by Sasha Gold
“He’s probably going to start throwing up soon,” Sydney said from her bed. Her voice was a forlorn shadow of her usual happy tone. “Clay got him a metal bucket just in case.”
A metal bucket? She lifted the candle and glimpsed the bucket in the corner of the bed. The boy had a bucket… like something from a barn. Her stomach clenched. A silent prayer came to her lips.
Dear God, please help us return this boy to his mother and father…
Victoria whispered. “You want some tea, Ross?”
“No.” he rasped, his throat sounding parched.
“He won’t want to drink,” Sydney said. “He’ll just throw it up.”
Victoria didn’t know much about children’s illnesses, but she knew, it was common sense that Ross would need to drink something. She’d have to push fluids. That much she understood.
“Poor Ross,” she murmured, stroking his forehead. “Poor baby.”
Returning to the kitchen, she put the kettle on and piled more wood inside the stove. They had tea in the pantry and honey too. The honey would sooth his throat. When she returned to the kitchen, she found Clay standing by the fireplace, slipping his heavy coat on.
“You’re going out? Now? It’s still dark.”
“Did you talk to Sydney?”
“She said he’s probably going to vomit.”
Clay moved to the counter and she noticed a loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel, some tinned ham and a canteen. One by one he packed the items into a backpack.
Sydney appeared in the hallway, her face lit by the glow of the fireplace, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Ross might have appendicitis,” Clay said. “He has all the symptoms.”
Victoria’s blood ran cold. God only knew how far they were from a hospital. Or even another human being. Her mind refused to accept the possibility of appendicitis, or the implications.
“It could be anything,” she said. “We don’t know why he’s sick.”
“His pain is specific,” Clay said.
“My whole family had to get their appendix out at about his same age,” Sydney said. “I did. My parents did. All my cousins.”
Clay zipped the back pack.
“What’s happening?” Victoria whispered.
“I’m leaving. I’m going for help. I found a map when we first got here that showed something at the end of the lake. A town, or someone’s home, maybe. Someone drew the map and labeled a spot, Otis.”
“Otis?” she said.
“I don’t know what it means, but I have to find out.”
He tightened his hold on the backpack and for a long moment, no one spoke. The cabin was quiet until Ross muttered something incoherent from the bedroom.
Victoria’s eyes stung, tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head. “It can’t be. Appendicitis?”
Sydney lifted the hem of her pajama shirt to show a scar on her side. “I was eleven when I had my surgery.”
Victoria swayed and reached for the counter to steady herself.
Clay turned to Sydney. “You two are in charge. I’m leaving Charlie with you. Don’t go outside except to fill the wood box.”
Victoria nodded, crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him. He smiled down at her and stroked her head. “I’ll be back. Soon.”
Sydney joined them in a hug. They stood together, locked in an embrace. Ross called her name.
Clay clasped her head and gave her a solemn look. “Try to help your brother.”
Sydney pressed her lips together and nodded. Her eyes shone as she gazed up at him until she turned away and hurried down the hall.
Clay looked at Victoria, his eyes burning with an intensity she’d never seen. Cupping her shoulders, he spoke softly. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”
More than anything she wanted to believe him, but how could he promise her everything would be all right? He would walk out that door into the unknown toward a town, but how far off it was he could only guess. Ten miles? Forty? The snow lay deep. He’d have to snow shoe the entire way, through parts unknown. Past predators. Through uncertain weather.
“I just want to make you stay.” She forced the words out, her voice choking on each one. “Even though I know you have to go.”
“I’ve done this before.”
“In the desert.”
He nodded. “Where people shot at me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands. He pulled her to his chest. “You and I aren’t done. We’re going to have kids, and grandkids, and we’ll be old and grey and talking about how you stood me up and how you learned how to fish and what a smart-ass Sydney was.”
She nodded. He lifted her chin to receive his kiss. It was gentle, a stark contradiction to the fire burning in his eyes. “Do what you can for Ross. You’re in charge. Keep it together for his sake, Victoria.”
“I will.”
He turned away, zipped his coat and put on his hat and gloves. After he had his pack and gun slung over his shoulders, he nodded and went out the door. She followed him and stood on the threshold, ignoring the cold predawn breeze and watched as he strapped on the snowshoes. She moved to the steps, drew close to kiss him a final time.
“Go inside,” he muttered. “Take care of those kids.”
She did as he told her, but after she closed the door, she moved to the window and watched him in the early morning light. He walked slowly, but steadily. Charlie whimpered, drawing her from her reverie. He scratched the door and cried.
“No. Charlie. You’re staying with us.”
Returning her gaze to Clay’s retreating figure, she watched until she could no longer see him. Charlie finally relented and curled up by the fire. Victoria pressed her fingers to the glass, and watched the horizon where he’d disappeared.
Chapter Eighteen
Clay
Refusing to look back, Clay trudged away from the cabin. He kept a steady eye on his watch and the compass it held. Due west. That path would take him the direction of the town or home called Otis. He wouldn’t think about how far off it might be. As he passed the pile of saplings he’d cut just a few days prior, he thought about the futility of the idea of a giant arrow, the signs, the bonfires. No one had come for them. Now it was up to him to set out and bring help back to the cabin.
Marching was nothing more than a mental game. He’d put in miles and miles with far more on his back than what he now carried. It was a matter of focus and refusing to dwell on negative thoughts.
Dawn came at ten o’clock in the morning. He’d been on the move for close to three hours and would have almost six hours of daylight. So far, he’d seen very few animal tracks. Still, his rifle was loaded and ready should he need to scare away a predator. By the time the sun descended, he’d only seen a few Arctic hares. Nothing more.
He didn’t stop, only taking a few bites of food and sips of water as he continued trekking westward. His legs burned. His body ached, but he refused to rest. If Ross had appendicitis, Clay was in a race against time.
Darkness fell and in the distance a lone wolf howled. The sky darkened rapidly or so it seemed. One moment he hiked in gritty Alaskan light, and the next, stars twinkled above. In the distance he thought he saw lights on the horizon, and while they appeared closer with each passing hour, Clay still couldn’t tell how far off they were.
“Hang on Ross,” he muttered as he climbed a ridge.
The clear sky and quarter moon offered some light, and at the top of the ridge he got a good look at the lay of the land. Bands of forest, mostly dense spruce, spread out before him, with stretches of open tundra. He hoped to stick to the tundra, rather than negotiate forests. Animals could hide in the trees and surprise him more easily than out in the open.
Never had he ventured into the wilderness with so little. In Sitka Lake he’d volunteered on Search and Rescue missions. When the State Troopers put out a call for a missing hiker or hunter, he liked to lend a hand and put his militar
y training to use. Before leaving, he’d read Doppler radar maps and pack flares, extra water and first aid kits.
And he always knew where he was going. SAR missions were set up in teams, each team assigned to a precise area. On this mission he only knew he headed west. Nothing more.
Unless it was how his body would rebel somewhere around the tenth hour of walking. Which would happen around five pm. When he’d walked out of Tabuk and later when he’d trekked to Samobor, he’d pushed himself so hard he had visions, ones he still remembered.
Now, he held fast to the image of the faces of Victoria and the children.
He pushed the other images away, and kept walking. The lights growing nearer as night passed. Just before dawn, a blizzard swept through. Despite the whiteout, he continued, checking his compass every two or three minutes. Winds howled and buffeted him, but he persisted until the blizzard blew into the distance and the morning dawned bright and clear.
He stumbled and when he looked down he realized he stood on asphalt. Crouching he tugged his glove from his hand and rubbed the dark surface, wondering if it was truly a road or a figment of his imagination.
Red lights washed over the roadway and a siren pierced the stillness. Clay rose and stared as a police car rolled to a stop on the side of the road.
“Not a good idea to stand in the middle of the road, son,” the officer said, shaking his head. “Lucky for you, I wasn’t an oil tanker.”
Clay swallowed, his throat dry as sand.
“Can I see some ID?”
The man squinted in the early morning light, his shoulders hunched against the cold wind, waiting for Clay to say or do something.
“I, uh…” Clay’s words trailed off.
The police man scowled. “You been out hiking? Ah shit, I can’t tell you how many of your kind we get. Guys from the lower 48 who read a few issues of Outdoor Magazine and decide they want to take a walk on the Alaskan wild side.”
“Right.”
The man shrugged. “Show me your ID and if it checks out, I’ll take you for some pancakes. That’s what I always do when I find some lost hiker. They’re always starving. I’m about to go on break. Rough night, huh? You look like you could use a coffee.”
“I didn’t bring,” Clay whispered. “My wallet.”
“Sure. You left it back at the Holiday Inn, huh?”
Clay shook his head and swayed. “I don’t need pancakes. I need a helicopter.”
Chapter Nineteen
Victoria
Victoria spent the day caring for Ross, doing the best she could to keep him comfortable. He slept fitfully, and cried each time he woke. Sometimes she consoled him by stroking his forehead or pressing a cool wash cloth to his feverish brow. Other times she climbed the bunk, sat beside him and read a few scenes from a book. He always thanked her and his fever-weakened voice made her heart pinch with grief.
Towards evening he grew disoriented and began calling for his mother.
His cries for his mother shook her so badly, that after he’d fallen back to sleep, she stole away to her room and wept. Sydney found her there and they stood together, clinging to each other.
“Is Clay going to make it to that town?” Sydney said, her voice tremulous.
Victoria always imagined the worst, but she couldn’t do that now. With Clay gone, she was the boss and had to steer the mood and conversation. She chastised herself for allowing herself to cry. Her weakness had made Sydney cry and fret.
She wiped the tears from her face. “He is going to make it to that town. And he’ll get back here as soon as he can. You wait and see.”
“I don’t want my brother to die.”
“He’s not going to. Help me bring some wood in and then take Charlie out.”
The girl did as she was asked. When she took Charlie out, he tried to follow Clay’s path but sank in the snow and Sydney had to put on boots and a coat and help him back to the cabin. She half-carried, half-dragged the dog back inside.
“Search and rescue on a sixty-pound dog, is a work-out,” she huffed when she got back in.
“Next time put him on the leash. I don’t want you away from the cabin.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Victoria left the kitchen to take Ross a mug of tea. Mixed with a little honey, the tea was the only thing he would take from her. She was trying desperately to keep him hydrated. When she entered the bedroom, he was asleep. Even in sleep, his face was pinched with pain.
She set the tea down on the window sill and looked out. Where was he now? Was he safe? Was he alive?
Come back to me, Clay. I need you. We need you.
That night, Sydney slept in Clay and Victoria’s room and Victoria slept on the lower bunk. She wanted to be near Ross. Sydney did too, but she offered no argument when Victoria told her about the arrangement.
During the night, she woke and checked on Ross what seemed like every fifteen minutes. A few times she coaxed some warm tea into him. She wiped his forehead with a cool cloth. Either he shivered under blankets, or kicked the covers away and sweated.
When dawn broke the next morning, she heard him moan in his sleep. A good sign, she decided, and stumbled back to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. While the kettle heated, she dressed, leashed the dog and took him outside.
Distantly, she thought she heard an engine. Her heart raced. She pulled Charlie to her side and listened, but heard nothing. She let Charlie go off-leash and told him to stay nearby. Scanning the clear, blue sky, she willed a plane to appear. A helicopter. Santa’s sleigh. Anything.
“They’ll never find us,” she muttered, her morose thoughts creeping back into her mind.
She turned back to the cabin, calling Charlie to come in. When she went up the steps she thought she heard the sound of an engine again. Charlie strolled past her, into the cabin. And then she saw a tiny speck on the horizon.
Unable to tell if it was a plane or a helicopter, she stared in disbelief. The aircraft looked like it flew towards them, but as she watched, it became clear they would miss them. They were heading too far to the south. She’d have to alert them.
Victoria darted inside, ran into the pantry and grabbed two bottles of vodka. Next, she snatched a box of matches from the stove.
Sydney came running. “What’s happening?”
“Plane. Help me with snow shoes.”
They hurried outside and Sydney strapped one snow shoe on while Victoria strapped on the other. She hoisted herself over the railing and took the vodka from Sydney. As quickly as she could, she made her way to the pile of pine saplings. The aircraft was definitely flying on a southward path.
She poured the liquor on the dry pine needles, and saying a silent prayer, lit the match. The flame flickered but the fire licked along the brown needles and brittle branches. When she poured more vodka, the fire gave a great whoosh and ignited the pile.
The heat forced her back, but she watched the flames devour the trees Clay had worked so hard to gather. The smoke obliterated the horizon, and the crackling drowned out any sounds. Until Sydney began shrieking. Victoria drew her attention from the fire to watch Sydney jump and scream and point to the sky.
Moving around the burning brush, she searched the sky until she saw the helicopter. Quickly, it bore down on them and soon the air pulsed with the hum of the blades. Victoria stared in disbelief. Charlie, standing on the porch, barked and barked, but when the helicopter flew over-head, he darted back inside.
As the helicopter lowered, the snow swirled, creating a blizzard. Victoria turned away to shield her face. As she returned to the cabin, she crouched down trying to protect herself from the gusts. The wind from the blades knocked her over a few times before she reached the cabin. When the helicopter’s door flew open, two people jumped out and ran toward the cabin. Clay followed behind and a sob tore from her throat.
She tore off her snow shoes and watched as he clambered out of the helicopter. He bent at the waist and trudged through the snow. When he go
t to the cabin, he mounted the steps. “Ross?”
“Weak. But okay.”
She stood for a moment, taking in the sight of him. His face was red and wind-chapped, and he looked more tired than anyone she’d ever seen, but he looked all right.
“You made it,” she whispered. Moving to him, she cupped his face. “You did it, Clay.”
“I told you that you and me aren’t done.”
She kissed him softly. She wanted to throw herself at him. Instead, she hurried inside the cabin. By the time she got to the bedroom, the medics had Ross strapped to the gurney and an IV started. Sydney followed them out, talking all the while. Telling her bewildered brother everything was going to be fine.
“I want to go home, Syd,” he muttered.
Victoria could hardly gather her thoughts enough to say a word. The men spoke to each other and communicated on the radio with a hospital. Sydney managed to get a word in, asking or more like telling the men she wanted to go with Ross in the helicopter.
“You the sister?” one man asked.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Guess you’d better come along,” the man replied.
As they descended the steps, one addressed Victoria. “Another chopper is on the way. They’ll be here by evening.”
She stood on the porch beside Clay. They watched as the helicopter lifted from the snow. The sound of the engine faded and soon the aircraft disappeared into the endless sky. They were alone. The brush pile still burned although the flames had already consumed most of the dry branches. Charlie came to their side and sat on his haunches.
“You burned the brush pile,” Clay said. “Smart girl.”
He pulled a satellite phone from his pocket. “They’re going to let us know about Ross. The State Troopers have been in touch with our families.”
She tugged him inside the cabin, and helped him out of his coat and boots. He let her tend to him, offering little in the way of help, but watching her with a dazed smile. He looked exhausted. Barely able to stand and yet he smiled at her.