Mine!

by Natalie Hyde

As I rounded the corner onto 2nd Avenue by Nugget Nick’s Café, I skidded to a stop. There was a police SUV parked next to Vinnie’s truck and an officer was talking to him. I didn’t see Shard anywhere.

  I backed up slowly and crouched down behind the railing of the restaurant. What was I going to do now? I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Where were you?” Shard asked. “I’ve been waiting across the street from the Mining Recorder Office forever!”

  “I had to get supplies at the hardware store. What happened with Vinnie?”

  “He decided to sell a few leftover muffins from this morning and the cops came around asking about his licence. It went downhill from there.”

  “Oh, that’s just great,” I said. “How am I supposed to get out to the claim? I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think you can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m pretty sure I saw a familiar silver car parked in the Mining Recorder parking lot.”

  “Randy?”

  Shard nodded. “I think so. You’ve got to get that claim staked pronto.”

  I pulled the claim map out of my pocket. “You know, it’s not that far. I could probably walk it.”

  “Uh, what’s the scale on this map?” she asked. “That might be farther than you think.”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?” I said. “Look, I’m going to start walking and when Vinnie has this all sorted out, you guys come to the claim and give me a ride back.” I showed her the location of the claim on the map before folding it up and putting it back in my pocket.

  “Aren’t there dangerous wild animals out here?”

  “More dangerous than Randy?” I asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the road.”

  Shard reached into the plastic bag she had slung over her arm. “Don’t forget about the moose. They can trample you to death. Here, at least take these.” She put two yellow balls in my hands.

  “Onions?”

  “Yes, onions. I heard they keep moose away. They hate the smell. Cut the onions open and stick them in your pockets.”

  “Where’d you hear that? And what about the bears?”

  “They’re busy picking berries in the woods. They don’t want a stinky onion boy either.”

  I didn’t have the energy to argue with her logic. I stuffed the onions in my jacket pockets, took one last look at Vinnie throwing his arms up in the air as he talked to the cops, and reminded Shard to come for me as soon as possible. She headed to the truck to see if she could help Vinnie. I needed to get going.

  As I rounded a big bush on the corner of 2nd Avenue and King Street at a jog, I skidded to a stop. Again. Six more steps and I would have barrelled right into Enemy #1 — Randy. He was talking to a woman in a navy pantsuit carrying a briefcase.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’s him,” I heard Randy say to her. “I told Mrs. Ledbetter I’d notify the local child protective services if I saw him on my way up here. Here’s her number.”

  “I’ll give her a call, thanks,” the woman said.

  My heart thudded in my chest: he was talking to Enemy #2 — another caseworker. It was every nightmare I’d had in the past week come to life. Shard did say that she saw Randy talking to Mrs. Family Services in the apartment hallway before we left. A snake helping a piranha.

  I crouched down behind the bush, trying to control my breathing so I wouldn’t give myself away.

  I didn’t think things could possibly get worse.

  I was wrong.

  CHAPTER 22

  TREED AND OUT OF ONIONS

  I sneezed.

  The bush in front of me was covered in little white flowers but as far as I knew, I didn’t have allergies. But then I’d never been to the Yukon before. I peered through the branches, hoping a car or the wind or something, anything, had covered up the noise.

  Nope.

  Randy and Mrs. CPS were both staring in my direction. Then Randy started coming over to the bush.

  I had no choice. I jumped up and ran.

  With every ounce of energy I had left, I sprinted back toward Front Street — the opposite way from the claim. I could hear and feel Randy’s heavy footsteps pounding on the dirt road behind me. I veered left on Front Street to where the Trading Post was because I knew the street was full of tourists. I was hoping I could shake him in the crowds. To the right of the Trading Post was a dirt alley. Ducking behind a group from a bus tour, I headed down the alley, back toward 2nd Avenue. I glanced over my shoulder and couldn’t see Randy, which was a relief because I was spent. I came to a stop, gasping for breath.

  Then I heard pounding again. I looked behind me and saw Randy coming down the alley. I took off up 2nd Avenue, past Vinnie’s truck. Getting to King Street, I hung a right. Up the road there was a pub, Straggly Jack’s, and behind it was a familiar sight — a Dumpster. I ducked behind it and waited. In a matter of seconds I heard footsteps go by, slow, and then stop. Then, every nerve in my body on alert, I heard the footsteps come closer, pause, and come closer still. I could feel a trickle of sweat roll down my back.

  “What are you doing there, heh?”

  It was Neils. I nearly fainted with relief. I barely had the strength to stand up.

  “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Now who would you be hiding from? That’s what you were doing, right? Hiding?”

  “Uh, yeah. I thought someone was following me.”

  Neils put his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels, staring at me. “You know, when I was a boy, I got into a lot of trouble. So, I have a good eye for it. I don’t think that’s the whole story.”

  He was right, but I wasn’t about to tell him. I had to get out of there. I was running out of time, and the longer we stood there, the more chance that Randy or Mrs. CPS would find me.

  “I really have to go, Mr. Amundson.”

  “Call me Neils, remember? And go where? Where is your father staying?”

  You know how sometimes you get a light bulb moment and everything clicks into place? This was one of those times. “He’s said he’d meet me at my granddad’s cabin.”

  “What? Out on your claim?”

  I nodded.

  “And how were you planning on getting out there?”

  “Walking.”

  Neils laughed a big, hearty laugh. “Walk? In bear country? You’d be lunch for some hungry mama bear within half an hour.”

  I shrugged like it didn’t matter. But of course it mattered — it’s just that I didn’t have much choice. To go back to living in some seedy apartment in the city while my dad sank deeper and deeper into misery and drink was unthinkable.

  “Where’s your granddad’s cabin?”

  I gave him the directions I had memorized to get there.

  “That’s just one road east of my place and out where they say Wally Dearing found his gold. You might get lucky. Look, come with me, and I’ll drop you off with your dad.”

  I couldn’t turn that down. With both Randy and Mrs. CPS on the hunt for me, there was no way I would have been able to stay hidden while walking down some road in the wilderness.

  I walked out from behind the Dumpster with Neils, looking nervously left and right. Neils watched me, but said nothing. As we walked down King Street to where Neils’s truck was parked, a cop car came up beside us. My heart seized in my chest. Was I really going to come this far only to be nabbed now?

  “Hey there, Neils,” the officer called out the window.

  “Hey, Carl. What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that we caught that nuisance bear that you saw near your place and relocated him.”

  “That’s great news. Anna was pretty nervous going to the garden.”

  “Who’s this?” the officer asked, giving a bit of a chin nod in my direction.

  “Dirk here and his dad are going to be mining out Cottonwood Creek way.”

  The officer chuckled, “Maybe the
y’ll find Wally Dearing’s lost treasure.” He and Neils laughed. I felt my stomach turn over. Obviously the Dearings were a joke here too.

  The officer waved to Neils as he drove off.

  “Are you cold?” Neils asked me.

  “No. Why?”

  “Because you’re shaking.”

  He’d be shaking too, if he knew how close I’d come to being busted right then. If Child Protective Services had gotten to the police, I’d have been heading south already.

  “Uh, yeah, maybe a little cold.”

  Neils looked at me, but said nothing. I climbed into his blue pickup and snapped the seat belt. As we drove out of town, I kept a sharp eye out for Randy or Mrs. CPS. All was quiet. Was I finally going to catch a break?

  Within minutes, there was nothing but trees, trees and more trees. No houses, no farms, no power lines, nothing. It was a little eerie. Neils was telling me all about his wife, Anna, and how he had been gold mining all his life. He pointed out the gravel road that led to his property, and then the road went over a small bridge.

  “That’s Cottonwood Creek,” he said, and turned right onto the next dirt road. I sat up a little and had my first look at the land. No surprise, it was mostly trees. There was a downed tree blocking the end of the lane, but you could still see a clearing with a small log cabin in the distance.

  “You sure your dad’s here?” Neils asked. “I don’t see anyone around.”

  “Oh, he said if I got there first, I should just wait for him,” I replied smoothly. “Thanks so much for the ride, Neils.”

  “If you need anything, we’re just the next road over,” he said, looking uneasy. I guess he didn’t want to leave me there alone, but I smiled and waved and headed for the cabin. Eventually I heard his truck back down the lane.

  The sun beat down on me, and here among the trees where there was no wind, it was actually warm. Worse than that, it was buggy. And I mean buggy. Mosquitoes were swarming and biting me all over. Their high-pitched whine was constantly in my ear, almost driving me crazy. When we were here to mine, we’d have to get some bug spray. Maybe barrels of it.

  And there were these odd grunting and crashing sounds coming from the bush. It made me nervous. As dumb as it sounded when Shard gave them to me, I pulled the onions out and used my small saw to slice them in half. I put them back in my pockets and man, did they smell.

  Now the trick was to find the posts that marked the claim and attach my new tags. I knew from reading the website before we left roughly where they should be, so I started working my way through the bush to find the “location line.”

  It took a while, but I finally found one post. The old tag was hanging by only one nail and it was hard to read the words etched on it. The date it was staked was illegible but I could make out the name of the staker: Jonah Stuckless. It felt awfully good to rip that tag off the post. I stomped it into the mud under my foot for good measure.

  This is for you, you filthy rat, I thought. Then I used the saw to lop off the sapling beside it to create a new post with a flat face. I used two of my new nails and my mini hammer to attach the tag. With the marker in my backpack, I wrote Francis Dearing on the post. I felt better already.

  The second post was supposed to be visible from the first, but a lot of the trees and shrubs had overgrown the area, making it hard to see. I used my hammer like a machete to bushwhack my way through. I kept a listen for Vinnie’s truck. Where was he?

  I’m sure I lost a pint of blood to the mosquitoes by the time I located the second post. I pried the old Stuckless tag off that one and threw it as far away as I could. I was rummaging around in my backpack looking for the second tag when I heard something. It sounded like huffing — really loud, low huffing. I froze.

  There was a thumping and crashing coming closer and closer through the brush. What was it? And was it coming for me?

  I cut another small post as quick as I could and banged the top nail to hold my second tag on it. The noise was getting closer. Whatever it was, it was heading in my direction. I was working on the bottom nail when I looked up and saw it. A big brown moose head. I didn’t realize moose were so large. I always pictured them more like the size of deer, but this sucker was in the elephant-size zone. At least that’s how it looked from where I was, crouched down, trying to nail a tag to a post. I took one last swing at the nail and then headed straight for the nearest spruce tree.

  I didn’t have much experience climbing trees. I could shimmy up a drainpipe like a rat, or use a skipping rope like a ninja, but there weren’t a lot of trees that needed climbing in the city. Still, it’s amazing what you can do with a thousand-pound lady moose coming at you. I knew it was a she because she didn’t have any antlers.

  I got off the ground, but was stuck on the second-lowest branch. Why weren’t the onions working? Hanging on to the branch with one hand, I used the other to pull one of the onion halves out and wave it around.

  I prayed it would get one whiff of the onion and take off, but the moose just kept coming closer. And even though I was up a tree, the moose was so tall she could still reach me with her big yellow teeth.

  “Shoo. Shoo!” I said, waving one onion half at her.

  She stepped closer to the tree. This was the end. I was about to be a moose meal. Her face reached up to me … she huffed … opened her mouth … and sneezed. Great gobs of moose snot hit my arms. It. Was. Disgusting.

  How did I get in this mess — stranded up a tree, my pockets full of onions and moose snot running down my arm?

  Then the moose’s lips came up to my hand. She snatched the onion right out of it and started chewing. She loved it. So much for onions keeping moose away. When I saw Shard again, I vowed, I was going to strangle her.

  The moose finished chewing and could no doubt smell the other three pieces in my pockets. This was going to end badly if I didn’t think of something fast.

  I dug in my pocket for another onion and threw it a little bit away from the tree. The moose heard it hit the ground and lumbered over. I could hear the crunching as she devoured it. I grabbed another onion half. I threw it so it would land a little farther from my tree, but close enough so the moose could find it. It worked. She ambled over and hunted around in the grass for it. One more. I waited until she was almost done chewing so she would notice it fall. It landed with a thud, and like the onion-lover she was, she headed straight for it.

  It was my best chance. I jumped down from the tree and took off for the road. I hoped the moose wouldn’t chase me … I was out of onions.

  CHAPTER 23

  NOWHERE LEFT TO RUN

  Have you ever tried to run in a straight line with nothing to steer by? Yeah, it’s next to impossible. You always go in a big circle. Did you know that? I know that. That’s because long after I should have hit the dirt road leading to the highway, I was hopelessly lost in brush and trees.

  I tried using the sun to get my bearings like they do in adventure stories, but seeing as I have no idea how to do that, all squinting at the sun did was give me spots in front of my eyes. I thought it was getting lower in the sky. But does the sun ever set around here?

  I had to make my best guess and keep moving so I headed in the direction I decided was west. Seeing as I knew Dawson was west of our property, all I had to do was head in that direction for, oh, you know, a week or two and I’d be there. That is if I wasn’t sucked dry by the mosquitoes or eaten by a moose or mangled by a grizzly.

  I stopped thrashing through the forest and sat on a rock. I pulled out my granddad’s picture.

  Fine mess I’m in now, I told the photo. I found your claim, but now I can’t find my way out. I don’t know what I was hoping would happen. Maybe the ghost of my granddad would appear with an outstretched arm pointing the way.

  No ghost, but while I sat there in silence, I could make out a low gurgling sound I hadn’t heard while I was snapping twigs and crunching last year’s leaves underfoot. Then it hit me. It was the creek! Cottonwood Creek! All I
had to do was follow it and I would eventually come out by the bridge at the road.

  I smiled at the picture before wrapping it in my sweater again and putting it away. Granddad had come through after all.

  I headed in the direction of the gurgling and almost fell into the creek. Facing the sun, I went to the right, which should be north, and figured that would take me to the road.

  It wasn’t easy following the creek. There was no path and sometimes I veered away from the water to go around a thick stand of trees or boulders. I was afraid I would get lost again, but if I stopped and listened, I would hear the gurgling.

  The sun was casting long shadows now so I quickened my pace. A wall of spruce trees blocked my way — I had to detour again. This time I could hear something else: heavy footfalls. Was it a moose or a bear?

  Little did I know, it would have been better to be a moose or a bear — that’s because it was something much, much worse. Out of the shadows of the trees stepped someone I had hoped never to see again.

  Randy. I didn’t wait around to ask him how he found me, or what he was doing here, or what he wanted, because at this point the reasons were unimportant. I just took off. Forget trying to follow the creek — that took too long. I just headed for whatever looked like a trail.

  It was no use. Randy was bigger, faster and stronger than me. He caught up to me, put his big mangy paw on my arm and yanked me back.

  “Not so fast, scrawny,” he said, his bad breath making me gag.

  “Let go of me!” I yelled, trying to twist out of his grip. He just gripped me tighter. We were told once, in a program at school called Street Smarts, that if a stranger grabbed you, you did whatever it took to get free — including fighting dirty. So I did. I spun around to face Randy and kneed him right there. Where it really hurts a guy.

  Randy let go of me and fell to the ground, holding himself and moaning. And no, I didn’t feel sorry for him at all.

  I took off again, using his pain to get a head start.

  I was looking over my shoulder nervously in the direction of the noise when I ran smack into a post. It hit my right temple and dazed me for a moment. I had run into my claim post. Literally.