Part 6
Nathan settled at the handlebars while Gordon secured the dogs in the utility sled. Their packs went behind them beneath the cover. Both animals tucked themselves low, accustomed to the short supply runs Nathan sometimes made from the station.
“Which route?” Nathan called over the engine.
“The old clearing to the river.”
“That still goes through?”
“I haven’t checked.”
Nathan held his gaze for a second, then pulled his scarf over his mouth.
“Honest answer. I’ll take it.”
The line of the clearing remained visible between the trees. They moved carefully around fallen timber, picking up speed where the ground opened. In the woods, the wind diminished. At each gap, it struck them broadside again.
Gordon looked back only once. There was no sign of the cabin light.
Less than an hour later, the snowmobile pitched forward so abruptly that Nathan struck the handlebars with his chest.
He killed the engine.
One ski had punched through a snow-covered washout. The nose of the machine hung at an angle, its underside lodged against the bank.
They climbed off and released the dogs from the sled.
Nathan knelt beside the buried ski.
“We can lift it.”
Gordon looked along the remaining clearing. “We can walk, too.”
“Help me try.”
Gordon did. They dug with their mittens, rocked the machine, and pulled until Nathan’s breath came hard through his scarf. The ski shifted a few inches and settled back into the hole.
Nathan braced himself for another attempt.
Gordon put a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s enough.”
“It moved.”
“And we haven’t.”
Nathan kept hold of the handlebar. Snow collected on the back of his glove.
Gordon waited.
Finally, his nephew let go.
“Leaving a machine out here goes against everything in me.”
“I had a door like that.”
Nathan glanced at him, then bowed his head with a small, rueful smile.
They took the packs and snowshoes. According to the map, the camp was still roughly five miles away. The line they would actually walk through the snow might be longer.
After an hour and a half, they heard the river.
A sharp report came through the trees, followed by a drawn-out groan. Gordon stopped until it ended.
Nathan looked down toward the bank.
“Ice is shifting.”
They increased their pace.
At the river, the bridge appeared downstream as a low dark shape. To reach it, they would have to follow the bank for the better part of an hour, descending toward the mouth of the basin. Across the river, the old clearing continued into the trees.
Nathan stared at that opening, then at the ice between.
“Neither choice looks good.”
Gordon studied the bridge. Another concussion reached them from the mountain, faint but unmistakable.
“If the water comes while we’re on that bank, we’ll be below it.”
“And if this opens under us?”
Gordon had no answer that would make the crossing safe.
They stood listening to the river. Then he pointed toward the opposite clearing.
“We take that line.”
They unfastened the snowshoes and stepped onto the ice well apart, moving toward the quieter reach above the bend. Buck ran ahead and circled back. Minnow stayed close to Gordon’s leg.
Near the middle, a crunch sounded beneath Nathan.
He stopped.
Gordon turned his head. “Keep coming.”
Nathan shifted his foot.
The ice gave beneath his right leg. He dropped nearly to the thigh and fell sideways with a cry.
Gordon went down flat and slid back toward him.
“Quit fighting it.”
The words were out before he could stop them. Nathan was gasping, clawing for purchase, doing exactly what any frightened man would do.
Gordon caught the back of his coat.
“Your pack. Let it go.”
Nathan dragged one arm free, then the other. The pack slipped onto the ice.
Gordon pulled once, felt the fabric strain, and pulled again. Nathan’s leg came loose. Together they crawled away while Minnow darted along the unbroken edge, whining.
Dark water spread through the crack behind them.
Nathan lay on his stomach, sucking air through his open mouth.
A laugh escaped Gordon.
His nephew turned his head.
“You find that entertaining?”
“When you were little, you fell in a puddle behind your mother’s place. Waist deep. Announced at the top of your lungs you were already drowned.”
Nathan stared at him.
“That’s what you’re thinking about?”
“Apparently.”
Nathan let his forehead touch the ice for a second, then pushed himself up.
They left the pack where it lay.
On the far bank, Gordon took the spare clothing from his own pack while Nathan pulled off the water-filled boot. His fingers shook so badly that Gordon had to help with the frozen laces.
Nathan changed his wet trousers and socks in the shelter of the trees. The boot remained damp. He put it back on, swore softly at his clumsy hands, and stood.
They started uphill before the cold could settle deeper into him.
The remaining walk took almost three hours. Nathan’s right foot hurt with every step. Gordon gave him part of the food he carried, and neither man mentioned the pack on the river.
They saw the camp’s floodlight before the trailers.
Then Gordon heard dogs above them.
Three shapes stood on the rocky road up the slope, looking toward the low ground. One whined. None came down to meet Buck and Minnow.
Gordon touched Nathan’s arm and pointed.
His nephew nodded.
Curtis met them outside a trailer, pulling a hat over his ears.
“You walked from the outpost?”
“Part of it,” Nathan said. “Machine’s stuck.”
Gordon looked past Curtis. Lights showed in the trailers. A kettle steamed against one window.
“Why haven’t you moved?”
Curtis pressed his lips together.
“I got all nine up. Told them to dress and be ready. But listen to that wind. You want me to put people on bare rock in this cold because of half a radio call?”
Nathan stepped closer, anger showing through his exhaustion. Gordon held a hand low beside him, and he stopped.
Curtis looked from one man to the other.
“The creek’s frozen solid down here. Nobody can see any water.”
A worker came out behind him, fastening his coat.
“You actually went up to it?” he asked Gordon.
“Yes.”
“How big a problem are we talking?”
“The water’s higher than the old marks. It’s trapped behind ice, and the ground around the workings is moving.”
“You know how much?”
“No.”
Curtis glanced toward the trailers. Gordon could see the choice he faced: nine tired people, warm rooms, a bitter wind, and two men bringing a danger no one down here could see.
Gordon pointed uphill.
“Those your dogs?”
Curtis looked toward the three waiting shapes.
“Supposed to be tied.”
“Look at the runs.”
Chains lay across the snow. One had parted near the swivel. Another trailed from a stake pulled out of the ground. The empty kennels faced the same low ground the dogs were watching from above.
Curtis turned toward the trailers and shouted for everyone to come out…
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