Snowhook by Jo Storm

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” she said, pointing at the deepest part of the cut, which was turning purple all across his calf and heaving up much like the ice on the lake had. The flesh was swollen and angry-looking. Some parts still leaked blood sluggishly.

“I think it’s okay,” said Peter. “The water washed it out and I’ve had it near the fire. I mean, it feels like it’s on fire, anyway.”

They could do little more than apply the antibacterial ointment and cover it back up with the same bandages. Hannah could feel heat coming from the wound as she rewrapped it, and she tried to keep her face calm. Peter hissed and made faces, but didn’t swear, leaning back on his hands and looking at the sky when she had to tug especially hard.

“What do you think Jeb is doing now?” Hannah asked.

Peter looked sykward. “She’s probably recovered by now, and worried sick about me,” he said. “She knows I can take care of myself, but I try not to leave her alone for long when the weather is dodgy like this.”

“My mom is probably worried sick, too,” said Hannah. “Not just about me — she has to take care of Kelli, too. And my dad is probably still away.” She paused. “They’re going to be so happy to see me when I get back … but I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

She and Peter sat quietly for a moment. Hannah’s stomach ached from so much food after days with so little, and her shoulder smarted from being dragged over the ice. So did her knees and shins. But at last, everything was done. She put away the first-aid kit, lashed the pack closed, and secured it to the sled, then took off her snowshoes, went over to the fire, and slouched down beside Peter. She tugged her jacket open to let in the heat of the flames and clasped her hands around her shins. Finally, her body began to relax, and she stared into the red flames, dreaming with the fire.

They sipped water and stared at the embers as the night drew in around them. Hannah added more wood to make the flames leap high again, and they drank in the heat. The dogs moved and shifted and slept, the fire crackled, and Hannah’s belly gurgled, digesting the stew.

Sometimes Peter coughed. After a while, he handed her the poker, and she stabbed at her side of the fire, sending up more sparks that disappeared into the sky, their red glow fleeting against the sharp diamond white of the stars.

She handed the poker back after the fire had been poked to her satisfaction. “You know that book, The Hunger Games, where all these kids have to fight each other or be killed?” she asked.

Peter grunted. “Yeah.”

“Have you read it?”

“It’s a girls’ book.”

“It’s not a girls’ book.”

Peter looked like he was going to argue — his mouth opened in a flat, long way, like he was about to do the piercing finger whistle that boys loved to do so much — but then he stopped. “I didn’t read it. But I saw the movie.”

“You know the part where they’re in the big city and all the adults are telling them about how hard it is, about how they’ll face adversity?”

He smiled at the fire. “And then they have to do a parade and get dressed up and all that stuff. Matching outfits.”

“And makeup.”

Peter snorted again. “Yeah.”

She paused for a minute, because she liked the book, and she wanted to say it right. She didn’t want to make something else small just so that she could be big. And what she wanted to say seemed so funny; she couldn’t really stop the smile that started to tug at her lips. She picked up her smoke-blackened bowl and looked down at the hole in her snow pants. Then she looked at Peter. He had a blotch of grease across his forehead from wiping away sweat with a stew-covered hand. He scratched at scraggly patches of black hair growing on his chin and along his jaw, and one side of his glasses was fogged, the other a blurry smear. She looked down at herself again, and when she looked up, she was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

“I don’t think that adversity has makeup artists.”

He had that look again, like she was crazy, and who could blame him? They were talking about books in the middle of a winter night on the shore of a lake he had almost drowned in. But he began to shake his head, and then his shoulders, and she realized he was laughing, and then she was laughing, too.

Sencha sat up in case she was missing something interesting, but in the end decided to stay with her team. She lay back down again, burrowing in close to Bogey’s flanks. Hannah looked up at the stars. One shone brightly right at the horizon — she pointed to it. “Is that Venus? The Evening Star?”

“I don’t know. Could be a satellite. I think it’s moving.”

They both watched, and it seemed as if the star did move; it flickered and disappeared for a moment, reappearing a little distance away, but somehow bigger.

“Must be a satellite,” Peter decided.

Hannah watched as the light hovered along the tops of the trees on the other side of the lake, blinking out now and then and reappearing. After a while she could tell it was definitely getting bigger, and nearer.

“I don’t think that’s a satellite,” she said, rising from her seat. “I think that’s something else.”

“Like what?” said Peter, craning his neck.

Then the light dipped down and winked out for good.