Copyright © 2018 Kristin Butcher
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Butcher, Kristin, author
Winter road / Kristin Butcher.
(Orca currents)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1550-6 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1551-3 (PDF).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1552-0 (EPUB)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents
PS8553.U6972W56 2018 jC813'.54 C2017-904486-9
C2017-904487-7
First published in the United States, 2018
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017949661
Summary: In this high-interest novel for middle readers, Kat stows away in her mother’s semitruck on a dangerous trek across a frozen lake.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Edited by Tanya Trafford
Cover photography by Shutterstock.com
Author photo by Lisa Pedersen Photography
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
21 20 19 18 • 4 3 2 1
For Sara and Dan,
who are following their own roads.
Orca Book Publishers is proud of the hard work our authors do and of the important stories they create. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or did not check it out from a library provider, then the author has not received royalties for this book. The ebook you are reading is licensed for single use only and may not be copied, printed, resold or given away. If you are interested in using this book in a classroom setting, we have digital subscriptions that feature multi user, simultaneous access to our books that are easy for your students to read. For more information, please contact [email protected].
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from Cheat
Chapter One
Chapter One
I heave my bulging backpack onto the kitchen table and grin at my mother. “I’m ready if you are.”
I expect her to laugh and ask if I’ve packed my entire closet. But she doesn’t. Instead she glances uneasily at my grandmother, who isn’t smiling either, so now neither am I.
“Um, about that, Kat,” Mom begins but leaves her sentence hanging. Suddenly I have a horrible feeling she is about to drop a bomb on me. The happy butterflies that have been fluttering inside my stomach all morning do a nosedive.
“About what?” I ask, although I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.
She takes a deep breath. “There’s been a change of plans.”
“What change?” The question is out before I can bite it back, and I mentally kick myself. Why do I keep asking stuff I don’t want to know?
She reaches for me, but I put out my hand like a stop sign. Her arm falls to her side.
“We’re not going, are we?” I say point-blank.
She reaches for me again, but I shake my head and push her hand away.
“Just tell me,” I blurt, already angry, though I don’t have any reason to be—yet. “Has the shipment been canceled? Has it been given to another trucker? Are you sick? Has your rig broken down?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s none of those things. The run is still on.”
“But?” I wait for her to smile and tell me there is no but. That everything is fine. She’s still taking me on this run. I’m just going to have to pack lighter. Ha-ha. Good joke, Mom.
So how come she’s not laughing? Or smiling? Or even looking at me? She starts fidgeting with the buckles on my backpack.
“Mom!”
That makes her look up.
She sighs. “The run is still on, but there’s a glitch. I was just talking to the dispatcher. He’s offered me a follow-up job.” She shrugs. “The payout is huge. But it means getting back to Winnipeg sooner than I planned. I can do it, but there won’t be much wiggle room. I know you were looking forward to coming on this trip, honey, and I know I said we’d turn it into a holiday, but if I take this second run, we won’t be able to do that. There won’t be time for anything but driving. You wouldn’t have any fun, Kat. There’d be nothing for you to do but look out the window. You’d be bored silly.”
“You said if.” I block out everything else my mother has said and cling to that single tiny word as if it were a life preserver keeping me afloat in a stormy sea. “If you take the run. That’s what you said. That means you haven’t accepted yet. Right?” She opens her mouth to answer, but I don’t let her. “So tell the dispatcher to give the shipment to someone else. Tell him you can’t do it. Because you can’t.”
“Kat. Please.” Her eyes are pleading even more than her words.
I cross my arms and shake my head stubbornly.
She bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Kat. I already told him I’d take it.”
For a second, I’m so stunned I can’t speak. And then I explode. “Are you serious? You took it? Really? How could you? You promised me, Mom. You promised! Call him back and tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
“Katarina, stop.” It’s my grandmother. “Your mama, she had no choice. She—”
“Don’t stick up for her, Gran,” I snarl. “Of course she had a choice. She just didn’t choose me.” I turn away and mutter, “So what else is new?”
“Kat, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
I spin around to face her again. “Give it up, Mom. You promised I’d be going on this trip with you. Your promise is worth about as much as Monopoly money. So tell me, if you’re on the road and Gran is off to Mexico, what exactly am I doing?”
She hangs her head and mumbles, “I’ve arranged for you to stay with Tina.”
I throw up my hands. “Tina? Great! I get to spend my spring break with your friend, her egghead husband and their three moronic kids. Gee, thanks, Mom. You’re the best. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll take a pass.”
I grab my backpack and jacket and run from the kitchen. I have no idea where I’m going. I’m just going. If I stay in the house, my mom and grandmother will hunt me down, so I bolt for the front door and slam it behind me.
And then I come to a screeching halt. Now what? I look around at the dirty March snow covering the ground. It looks like I feel, and though I’m still angry, the tears start streaming down my cheeks. I swipe at them and reset my survival compass. Since Dad died eight months ago, it feels like I do that on a daily basis.
He was a trucker, which meant he was on the road a lot, so half the time it was just Mom and me holding the fort. Back then we were more than mother and daughter. We were friends. We did girl stuff—shopping, baking and painting our nails. When Dad was home, we did family things—tobogganing and skating or swimming and cycling, depending on the season.
&n
bsp; Then my dad had a massive heart attack, and everything changed.
Now it’s Mom who’s on the road. She was a trucker before I was born, so the transition from stay-at-home mom to breadwinner was no big deal—for her. It was a big deal for me though. Almost faster than I could blink, my whole world got turned upside down. We moved in with Gran, so I lost the only home I’d ever known. I had to change schools, so I lost my friends. But worst of all, I lost my family. As often as I see my mother these days, she might as well have died too.
This road trip was supposed to be our chance to find our way back to each other. I’m on spring break, so I have no school for the next ten days. But my grandmother is going on vacation in Mexico—she flies there tomorrow—which would leave me home alone. That’s why Mom suggested I ride with her on her next run.
Yeah, well, so much for that. Her dispatcher snaps his fingers, and she drops me like a hot potato.
New tears spring to my eyes, and I angrily wipe them away. Do I really mean so little to my mother that she can toss me aside without a second’s thought?
I choke back a sob and run down the driveway. I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s sure not to Tina’s house.
My mom’s semi—minus the trailer—is parked on the road, so I put it between me and the house, making sure to stand behind a tire so Mom and Gran won’t see my feet. If they come looking for me, I want them to think I took off down the street or hid behind the house or in some shrubbery.
Sure enough, a moment later I can hear them out in the yard.
“Kat!”
“Katarina!”
As they head around the side of the house, I think about making a run for it, but then I have another idea. Last night Mom gave me a spare key to the semi for our trip—in case of an emergency, she said. Well, I’d say this situation more than qualifies. I fish the key out of my pocket and let myself into the cab of the truck as quietly as I can. Then I scrunch down in the back under all Mom’s gear.
I can still hear them calling me, so I sneak a peek out the window, which is slightly open.
Mom glances at her watch. “I’m so sorry about this, Mama,” she tells Gran. “I hate leaving without setting things right with Kat.” She takes another look up and down the street and then checks her watch again. “But I have to get going.”
Gran pats Mom’s arm. “Is okay,” she says and shoos Mom toward the truck. “Everything will be fine. Katarina will calm down and come home. I no leave until tomorrow. I drive her to Tina’s. Don’t worry. Now go.”
Mom looks unsure but nods. Then she gives Gran a hug and a kiss and heads for the truck.
As I shrink back into my hiding place, excitement shoots through me like an electric current. This is not what I planned, but whether Mom likes it or not, I’m coming with her on this run.
Chapter Two
As Mom climbs into the cab, I stay perfectly still. She sticks the key into the ignition, and the motor rumbles to life, making the whole truck shake. I shake with it. It’s like being on one of those vibrating motel beds, except not so comfortable. Every bolt and bump in the floor digs into me. To make matters worse, the stuff I’m hiding under suddenly weighs a ton, and I start to feel like I’m buried alive.
I’ve just about convinced myself I’m going to suffocate if I don’t get some fresh air when Mom reaches around the seat and drops something else on top of the pile. I instantly freeze. I do not want to be discovered before we’ve even pulled onto the road!
I know I’ve only been lying here a few minutes, but it feels like hours. What’s the holdup? I thought my mother was in a time crunch. So get going already! I scream silently at her, but several minutes later we’re still idling in front of the house. Finally she buckles her seat belt, the truck grumbles into gear, and with a lurch we start to move.
Once I’m sure Mom is focused on her driving, I tunnel a hole through my little nest toward air that isn’t hot and hasn’t already been breathed twenty times. I hungrily suck it in, and though I’m still buried under a pile of stuff, I feel a little less claustrophobic.
I try not to think about where I am and how much I want to throw everything off and be free again. But that’s easier said than done, because there’s not much to distract me. Though it’s broad daylight outside, I’m surrounded by darkness, unless you count the little breathing hole I’ve created for myself. Since it’s nothing more than a periscope to the back wall of the cab, I can’t see much. So I concentrate on the movement of the truck.
When it’s not hauling anything, the semi has almost as much zip as a sports car, and I can tell by the smooth hum of the engine and the regular rocking motion that we’re moving easily and quickly. I count the number of times we slow down and idle at intersections. As we approach number eleven, I hear the tick, tick, tick of the turn signal. Mom gears down. I feel the truck turning. We’re moving at a crawl now, and finally we come to a complete stop. Mom switches off the engine and lets herself out of the truck.
Bang! The door slams. I wince. It’s a wonder my eardrum isn’t broken! I make a mental note not to position my head close to the door the next time I decide to stow away.
When I hear my mother call out to someone, I can tell she’s not near the truck anymore, so I peel off the stuff covering me, sit up and look out the window. We’re in a compound of container trailers. Mom is talking to some guy. I’m guessing it’s the dispatcher.
It feels good to be upright. I breathe deeply and stretch. But I know I don’t have much time. Already the guy is pointing to a trailer at the other end of the compound, so I quickly rearrange my little nest, moving everything hard and lumpy to the side and spreading a mattress of soft stuff on the floor. I lie down on it—with my head away from the door—and then I cover myself up again.
Just in time too. I’ve barely burrowed into my hiding spot when the cab door opens and Mom climbs in.
It takes about fifteen minutes to hook the trailer up, and even though there are guys out there doing most of the work, Mom hops in and out of the cab like she’s a jack-in-the-box. So when the cell phone in my backpack rings, I almost freak out. Luckily, I’m hugging my backpack, so with lightning speed I reach into the compartment where I keep my phone and turn it off before it can ring again. Then I cross my fingers and pray Mom didn’t hear it.
But she must have, because the first thing she does when she gets back in the semi is grab her phone. “That’s odd,” she mutters. “I could have sworn I heard it ring.” There’s a clunk as the phone lands on the dash. Mom buckles her seat belt, and we’re on our way.
I sigh with relief. Another bullet dodged. I know my mom is eventually going to discover me, but hopefully by then we’ll be too far away from civilization for her to do anything about it.
A couple of days ago, Mom showed me the route we would be taking, so I sort of have an idea where we’re going. As long as she keeps slowing down and speeding up, I know we’re still in Winnipeg. But once she hits Highway 59, it’s pretty much go, go, go.
Even so, I can’t believe she doesn’t need a pee break. I sure do. If I’d known I was going to be hiding in the back of her truck, I would have visited the bathroom before storming out of the house. I try to estimate how far away we are from East Selkirk and hope Mom will stop there. But she keeps right on driving.
With my bladder screaming, it’s all I can do to stay in my little nest, but I worry that if I pop up while she’s driving, she’ll be so shocked she’ll lose control of the truck.
My chance comes when I least expect it. Out of nowhere, Mom pulls over and calls Gran on her phone.
“Kat still hasn’t shown up?” She sounds surprised. Worried too, I think. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. “Where can she be?”
“Right here,” I announce as I show myself.
Mom yelps, and though it makes my heart beat twice as fast as usual, it also makes me glad I didn’t come out of hiding while she was driving.
It takes Mom a second to get hersel
f together, but when she does, I know I’m in trouble. She glares at me as she speaks into the phone through gritted teeth. “No, I’m fine. Kat just startled me. She’s here in the truck. Let me get to the bottom of this, Mama, and I’ll call you back.” Then she gestures to the passenger seat. I climb into it.
There’s no need to go into the ugly details of what follows. Let’s just say my mother isn’t impressed with my sense of adventure. For starters, she grounds me until the end of twelfth grade, and that’s a year and a half away! Then she says she’s going to stick me on the next bus back to Winnipeg.
That’s the one leaving from Pine Falls, the closest community to our present location. Except there is no bus from Pine Falls. Seems Greyhound has cut that route.
“Damn it, Kat!” Mom swears as we pull up in front of the abandoned bus terminal. She glances at her watch. “This prank of yours has already cost me forty-five minutes.”
“It isn’t a prank!” I protest. “You said you would take me with you. I’m just helping you keep your word.”
If looks count for anything, I should be lying in a pool of blood, because Mom is definitely shooting daggers in my direction.
She takes another look at her watch and heaves an irritated sigh. “I don’t have time to take you back.” Then she glares at me again. “But you were probably counting on that, weren’t you?”
I don’t answer.
“This is not funny, Kat!” she explodes.
“I’m not laughing.”
“I need this run—and the one after it.”
I frown. “I know that. You told me already. I’m not asking you to change your plans. But you can’t blame me for hiding in your truck. If you stop and think about it, you didn’t really give me any choice. I’d rather stare out the window for two days—or five days or however many days we’ll be on the road—than spend a single hour with Tina and her weird family. Ignore me the whole trip. I don’t care. Anything is better than being stuck in Winnipeg.”
From the way Mom’s mouth drops open, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t expecting me to say that. She stares out the window and raps her fingers on the steering wheel.
Winter Road Page 1