Part 6
The snowmobile started on the second try. Eli took the handlebars. “The lower road?”
Walter shook his head.
“The clearing.”
Eli looked back. “The old one?”
Walter nodded toward the darkness between the trees.
“It used to come out at the river above the bridge.”
“You sure it’s still open?”
Walter looked at him.
“No.”
Eli hesitated for a second, then nodded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
The first few miles passed quickly. Snow covered the clearing, but they could follow its line between the trees. Sometimes they had to detour around fallen trunks. The wind eased in the woods and struck again wherever the ground opened up.
They hardly spoke. Once, Walter looked back. The cabin light had disappeared behind the blowing snow.
Half an hour later, the front of the snowmobile dropped abruptly. Eli barely managed to hold on as the engine roared and the machine tipped.
“Stop!”
Eli killed the engine. They climbed off. An old washout had been bridged over by snow. One front ski had plunged deep into it.
Eli looked at Walter.
“We’ll get it out.”
Walter examined the machine, then the sky, then the clearing ahead.
“We’ll lose time.”
“So we walk?”
“We walk.”
Eli didn’t agree immediately. Yesterday, he would have been the first to suggest abandoning the machine. Now, for some reason, he stubbornly gripped the handlebars.
“Let’s try.”
Walter said nothing. He helped. They struggled in the snow for five minutes without getting anywhere. Eli pulled again.
“One more.”
Walter put a hand on his shoulder. “Enough.”
“It’s about to come free.”
“Eli.”
His nephew stopped, breathing hard, then let go.
“Hate leaving it.”
Walter gave a faint smile. “I hated leaving my house.”
Eli looked at him and smiled, too.
“I get it.”
They took the packs and continued on foot. The camp was about five miles away according to the map. The route through the snow might be longer.
An hour and a half later, they heard ice shifting in the river. A dull crack sounded ahead. Walter stopped.
“Hear that?”
“Yes.”
Another crack, longer this time. Eli looked down the slope.
“The river’s moving.”
“Let’s move faster.”
When they reached the bank, they could see the bridge as a dark shape downstream. It was far off. Reaching it would take almost an hour along the low bank, toward the same hollow from which they expected the water to come. The old clearing continued directly opposite them on the other side.
Eli studied the ice. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.”
“The bridge?”
Walter considered the dark shape below and the line of low ground between them. Another muffled boom sounded in the hollow. The tremor beneath their boots arrived almost with the sound.
“If we head for the bridge, we go right where the water’s going to hit first.”
Eli ran a hand over his face.
“The ice is already making noise here.”
“I know.”
For a few seconds, they stood without speaking. Then Walter looked toward the opposite clearing.
“Keep moving. Don’t stop.”
They stepped onto the ice without running. Walter went first. Catfish stayed close to his leg. Red ran ahead, then came back.
They were almost halfway across when a low crunch sounded beneath them. Eli froze.
“Keep moving.”
“I’m not—”
The ice cracked again, closer. Eli took a step. His right leg plunged almost to his thigh. He cried out and fell onto his side.
Walter turned.
“Don’t struggle.”
He immediately cursed himself for saying it. Of course Eli was struggling. Anyone would.
Walter went back, caught his jacket, and pulled. Catfish darted around beside them.
“Drop the pack.”
“But—”
“Drop it.”
Eli tore a strap off his shoulder. The pack stayed on the ice. Walter’s second pull freed the leg.
They crawled away. A few seconds later, dark water rose along the crack where Eli had just been standing. Eli lay on the snow, breathing hard. Walter laughed.
His nephew turned his head.
“What?”
Walter helped him sit up. “Remembered when you were six. Fell into a puddle up to your waist. Kept yelling you’d drowned.”
Eli stared at him for several seconds, then exhaled.
“Perfect time for that.”
“Just came to me.”
They got up. Eli’s pack stayed behind.
On the opposite bank, they stopped. Eli’s right pant leg was wet almost to the thigh, and his boot was full of water. He pulled it off and emptied it while Walter took the dry spare clothing from his own pack.
Eli changed his pants and socks, angry at his shaking fingers. The boot was still damp when he put it back on. They started uphill, and neither mentioned returning for the pack. His foot ached with cold as they walked.
Nearly three hours later, they reached the camp. First, they saw a floodlight. Then they heard dogs. Walter stopped.
The dogs weren’t barking beside their kennels. They were farther up the slope. Three dark shapes stood near the road, looking down.
“See?” Walter asked.
Eli nodded. Nine people were at the camp. Mike met them beside a trailer. “You walked here?”
Eli waved back into the darkness.
“Left the snowmobile.”
Mike frowned.
“What happened?”
Walter looked around the yard. “Why are you still here?”
“Where are we supposed to go? I got everybody up and told them to get ready. They’re looking at me like I’m an idiot. Snow everywhere, freezing cold, the creek’s frozen. The wind on that slope would chill everybody to the bone in half an hour.”
Walter understood his hesitation. Mike would have to answer for sending nine people out of warm trailers onto a windswept slope on the strength of a broken radio message. One of the workers came outside, fastening his jacket. “You saw this water yourself, old man?”
“Yes.”
The worker looked at him more carefully.
“A lot?”
“Enough that I wouldn’t want to find out by standing in its way.”
“How much is that?”
Walter shook his head.
“Didn’t measure it. The level was above the old marks.”
The worker looked at Mike. Mike still hesitated. Walter didn’t argue.
“Where are your dogs?”
“What dogs?”
“The ones you had chained up.”
Mike looked toward the kennels. Chains lay on the snow. One had broken. Another had pulled its stake out of the ground. The dogs stood above the camp on the rocky road. One whined softly. Mike stopped arguing…
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