Last Chance for Paris

by Sylvia McNicoll

  We’re this close and you never know, maybe Martin broke down and walked here instead of back.”

  A shelter—sure, Martin might have done that.

  “Oh, I just want to kill him for taking off like this.”

  Tyler just stares at me, his mouth straight.

  “Don’t look like that. He’s going to be okay. I know nothing could have happened to him. Why the heck he went off the trail is beyond me.”

  “Well, if he really wanted to follow your dad without being seen, it makes sense, doesn’t it? And just because your father didn’t see him, doesn’t mean that wherever your dad was driving, Martin couldn’t see him.”

  Dad runs back from the hut. No luck, obviously.

  We drive home with the headlights of the ATV lighting up the fog eerily. I’m starving, cold, and exhausted. I bury my head in my hands.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine for one night,” Tyler tells me in an even, measured tone. “And tomorrow when the weather clears, we should have no problem finding him with the helicopter.”

  I lift my head. “But what if it doesn’t clear?”

  CHAPTER 13

  I CAN hear Dad pacing all night long. He’s wating up, I think. Hoping the rain will stop and praying that Martin will return. Only neither happens.

  The next morning, the helicopter can’t fly. It’s still raining hard. White fog hides everything beyond arm’s length and the search party can’t hunt for Martin either.

  Tyler’s still at our cabin. He stayed the night, thinking he’d be out with the first search party. Dad put out a sleeping bag on the pullout couch in the living room.

  I stare out at the rain through the tiny window in the kitchen. Tyler’s chowing down on the breakfast Dad’s fried up for him, and the bacon-and-eggs smell makes me check down at my feet for Paris. Of course he’s not nosing around down there: he’s back at the Rocky Mountain Wolf Haven.

  “I wish I hadn’t given Paris up. It feels like the moment I abandoned the dog, my brother disappeared. Sort of like they’re psychically linked somehow.” I turn my spoon around in my yogurt. “Hey, what about a dog?” I ask Tyler. “You said if you had Quincy, you’d go out no matter what. There must be other search-and-rescue animals.”

  “Quincy was the only one in the area. And there’s been an earthquake in San Salvador. I happen to know the other SAR teams are down there.” Tyler sips at his orange juice. Suddenly his eyebrows lift and he gulps. “What did you just say about Paris?”

  “I said I wish we hadn’t—”

  “That’s it!” He snaps his finger at me. “Let’s get Paris back. Only a dog can find someone in this storm.”

  “You said he was a wolf.”

  “Even better. More in touch with his nose. Look, it’s a really long shot, I know. We train search-and-rescue dogs for hours every week, and Paris is pretty wild. He may chase the scent of a bear over your brother. But it’s worth a try. I’ll call the center on your dad’s phone.”

  Tyler dials, and I listen to his side of the conversation with Peter Kerrigan at the wolf center. The question is, of course, how to get Paris back inside. Normally Peter feeds the wolves on Friday, so they naturally come to the building. But today is Saturday and they’re all reasonably full. He’s going to throw out another deer carcass: their sense of smell is strong, and they’re greedy…still.

  Tyler hangs up and we take off to the truck. He drives pretty fast through the rain and mist. “If only it would stop.” He shakes his head. He sounds as impatient as I feel. We still can’t see anything and Tyler misses the turnoff. As he backs up the truck, he misjudges the edge of the road and the truck slides into the ditch, the front end still clinging to the road. “Damn.”

  A rumbling from behind us signals another vehicle’s approach. It’s a car, barreling out of the mist, heading straight for the truck. Can it stop in time?

  “Hold on!” Tyler reverses hard, and we bump down off the road backward. The car passes, the driver leaning on the horn the whole time.

  Tyler mutters something back, then throws the gearshift into first and we plow down, and up onto the road again.

  The retreat’s only another couple of kilometers away. We park and walk to the observation room. “I was expecting my caribou shipment Monday. Afraid the wolves will just have to satisfy themselves with my personal supply of ground beef and cube steak.” Tyler and Peter scatter the meat out back. “Their sense of smell is a million times better than ours, so this should bring them in.”

  When they’re finished, they step back inside. “If this doesn’t work, we could try again on Monday.”

  Monday. How long can a person last in the cold without food or water? Peter and Tyler sit down beside me on the bench facing the one-way glass window.

  I turn to Peter. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait. They may not come at all. I always warn the visitors. Even with a fresh kill in the yard, there’s no guarantee.”

  We sit and watch. Soon enough Konan, the black wolf, approaches furtively followed by Chinook, the white one. Wolf by wolf, they show up and snatch mouthfuls of steak.

  I look them all over and shake my head. “Paris isn’t out there.”

  Konan snaps and nips at Chinook right in front of me. Only a window pane separates us. Peter frowns.

  “Shouldn’t Paris be out there with them? Why isn’t he?”

  “They may have killed him on the spot.”

  “What? Why would you let me put my dog in there, then?”

  “Because a wolf doesn’t stand a chance otherwise. I saw it happen when I was in school, so I know. A bunch of us started slipping some wolves food on a regular basis. Right from our hand—not like here, where they don’t even know we’re behind the glass. They lost their fear of humans and expected food from them. Raided campgrounds. In the end, the head ranger made us go out and shoot them. Said we were responsible. I never felt so bad in my life. And I never forgot it. This was your wolf’s best chance at a life.”

  “I’m going to call him.”

  “If you go out there, you’ll just scatter them.”

  “Good. I don’t want all the wolves, just Paris.” I push open the door slightly and call, “Paris, Paris!” For a moment, Konan looks up from his meal, staring me directly in the eyes.

  Peter steps forward, rifle in hand.

  “I thought you said they’d scatter,” I hiss at him.

  He lifts the rifle to his shoulder. “They’re wild animals. Unpredictable.” Chinook lopes off. Peter swivels and aims the rifle at Konan now. “Don’t worry, it’s only a tranquilizer gun,” he tells me. Konan skulks off after Chinook. The other wolves head back into the woods too.

  “Paris?” I put two fingers between my lips and whistle long and hard. “Paris! You better come right now!” With the wolves gone from the yard, I step out the door and alternate calling and whistling.

  Then I see Paris, or at least a wolf that resembles him. Same black and brown markings, same heart-shaped white mask around the eyes. Only he skulks out of the bush, his yellow eyes even more intense.

  From his throat to his shoulder is an ugly red gash. It is Paris.

  “Oh, Paris. Come here, boy. I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment, Paris’s yellow eyes stare into mine. Does he hate me? But his tail wags in slow recognition. He whimpers and runs to me. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him.

  “No time for that. Get in!” Peter yells at me.

  I grab the scruff of Paris’s neck, gently so as not to hurt his wound, and guide him in through the door. Peter slams it after us.

  “Look who was coming back for your pet!” He points to Konan, who’s running straight for the door. Peter turns to face me. “Close call.” He leans against the door and seems to be catching his breath.

  “Look,”I say, I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused. I made a mistake. Paris likes people too much and he’s a puppy. He obviously can’t hold his own out there with the likes of Konan or even Chinook.” I r
un my hand gingerly along the gash near his neck.

  “Trouble? That’s all yet to come. A wolf does not make a good pet. And if he finds your brother, it’ll be a miracle.”

  He has to be wrong. My arms circle Paris’s neck, and he licks my face from chin to forehead, across my mouth and nose. I smile and don’t even care what his mouth had in it before or what that tongue has touched. “I’ll pay you back for all that meat you threw out for the wolves.” I want to leave quickly, escape his critical stare and look for Martin.

  Peter holds up his hands. “Never mind. You can sign up as a Friend of the Haven sometime. Learn to appreciate wolves from the proper distance.”

  I promise to come back and do that when we have more time and I have my allowance in my pocket. We rush through the wolf displays toward the exit. I feel better already with Paris back at my feet, and as I step from the building it’s as if we’re stepping into a whole new world of bright, white sunshine. “Look at that. It’s clearing up! The search party will be able to go out.”

  “You’re right. We better hurry.” Tyler’s words are terse, his mouth tight.

  Paris and I run to the truck with him. A lone howl makes Paris stop for a moment, his ears up.

  “Never mind them, boy. You have a new family now.”

  Paris opens his long snout into a grin that drops into a pant. Then he wags his tail and scrambles into the truck with me.

  I don’t mind on the way back when Paris stands on me, his long claws digging into my jeans, his thick. furry tail brushing over my face.

  “Easy,” I tell Tyler as the truck spins around the turn, throwing Paris and me against him. “You don’t want to put us in the ditch again.”

  Tyler’s hands grip the steering wheel, his mouth as tight as his knuckles.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “If the search party beats us there, they’ll walk all over the scents and ruin it for Paris. It’s tough enough for a trained SAR dog, but for Paris…”

  “Is there a shortcut we can take to get us close to the trail?” I ask.

  “Right, sure there is.” Tyler brightens. At the next adjoining dirt road he turns off, and when he comes to the first trail, parks the truck.

  “Sky Mountain Trail?”

  “That’s right. Are you up for a little reverse climbing?”

  CHAPTER 14

  TYLER GRABS some flares from his glove compartment and shoves them in the backpack. “Ready?”

  I nod.

  “Then let’s do it!” He breaks into a jog and Paris leaps ahead of him. No time for scenery observation, and there’s still a layer of mist anyway; we tear over the whole trail that we covered yesterday, past the unmarked graves of the rabbit babies. I’m over that now, I tell myself, as I swallow hard.

  Paris doesn’t even pause. He loves to run and he seems to sense the urgency of the cause. We finally stop at the cliff where the blue poppies grow. I hang, doubled over, breathing hard, in and out, waiting to catch my breath.

  Tyler stands near the edge, silent, in that unreachable place he was at yesterday. His mother died here, and here is where we’re beginning our search for Martin: an ending and a beginning. What can he be thinking? He seems to sway as he stares ahead. Can he handle this? I finally cross into his silence. “You’re not thinking of getting down to the river from here.”

  Tyler shakes his head. He points to the right.

  “I’ve been down this way a few times before.”

  I follow him to an easier slope. Easier, but not easy. No marked trail here. “You think Paris will do okay?” I ask.

  “He’s going to have to. Besides, a wolf is more surefooted than a human any day.” Tyler’s boot slides and he falls back.

  “Careful!” I call out.

  “You be careful too,” Tyler answers as I grab a rock to steady myself. “Follow exactly where I go.”

  “For sure.” It’s a long way down—maybe two CN Towers or four Eiffel Towers. Still, I find myself rushing, sliding, half-running when I can. Why did Tyler go down this way before? I cut around a huge boulder. Was he part of the search party that found his mom? How awful would that be? I stutter my feet down a muddy path. What if this search finds a bad ending too? I grip the brush to help slow myself down.

  Paris cannot be held back, and when Tyler and I stop for a breath, he pushes past us. I gasp as his paws slip out from under him and with a yelp he begins to roll. “Paris, Paris!” Over and over.

  Tyler chases after him, picking out his footing as fast as he can. He closes the gap in about a minute but it means Paris drops down at least one Eiffel Tower more. Finally Tyler throws himself on top of the dog.

  No yelp, no yell, no sound. Only a pile of tangled wolf and human.

  “Are you okay?” I shout.

  Slowly they detangle. Both of them are covered in mud. Paris’s neck wound bleeds, and a scratch across Tyler’s cheekbone looks like a red stream in a swollen purple riverbank. Paris barks at me. The bark sounds apologetic but hopeful. I pick my way down to join them.

  “That was scary.” I stop near Tyler and look more closely at his wound. “Do you have some first-aid equipment in your bag?”

  “Sure. But let’s just get to the bottom. We can wash out the scratches in the river.”

  “Slowly!” I yell at Paris as we start down again but I might as well tell the rapids to stop rushing. Down, down, down again; it takes forever when you have to be careful and watch your footing. We’re almost at the bottom when my left ankle twists the wrong way against a rock. “Ow, geez, ouch.” It’s a one-second accident, just an awkward turn, not the endless tumble Paris took. Still, it leaves me breathing against the pain.

  Tyler turns and looks into my eyes, his face tight with worry. “How bad is it?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “It’s nothing, really.” Another step forward and I wince.

  “Can you make it down, or should I come back up?”

  I take a few more breaths. “I’m good.” I lean against a boulder as I limp slowly down the rest of the way. When I make it to the bottom, I take another deep breath.

  “Clearly you are not ‘good.’ We aren’t going to be able to search for Martin with you like this,” Tyler says.

  “Maybe if I take the boot off and stick my foot into the water, it’ll numb the pain.”

  “Uh huh—there’s a chance your ankle will swell up and you won’t be able to get the boot back on again.”

  “I guess I better not. I’ll be fine; I can do this, don’t worry. Let’s fix you up.” We find a rock to sit on, and Paris laps at the water. The sun feels warm down here, and most of the mist has burned off.

  Just wisps are left, drifting off the ground and water. Who could believe the weather could change so fast? In between the wisps, the water sparkles with white diamonds. I suddenly feel dopey and just want to stretch back and rest. I have to fight to stay alert.

  Tyler crouches at the bank and splashes water over his cut. Then he removes a small red box from his backpack and dabs white gauze against the top of a small brown bottle of antiseptic.

  “Here, let me do it.” I take the gauze from his hand and dab it along his wound. He jerks away and I see his eyes water. Before I can help myself, I lean over and kiss his cheekbone, this time with my lips.

  His eyes widen and he grabs my wrists. Then he looks into my eyes, smiles, and kisses my lips so gently that I hardly believe our lips are touching. The sun, the air, his eyes—they all make me forget Zane and my brother for a moment.

  But the moment passes. I break away and clear my throat. “We better get going.”

  “I’m going to try to clean Paris up first. Can you help me?” Tyler brings out a granola bar to lure Paris close, and I throw my arms around my pet wolf. Tyler takes off his jacket and strips off his T-shirt. I try to look away. I don’t feel I know him well enough to look at his bare chest, although guys are so much different about that kind of stuff. He’s already tanned and he’s lean, not one of those hairy, b
eary kind of mountain men. He’s perfect, really.

  Tyler dunks the shirt into the rushing water and then pushes it against Paris’s bleeding gash. “That should stop the flow.”

  “You’ve ruined your shirt.”

  “Worth it.” He wraps some bandage tape around the wound. “He can’t chew at it from that angle.”

  Satisfied, Tyler smiles and looks up. His smile straightens immediately. “Oh my gosh. Look over there. Is that what I think it is?”

  I turn in the direction that he’s pointing. The mist has totally evaporated now and the sun glints off something red and big. I release Paris and limp toward it, closer and closer. Paris races ahead, barking and wagging his tail. I make out the four fat black wheels of the ATV, which is overturned. I stop.

  “If Martin’s underneath all that…”

  “Never mind—keep going.” Paris burrows underneath the vehicle. Tyler catches up and crawls underneath too. I would feel something inside if Martin was crushed under there, wouldn’t I? We haven’t lived together long, but we used to be so close. He still finishes my thoughts, sings the songs that are in my head; I should be able to sense whether he’s alive or dead. But I don’t feel anything except dread. I limp slower and slower toward them.

  A bad ending: this is what it could all come to right now, and I’m not ready. I have to count to be strong. One step, two, three steps, four.

  “It’s all right, he’s not here.”

  Oh my God. My knees dissolve, I’m so relieved.

  I catch myself before I sink to the ground, and let go the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Shading my eyes, I scan the riverbank. “But if he’s not underneath the ATV, where did he go?”

  “Never mind that for now. Let’s try to turn this thing over. Ready on three. One…two…three.”

  I groan as we heave the ATV over onto its tires again. “Look, he left the keys in the ignition.”

  Tyler jumps in and turns them. The engine turns over a few times and then sputters out.

  “If it worked, don’t you think Martin would have driven it out?”

  “If he figured out a way to flip it back over.” Tyler’s mouth buckles. He’s thinking that if Martin were okay, he might have driven it off, but if he were hurt, unconscious, or something worse, he wouldn’t have been able to. “Remember it was raining and the dampness wouldn’t be a help, especially with carburetor problems.” Tyler tries again. Nothing. And again. “C’mon, c’mon…” The engine sputters to life.