Snowhook by Jo Storm

“Listen to the wind!” said Kelli.

Hannah heard the wind and then the fierce, driving sound of rain on the roof, so loud that sometimes she couldn’t hear the rattle of the dice on the table. The broken pieces of the insulin ampoules rested in a chipped coffee mug behind the sink, up against the wall — not a single one had survived Hannah’s mistake. Every now and then Hannah heard a faint clinking sound from it when the wind whipped up especially high and the walls groaned inward under its force.

“We’re not going anywhere. We’ll leave on Saturday,” their mom said. “Kelli, it’s your turn.”

They slept in the next morning. Hannah got up first and went into the tiny bathroom and clicked on the light. Nothing happened. She clicked the switch again. Tipping her head out and looking at the ancient VCR under the equally ancient TV, she saw that the digital clock on the front of it was dark. Great, she thought.

“Mom,” she called. “Power’s out.”

Her mom came out of her bedroom, tying a thick housecoat around herself. She joined Hannah at the living room window and they stood and looked out in silence.

It really was an ice forest. The trees were smothered by a thick coat of ice, their limbs bent down under the incredible weight. The driveway was littered with smaller branches sticking up, and Hannah could see all the paths they had dug out so carefully yesterday were covered in a thick sheet of ice.

“It’s gross out there,” said Hannah.

The sentence was barely out her mouth when she saw the first snowflakes begin to fall.

“We’ll start with breakfast,” said Mina. “You get a trail to the outhouse.”

Hannah grabbed the metal pail of wood ashes that was sitting in the covered porch and wrestled the outer door open. It had frozen shut at the bottom, so she banged and kicked at it until it cracked open, laying down ashes right away so she didn’t slip on the icy surface of the path. The air still felt heavy and thick. It felt … wrong to Hannah, somehow. Usually winter air was dry and harsh on the lungs; this morning it was lumpy, almost, coating her throat with moisture as though it were still raining.

She came back into the cabin and stamped her boots by reflex, even though there was no snow on them. Kelli came out, sleepy and grumpy, and headed for the bathroom.

“You have to use the outhouse,” said her mom, pointing at Kelli’s oversize rubber boots.

Kelli circled the wood stove, looking first at her mom, then at Hannah. Hannah shook her head very slightly.

“Okay,” said Kelli. “Are we having pancakes?”

“Yes, dear, we need lots of energy today,” said her mom.

“I can warm the syrup,” offered Kelli.

“All right.”

They kept the radio on during breakfast. Their mom stopped chewing at the beginning of each new sentence the announcer started, as though she were concentrating very hard.

“This is a CBC Radio One weather update: The massive storm in western Quebec that moved over into northeastern Ontario overnight is still present and active, as a cold front has stalled the storm over the region, dumping an extreme amount of freezing rain, hail, and snow, knocking out power and closing roads. Emergency responders are being pulled from Quebec to follow in the storm’s devastating wake. Sudbury, Algoma, North Bay, and Nipissing have all declared a state of emergency.”

“You’re on dishes,” said Hannah to her sister. “I did the path.”

Hannah watched as her mom poured another cup of coffee and added a little sugar, stirring quickly. “I’ll do the dishes,” she said, “and you two go make sure everything’s okay.”

They got dressed and went out into the icy morning, Hannah balancing a heavy, thick porcelain carafe full of hot water. Kelli spread ashes as they went, first to the outhouse again, then to the well, where Hannah carefully poured some of the hot water over the pump handle to unfreeze it. They turned to see their mom coming out of the cabin with two empty water pails.

“I can get that,” said Hannah, but her mom waved her off with a short chop of her arm and muscled past them.

“Dogs,” she said shortly, heading for the pond. Whenever the power was out, they took water from the pond for washing.

Kelli and Hannah went to the doghouses, and Hannah poured hot water on top of the frozen water bowls, watching as the ice broke up and became drinkable. “Moss Garden next!” said Kelli as Hannah poured hot water into Rudy’s bowl.

“Kelli, shut up, okay? There are more important things to do than go see your stupid fort.”

“Mom!” yelled Kelli, “Hannah’s being mean to me!”

“Hannah, for heaven’s sake, stop acting like a child.”

“You’re such a wuss,” said Hannah to her sister. She took her glove off to break up the chunks of ice in the bowl and poured more hot water in.