Snowhook by Jo Storm

Peter ate even more quickly than she did. He built up the fire, tossing larger branches on until the heat of it started to make them sit back instead of leaning forward. The fire spat up far into the sky, the flames as tall as Hannah and getting taller.

Peter opened his emergency blanket a bit, took his glasses out of his jacket pocket, and put them on.

“Hey,” said Hannah, “your glasses!”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you lost them in the lake, like your knife.”

“I’m not going to lose my glasses over your stupid dogs. And you owe me a knife. That was a good one, too.”

“My stupid dogs are feeding you.”

“No, I’m feeding you with their food.”

She lowered her head in mock surrender and they ate some more. They finally slowed down on the third bowl. Peter added more snow and now it was like a soup; the salted meat and root vegetables still made it taste like the world’s best broth.

Hannah turned her spoon upside down in her mouth and sucked it clean.

“I can’t believe you jumped in the water,” she said.

He picked up the poker and stabbed some coals. “I just wanted to do something brave, like you.”

Her hands gripped her b

owl hard. “Brave? I was screaming the whole time.”

“But you got us out. You figured out about Nook. You got us through the blizzard, too.”

“Barely.”

“You still did it.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“That’s all I meant.”

They stared at the fire for a while.

“What’s the temperature?” he asked. “It feels really warm.”

“I know. I guess about minus five or so?” she said. “The radio was in the other bag.”

“Oh.”

“You know what?” said Peter, coughing.

“What?”

He reached over and bopped her shoulder. “I really hate winter.”

They watched the embers of the fire shift, sending sparks up into the twilight. The sky darkened quickly this time of year. It didn’t alarm Hannah anymore. Somewhere behind them were Jeb and her mom, but Hannah couldn’t save them in the next eight hours, and she knew that pushing now, with the end so near, was just asking for trouble. No, they would stay by the fire, be warm, then go to sleep early.

Ugh. As soon as I put up the tent. And get the water ready. And check Peter’s wound.

Groaning, she rose, went to the sled, and pulled out the tent and their water bottles and the first-aid kit before she had a chance to think about it and feel too full and sleepy. The ground sheet had been in the bag that got lost, so she just put up the tent and the fly and threw the sleeping bags inside. She left the supply pack tied to the sled. The sky was still clear, with a few stars already showing, and she could feel that the weather was light, even on her ice-burned cheek. There would be no snow for a little while, and no danger of being buried again.

Even though she was practised now, it seemed like she was moving through a vat of glue as she set everything up and pulled the first-aid kit to the fire. Her arms felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. She gave Peter the last of the Tylenol, then they unwrapped his bandages and dried off his leg. The wound was puffing up in places now, but whether it was from the freezing water, from infection, or just from healing, she couldn’t tell.