, but for now, there was only the task ahead … and to do that task, she would need to be honest.

“I did it,” she said. “I was the one who broke her insulin vials. I broke them, and then I left her and Kelli trapped by the storm, because I wanted to be a hero.”

Peter waited quietly in the sled while she finished inspecting the dogs. She reapplied salve on Nook and Sencha’s heat sores. Nook’s was healing well, but Sencha’s was still red, as her belly constantly had churned-up snow plastered to it. Hannah decided to keep the Dal in her makeshift coat, as it covered her belly and would give the sore a chance to heal.

“I was going to get my tetanus shot,” Peter said suddenly. “For Air Cadets.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like the military but for teenagers. Only my dad said I couldn’t be in it this year. He doesn’t think it’s real enough — he hates the Cadets because they’re not really in the Armed Forces. Like he is,” Peter finished sarcastically.

“Isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not. He plays at the Army just like he says I do. The Reserves,” scoffed Peter. “Do you know what they do? They shovel sand into bags for floods and hand out water at marathons. They don’t even have guns.”

Hannah started on the rigging, making sure none of the lines was frayed and that each one was securely tied to the gangline, as well as checking that the gangline was strong and securely attached to the sled.

“As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m joining the real Army,” Peter blurted after a moment. “He can play soldier all he wants. But I’ll be the real deal, like Jeb. We’ll make a difference, not like the Reserves people. We’ll go places, save people. Not just be glorified sandbaggers.”

Hannah quickly stepped onto the runners at the back, hurrying because they needed to get going, but also to hide her shock from Peter; she had heard longing in his voice.

He wanted to be a hero, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Peter stopped talking after his outburst, burrowing into the emergency blanket and leaning his head back with his eyes closed.

Hannah got the dogs up, and they started back along the trail they’d come in on, but this time, they turned left instead of right. She looked longingly the way they had come — not because she wanted to go there, but because the trail was so much easier. Their two sets of snowshoes, four dogs, and a sled had packed the trail down nicely. Ahead of them now, the unbroken skein of snow was almost chest-high on Nook. As soon as they were on that thick powder, Hannah dropped off the runners and began walking. She wasn’t worried about the dogs getting ahead now. Nook would stop at her command, but it was unlikely Hannah would have to do that, as the snow and Peter’s added weight slowed the team down to her own walking pace.

She tried getting ahead of the dogs to break the t

rail for them, but the snow was too deep for her to walk over it with any speed; she only ended up making herself tired and the dogs confused.

She watched the trail and named the types of snow. They were in the deep bush now, among spruce and pine, with the odd maple or birch. On either side of the trail, the bush was unbroken, dense with the bowed heads of small trees and large bushes. Rabbit territory, she thought, not hare territory.

She halted the sled. Peter struggled to sit up, grimacing. She opened the supply bag, handed him a water bottle, and took out the radio before starting up the sled again.

“Well, Trapper Tom stopped by again this morning, and he says a huge storm is coming, because the last time it snowed, the snow was sticking to the fence posts. I kid you not, folks, this is what Trapper Tom is telling me. I go with what Environment Canada tells me. But hey, guess what? They’re saying the same thing, just without the fence posts.

“I know you folks in town are better off now, and thanks to Gerald for giving me a lift in to work on his snowmobile. They’re getting to things as soon as they can, but it’s a mess out there. Remember to keep the young ones inside and away from the roads. Having all these power lines down can be dangerous.”

Hannah turned the radio off again and passed it to Peter. The sun was still marking black shadows on the trees, but they were tiny slivers now, as the sun was almost directly above them, sitting on her left shoulder. She looked behind her. This morning, the storm had seemed imminent, but now she saw nothing but blue sky. The sun’s rays were much warmer, too. She took off her toque, letting fresh air get to her greasy, matted hair. A little while later, she undid her jacket, and finally she removed her gloves, because her hands were sweating. She wiggled her hot fingers as she walked. They felt funny without the extra encasing of the gloves, suddenly weightless and free.

She went back to watching the trail and the dogs. They were moving more easily now, still struggling with the height of the snow but moving together naturally as a unit. She watched how three of the dogs shortened their strides, trying to match the Dalmatian’s gait as she plowed through the snow. The line slackened, tightened, slackened again as they figured out the best way to attack the ungroomed top of the trail. Sencha in particular was struggling; she was the shortest dog with the deepest chest, and she looked like she was swimming rather than walking.

Finally Hannah called, “Whoaa,” and the sled stopped.

“What is it?” asked Peter.

“Gotta change dogs. And here —” she pulled out their last two energy bars and gave him one. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was at least noon now. She debated giving him both, but she needed to be able to walk and pole and pull as necessary. It would be foolhardy to leave herself hungry and unable to do things with Peter injured.

“The Dalmatian is too short,” he said as he pocketed the energy bar.