Books by Sue Henry

by Henry, Sue

  It wouldn’t last long. Then what?

  Well…I’d be warmer.

  Yeah, and no closer to any real shelter…still lost where no one knows where you are…even you.

  Right. Better keep going—somewhere.

  Back in Dawson they must be working on something. Delafosse was no slouch. Soon they would realize she was late getting into Eagle and go looking—she hoped. Still, they might find her team, if that hadn’t already been done by some other racer, but they would have no idea where to look for her. Her abductor had planned viciously and well. She was one solitary, very small figure in a landscape so huge and white it might as well have been erased from consideration. They could hunt for weeks and never locate her, the track of her passage rubbed out by the wind and heavily falling snow.

  Oh, that’s depressing. Think about something else. You can’t just give up.

  I know. I won’t. I certainly won’t. This makes me furious. If I can beat them by surviving, you better believe I will.

  She knew what Alex would be quoting right now, Frost—an appropriate name:

  And miles to go before I sleep,

  And miles to…

  Without so much as a flicker, her headlamp suddenly went out, the batteries dead. No amount of shaking could bring it back to even a minute of hesitant life, and the extra batteries were on her sled. She thrust it into the outside pocket that had held the handgun, and went on.

  In the dark, she felt disoriented and directionless. Starting down a hill, she fell over something under the snow, a fallen tree trunk, perhaps, and got up, knowing she was completely on the wrong course. Thinking for a minute, she turned ninety degrees from the direction she had been headed and walked away from it, hoping to find the track again. With no success in one direction, she followed her tracks back to where she had made the abrupt turn and walked the same distance in the other direction. That was just as fruitless, and again she returned to where she had started.

  With the dark white snow blowing around her like a mist that partially obscured the ground, every hill, depression, and gully looked the same. She couldn’t even tell which direction was west anymore, with the flat whiteness giving her no clues. There was nothing helpful—no stars or moon, no shadows, very little light.

  Stumbling through snow almost to her hips, she realized that she had somehow left and completely lost the trail. Dazed, she searched around her again, yet saw nothing but white everywhere. She tried to put out the spark of panic that grew in her mind, but no trace of a trail appeared and fear blew the spark into a burning coal.

  Well, she thought, I’m really lost. Got to stop looking for the track of that damned machine. He may have run a few circles just to confuse me anyway. I could go back and try to find the place where I messed up, but I’d better just figure out which direction seems the best and go that way. I can’t stop moving, so maybe it doesn’t matter so much where I move, as long as I don’t quit. Can’t quit.

  It seemed there was a small separation between the few trees she could make out ahead of her, a hint of what might once have been a trail, or a trapper’s track. So she went walking along it, and refilling the water bottle, as time dragged on. At some point, she ate another candy bar, hoping to give her flagging energy a boost, and it helped for a little while, but not long. Soon she began to stumble more often and knew that in not too long she was going to be in real trouble. It seemed she had been moving forward forever.

  When she had walked until she was drained, Jessie began to fall. Snow covered her clothing, and her feet and hands, even in their well insulated protection, had begun to grow numb with cold. She wiggled her fingers and toes to encourage circulation.

  Staggering to the crest of a small rise, she found herself looking down a long hill into a valley that was mostly obscured with swirling white. The wind blew dry curtains of snow over the edge of the hill that scoured away at her face with icy grains, then deposited them on the leeward slope. Coming and going in clouds, the snow obscured everything along the ground. As it subsided and thinned slightly, a long ways away, she thought she glimpsed some kind of dark structure, low to the ground—a cabin? Maybe. A hallucination? Maybe. Whatever it was, it seemed impossibly far away, as it disappeared into the drifting paleness—a rock outcropping, probably—just a dream spun of exhaustion, desperation, and desire.

  She stood in the wind’s gusts, staring stupidly at the place where it had been, disbelieving it, unable to make herself start toward it. But there was nothing else and at least it was something to aim for. Maybe it was real. There might be someone…

  “Help,” she tried to cry out, but only a ravenlike croak emerged from her dry, tired throat. “Help.” Only a little louder than a whisper, it would never be heard unless she was much closer—most likely not even then.

  With a burst of determination and fear, she thrust herself forward over the snowy crest and was suddenly up to her waist in a drift the wind had piled below the rise. Half buried in it, she thrashed and struggled, trying to force her body forward, miring herself in the process and sinking even deeper. With a gasp of frustration, she lost her balance and fell over into the powder, which swallowed her.

  For a long minute she lay still. It felt so good to lie down. She curled into a heat-conserving ball, closed her eyes, and let her breathing steady. She felt warmer, but so very tired.

  I could sleep, she thought. If I could rest for just a little while…then I would be able to get up and make it down the hill…later.

  23

  “He was older than the days he had seen and the breaths he had drawn. He linked the past with the present, and the eternity behind him throbbed through him in a mighty rhythm to which he swayed as the tides and seasons swayed. He [was]…a broad-breasted dog, white-fanged and long-furred; but behind him were the shades of all manner of dogs, half-wolves and wild wolves, urgent and prompting, tasting the savor of the meat he ate, thirsting for the water he drank, scenting the wind with him, listening with him and telling him the sounds made by the wildlife in the forest, dictating his moods, directing his actions, lying down to sleep with him when he lay down, and dreaming with him and beyond him and becoming themselves the stuff of his dreams.”

  —Jack London, The Call of the Wild

  AT THE TOP OF AMERICAN SUMMIT, JESSIE’S LEAD DOG, Tank, woke suddenly from his sleep in the snow and raised his head, listening.

  For a long time after Jessie had taken something from the sled and gone away on the iron dog that roared and whined and smelled unpleasant, he had stood looking after her into the curtain of snow, puzzled. Though there were times that she depended on his judgment, it was usually not his place to question her actions, but her abrupt departure had been as unexpected as it was unusual, and he didn’t quite know what to make of it or what to do. So he did nothing, but waited, anticipating that she would soon reappear to tell him where she wanted him to lead the rest of the team.

  Eventually, when she did not return, he thought that perhaps she had meant the team to rest, though this was not a comfortable place to sleep and she had given them nothing to eat. He grew tired of standing and was cold, for the wind had blown his fur full of snow and its icy crystals had frozen again in the hair around his eyes and nose.

  The other dogs had dug themselves into the snow and lay curled in balls of fur that were rapidly drifting over, forming warmer pockets that contained their body heat and let them sleep more snugly. Making a small sound of resignation in his throat, half whine, he dug his own depression, turned around in it several times, and lay down nose to tail, where he was soon snoozing, though more lightly than the rest.

  Now, in the dark, something woke him.

  Raising his head, Tank poked his nose through the drift that had formed over him, and a small avalanche fell away from his inquisitive muzzle. The wind was still howling across the open plateau of the summit, drowning out all except the nearest sounds. He listened carefully, but heard nothing else. He was aware of the other dogs resting com
fortably in their small caves beneath the surface of the snow, heard one stirring, shifting position slightly. The world was a whirl of flying white, difficult to see through and growing colder.

  Something was wrong. Jessie had not come back and they had been resting there by the sled for quite some time, longer than she would generally leave them to fend for themselves. Where was she? Did she need him? Somehow he felt she might need him. Could she be waiting for him to bring the team to wherever she was? She had not called—or if she had, he had not heard her. But maybe that was what had broken his uneasy sleep. Had it been Jessie’s voice that demanded his attention?

  He stood up, turned his back to the force of the wind, tucked his tail between his legs, and thought hard.

  Jessie had trained him to come with the team when she called or gestured—made sure that he knew how to bring the team by himself, without her guidance, if necessary. Sometimes she had stood on the opposite bank of a creek filled with ice and water, or walked a long ways ahead until she was hidden behind trees and brush, and called him to come. When she did this it was up to him to pick the best route through or around the obstacle, whatever it was—find her track, swim, if necessary—to bring the rest through to her. Then she always praised him, made him proud of his success.

  Was this another test? If it was, it was past time to go and find her.

  Shaking his coat thoroughly, he moved away from his resting spot, pulling the gang line along behind him, tightening it and the tug line that connected Pete’s harness to it, disturbing the older dog, bringing him and his running mate to their feet. Time to go?

  Dog by dog, the process continued as Tank moved purposely ahead in the direction Jessie had gone, until all were awake, up, and in their places along the now-taut line that connected them to the sled. They stood, yawning and shaking themselves to rid their coats of snow and ice, rested and ready to go again. But where was their driver?

  If Jessie was not present, all the dogs recognized Tank as their leader. If he indicated they should pull, they did, for they counted on him to know when it was time. Now he moved, so they followed behind him, breaking the sled runners loose from where they had lightly frozen into the icy surface, pulling the sled slowly at first, then faster, until they were moving together at their usual ground-covering trot.

  Tank was following the feel and scent of the trail on which Jessie had disappeared. He caught the scent of several teams that had passed this way ahead of him, along with the offensive smell of the iron dog. This was the way. There were hints of Jessie’s familiar scent as well, so he knew he was on the right track.

  The team was silent, for sled dogs seldom bark when they run. Swiftly, they ran through the dark, like shadows, like a ghost team, without the usual beam from the driver’s head lamp. Cleanly, efficiently, they towed the heavy sled behind them, moving in well practiced concert, a live machine, capable of long hours at this speed of travel.

  They slowed once, when Tank found that the trail divided and hesitated momentarily. One track went to the right and it smelled of other dog teams pulling sleds. The other held only the smell of the iron dog, the noisy metal thing that Jessie had ridden into the dark. But it told him that she had gone that way, so that was the direction in which he turned, swinging the rest of his teammates with him, and they were off again.

  The snow grew deeper, packed only in the narrower track of the iron dog, but it was sufficient to their needs and they continued to follow it. It grew crooked, winding around the sides of hills, over icy places where water had frozen under it and Tank could hear the scraping of the sled as it passed over the solid slickness. The way remained quite smooth, for, though he could not know it, under the iron dog track, beneath the snow, lay a gravel road used only in the summer. This enabled them to pull the heavy sled on a level surface, which kept it from overbalancing, as it might have on a more uneven track.

  He had been hungry for a long while and thought that, when he found Jessie, she would feed him, give him something to drink, also. That was an encouraging idea that made him increase their speed slightly, as the steep hills gave way to flatter ground and the trail, with its olfactory hints of her, began to pass between trees.

  Her scent was growing stronger. Soon, now, he was sure he would find her waiting for him with dinner and approval for his ability and talent in following the difficult trail without direct guidance—the test she had set him.

  Soon. He would find her, soon.

  At five in the morning in Dawson, the lights were still burning in the Delafosse cabin and no one was asleep. Claire sat in one of the chairs by the fire, periodically poking at it nervously. Del had just taken several empty glasses and coffee cups to the kitchen and returned with the rest of the apple pie on three plates.

  “It’s long past time for her to have made it into Eagle,” Caswell stated in irritation and worry, as he paced the floor, unable to be still. “Why haven’t we heard? Something must be wrong.”

  “I know, and I don’t like it.” Delafosse set the pie on the hearth, crossed to the telephone, and reached for the receiver. “Enough waiting. I’m going to call Eagle.”

  Before he could lift it, the instrument rang demandingly under his hand.

  “Delafosse.”

  In growing concern, Cas watched him.

  “How long ago? How bad is it? Yes. You’ve already contacted them? Yes. Who brought her in? Did he say anything about meeting Jessie Arnold? Get him on the line, will you?”

  Another space of silent attention.

  “Yes…hello? Yes. Is this Ehlers? What happened up there? Really an accident? You’re sure?”

  Claire got up from her chair and came to stand beside Cas, also listening intently.

  “She told you what was going on, then? Yes, I do understand. Yes. What time? No, she hasn’t reached Eagle—at least she hasn’t called. That’s true. No. We don’t know.”

  A pause, then, “You’re sure? Okay, but take it easy, and look carefully to see if there’s anything to give us a clue also at what…Yes. I’ll wait for it. Thanks.”

  Shaking his head, he finally hung up the phone and turned to Cas and Claire, who were both waiting, tense and anxious.

  “That was Forty Mile. Half an hour ago a musher named Ehlers brought another, Gail Murray, down from the summit with a broken leg and a certain amount of hypothermia from exposure. She may have frozen a few toes, but seems okay otherwise.

  “That was Ehlers I talked to last. He said that he met Jessie coming back down from pretty close to the top with Murray, working both their teams. She had found Murray pinned under the hurt woman’s sled that had tipped over on a switchback. Ehlers volunteered to take over and bring her down. He says Jessie turned around and went right back up there. Says she told him she had something important to do but he hasn’t told the race officials that she was going to deliver the ransom. She told him to get hold of me and let me know she was running behind schedule.”

  “She’s still behind schedule,” Cas calculated. “That accounts for part of the time, but she still should have reached Eagle by now.”

  “That’s what Ehlers thinks, too. He’s going to get some sleep, then head back up there. He’s hours behind and it’s blowing a real son-of-a-bitch blizzard on top, but maybe he can find out something. Or maybe she’ll make it into the Eagle checkpoint ahead of him.”

  “Who is this Ehlers guy? Any possibility that—”

  “I don’t know, but I sure do intend to find out—and fast. Let’s go down to the Quest office and get some information. Claire, why don’t you go on to bed. We’ll be back soon.”

  “Not a chance, you closet chauvinist. You think I could sleep now? I’m going, too.”

  The temper that went along with the red hair had made its first appearance, soliciting a grin from Cas.

  “Guess you asked for that one, Del.”

  “Guess I did at that. Sorry, Claire.”

  John Noble—who had arrived in Forty Mile ahead of Jessie, wet and ch
illed, and left behind her—made it through to Eagle. When two more racers reached Eagle without seeing any trace of her or her team on the mountain, those waiting in Dawson knew that something had gone terribly wrong on American Summit.

  They immediately headed for Eagle.

  24

  “When the frost grows lusty at sixty below, men cannot long remain without fire or excessive exercise, and live.”

  —Jack London, “A Daughter of the Aurora”

  THERE WAS A SOFT PILLOW AND SHE WAS WARM AND DRY IN her own big brass bed—safe…and warm. If she opened her eyes she would be able to see the log walls of her home cabin and the row of mustache mugs that belonged to Alex on a shelf across the room. He must be awake and already up, for she seemed to smell coffee brewing and hear the sizzle of bacon in the big cast-iron frying pan.

  Ah, well…time to get up if she wanted her two eggs over-easy to really be over-easy. Alex always overcooked them. He liked his eggs fried hard enough so there was no runny yellow yolk to wipe from the plate with the last crust of toast. What a waste.

  Jessie opened her eyes—and was blind.

  There was nothing but black before her.

  It isn’t really dark when you close your eyes, she thought. If you look carefully you can see colors behind your eyelids, lines and swirls, shimmering spots. It’s only completely dark when you open your eyes and there is absolutely no light at all. Closing her eyes again, she compared the two, thoughtfully.

  It was cold. Had she left the window open too far again? No. It was her feet that were cold. She assessed the situation, opened her eyes to the blackness once more, and realized that her whole body was cold—terribly cold. What the hell was going on? Where was she?

  Outside. You’re outside.

  How could I be outside? It’s the middle of the winter.

  A race. You were running a race.

  What race?

  A race on the river.

  The Yukon Quest, she remembered suddenly.