The Wild Inside

by Jamey Bradbury

  Dad rearranged my blankets, fluffed one of my pillows. He seemed distracted, or hesitant, and finally after he hadn’t said nothing in more than a minute, I said, What?

  He sighed again. I don’t want to tell you that you can’t run your race, he said. But—

  I know, I interrupted because I didn’t want him to have to say it neither. I know I’m too sick to run. My voice cracked. Silly, the way my eyes stung when I had made this decision myself. But saying the words out loud somehow made it more real.

  I’m sorry, kiddo. Dad stroked my hair.

  It’s okay, I said and swallowed the sob that wanted to come out of me.

  We sat in the dark for a time, neither of us saying anything. Till I cleared my throat. You should run, I said. Before Dad could tell me it was against the rules or he wasn’t ready, I went on, I read over the rulebook, and if it’s an emergency, the race marshal can approve a substitute musher. The fee’s already paid, the team is ready, and anyhow, people want to see you race again.

  Trace—

  And Steve Inga is practically best friends with everyone who’s ever been involved with the race. He could talk the marshal into okaying a sub.

  He shook his head. Even if Steve finagled that, he said, there’s no time. The mandatory meeting’s on Friday—

  So? It’s Wednesday. We shipped the food drops before the Junior. All you need to do is pack your sled bag and go.

  Dad frowned, but I could see a spark in his eyes. He was thinking of reasons to say no, but there was just as many reasons to say yes. I knew he just needed a push.

  There hasn’t been a Petrikoff in the big race since Mom died, I told him. I was too young, and you was suspended. But both of us is eligible now. If Mom was here—

  I didn’t need to finish what I was going to say. I could see it in his face, in the way his whole body changed, his muscles seemed to relax even as a sort of excitement pulsed off of him.

  Please? I said, for good measure.

  He held up a hand. If I race, that means Helen is going to come out and check on you. I might see if she can even stay here, long as you’re feeling poorly.

  Fine, I said and sunk back into my pillows, tired and relieved.

  Dad smiled at me. Guess I’d better go pack, eh? You want some breakfast before I do?

  I shook my head. I think I’m just going to sleep a bit more.

  He give me a kiss on the forehead before he left the room. I did sleep afterward, not just for a few more minutes but for the whole day. When I woke it was long past sunset and the house was quiet. I trembled while I dressed, my skin cold now and my head swimmy. I longed to head into the woods, slice open the vein of some lively critter. But I still had work to do.

  Jesse had turned in for the night. The beam of my flashlight bounced off the shed’s walls as I slipped off my boots and climbed onto the cot next to him. He woke with a jump, then relaxed when he seen it was me.

  You’re freezing, he said. His voice seemed smaller in the dark.

  I snuggled closer to him. I hadn’t come out to the shed since before the Junior, even before I’d left for the race I had often been too busy to visit, I ended most of my days by falling into my own bed and not waking till Dad poked his head into my room and let me know coffee was on. I had missed the shed filled with the orange glow from the woodstove, missed the closeness of the room. Waking up to find Jesse next to me. I would miss him again, but if my plan worked, I wouldn’t have to for long.

  What happened? Jesse asked.

  We hadn’t had a chance to talk private since I’d made Dad drive me home from the Junior and busted into the house, expecting to find Hatch. It took me a second to realize Jesse was asking about the message I’d give him that night. I seen the man from the fair, the man who won the strength game.

  Hatch was at the start, I said now. He waved at me. I was certain he meant to come out here while me and Dad was gone. But he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and he seen the three of you, and decided to wait.

  Jesse frowned. You think he’s waiting till the Iditarod to come back and—what, exactly?

  You tell me, I said. You know him. Why would he of stayed in Alaska so long past the time it took him to heal?

  In the dark, I didn’t have to close my eyes to see Hatch gazing at me the way he’d gazed at Jesse. Or feel his hand in mine. Or his weight on me, his breath in my ear, the rake an arm’s length away, my fingers straining for the handle. I came here to start a new life. I didn’t expect the old one to follow me is what Jesse had said about Hatch coming north. I couldn’t imagine a man who would cross so many thousands of miles to chase after someone who didn’t want him. Then again, I didn’t know the man. Not like Jesse done.

  You’re right, Jesse said. He’s figuring Bill will race, he’ll be gone, and as far as Tom knows, you and Scott and Helen will go down to Anchorage with him. Maybe that’s what the Junior was about—he staked this place out first.

  Seeing if you was still here, or if you moved on, I said.

  And now he thinks after Bill leaves, I’ll stay behind. Alone, Jesse said. He pulled his gaze away from the ceiling to give me a look. Is that why you’re not racing?

  I’m sick, I reminded him.

  He rolled his eyes. Then said, Fine. So we wait for him. And when he comes, we’ll be ready.

  I’ll be ready, I said.

  What?

  You can’t be here, I told him. I can’t do what I need to do, plus keep you safe.

  He sat up. What you need to do?

  I didn’t answer, only watched the fire, so close to dying the wood had stopped crackling, there was only embers left. No sound from the dog yard outside. Silence growing thicker between us, so dense that when Jesse finally spoke, his one syllable barely broke through.

  Oh, he said.

  I kissed him then. Tired of talking, tired of thinking and convincing. I had more work ahead of me, but for now all I wanted was to sleep a bit, next to his warmth.

  He wasn’t done, though. If one of us is staying behind to deal with Tom, he said, it should be me. I can talk to him. Get him to leave, once and for all.

  Has that ever worked before? I said. All the times he found you as you was coming north? You just talked, and he stopped?

  Jesse’s face flushed. No, but—

  He went quiet. Light behind his eyes, his brain puzzling something together. His mind worked fast, I could almost hear it clicking and whirring like some kind of efficient machine.

  Fine, he said after a spell. But I should still be the one to—get rid of him.

  I sighed. Then pounced, I wound my legs round his and pinned his arms to the mattress, my teeth pressed against the soft skin of his neck, where a vein throbbed. I could feel his pulse speed up under my tongue. He tried to pull out of my grip, but I held on for a few seconds to prove my point.

  I haven’t drunk in days, I told him when I let go. I feel like shit, but I could still do that. Hatch is stronger than you, too. But I’m at least as strong as him. If one of us has a shot at dealing with him at all, it’s me.

  I could tell Jesse was irritated, but he was also coming round to my point. I don’t like it, he said anyway.

  Don’t matter if you do, I told him. Only one of us needs to have this on our conscience, and it might as well be me, since I’m the one who nearly killed him the first time.

  He chewed his lip, wanting to protest. But he said, If you think that’s what’s best.

  I closed my eyes, pulled his blankets round me. The mattress creaked when he lay down again. I was so close to sleep. But I spoke up one last time.

  Stay in Anchorage, I said. At least for a while. Helen will bring Scott back home after the ceremonial start, but you tell her you’re volunteering with Steve for the rest of the race. And don’t come back till Dad finishes.

  But—

  Promise, I said.

  Outside, one of the dogs howled. Another joined in, then another. They sang like that for a long minute, baying at no moon, just chec
king in with each other, harmonizing briefly then falling silent again.

  Okay, Jesse said and that settled it, the dogs begun to sing again and I floated on their voices, lifted up, up, soaring into the night even as I sunk deeper into sleep.

  The morning they left I bundled up and stepped outside to watch Dad recheck the bindings that secured his sled to the dog box. The team was already inside, each dog probably already curled up and dozing, they was so used to the road trips that took them to each race start.

  Helen come out onto the back stoop and put her arm round me. I’ll be back right after the official start, she said. Or maybe I should stay here? How are you feeling?

  Go, I told her. Otherwise, Steve is going to have to be Dad’s date for the mushers’ banquet.

  She grinned and give me a squeeze. Soon the trucks was loaded up, Jesse behind the wheel of one truck with Scott in the cab next to him, and Helen waiting on Dad in the second.

  Dad come over to where I stood. How you feeling? he asked.

  Pissed off.

  He chuckled, then got serious. I know. This isn’t how I pictured this day.

  My stomach cramped, and I winced.

  I’m not so sure I ought to go myself, Dad said. You’ve been sick an awfully long time.

  He took off his hat, and right then I was convinced he would shuck his coat, too, tell Jesse to take the sled down and let the dogs out. I had gone too far, got too sick, and now he wasn’t going to race.

  If I don’t feel better after the weekend, I told him, I’ll have Helen take me to the clinic. Okay?

  Mean it?

  I swear, I said.

  I’m calling Helen from the first checkpoint, he said. She better tell me you made a full recovery or that I’m getting a bill from the doctor. One way or the other.

  Yes, sir.

  Good enough, he said, then a look of surprise struck his face. Hell’s bells, Trace. I nearly forgot! Happy birthday.

  A laugh fell out of me. For months, I had pinned my hopes on this birthday, it was the whole reason I was even able to enter the big race. But I’d got so preoccupied with Hatch and Jesse and convincing Dad to race, I had forgot all about it.

  I didn’t even make you a cake, Dad said.

  How about you just win this race? I said. That would be a pretty good gift.

  A win for Tracy, he said and give me a hug. I’ll do my best.

  Then he was walking away, leaving me where I stood. He climbed into his truck, the engine already running to keep the cab warm. Jesse rolled his window down and stuck his head out, give me a look. He started to say something, then changed his mind. Whatever he’d wanted to say, odds was he couldn’t say it in front of Scott, anyhow.

  I waved one more time, then darted inside, through the kitchen and up the stairs to my room, before the trucks rolled down the driveway. Even from inside the house I could hear the engines grumbling then growing faint as my family pulled away. I could see them leaving. Dad’s truck first, then the one Jesse drove. I could see it easily enough from my bed, blankets over my head, eyes closed. Didn’t need or want to see the real thing.

  When I woke, it was Friday. I reached over to my bedside table and found my knife. Sliced across my palm and licked. Enough to wake me up and make me feel for the first time in days like I might want to do more than trudge from my bed to the bathroom and back. I put on boots and a sweater, tucked my hair under a wool hat, then struck out across the yard and onto the trail. Jesse and Dad both had checked my traps early on but they hadn’t reset any since I was too sick to mind them. So I hunted, still feeling slightly woozy, till round midmorning, a snare I set caught a small marten near a squirrel midden where it liked to rest.

  Once I had something warm in me, there wasn’t much to do but wait, and think.

  Next morning, I watched the ceremonial start on television, sharpening my knife as Dad’s number was announced and the crowd clapped and cheered to see his team sail down Fourth Avenue. The real start happened the following day, fewer cameras round and no television coverage, just mushers and their families, handlers, volunteers. A few busy hours as the mushers left the chute one by one, then everyone scattered.

  Helen had planned to drive back to the village that same evening, after the official start, and Scott spent the night with her so she could drop him at school the next day. Late Monday afternoon, her Jeep come trundling up the drive as I was working my way through a small stack of wood.

  Scott leaped out of the Jeep, already chattering at me about the start and the mushers he’d met, the movie he and Helen had caught while they was in the city. It wasn’t till his stomach complained loud enough all three of us heard it, and he run inside for a snack, that me and Helen was alone.

  I split a log and it fell to the ground.

  I guess you’re feeling better, Helen said.

  Once I’m done being sick, I said, I bounce back fast.

  No kidding.

  I stood another log on its end.

  Jesse called last night from Skwentna, Helen said. He didn’t want to call here and wake you up, but he asked me to tell you that Bill came in with the early leaders.

  I frowned. What’s Jesse doing at Skwentna?

  Just eighty-three miles from Anchorage, Skwentna was one of the busiest checkpoints, since most teams hit it the first night. I pictured Jesse there, antsy and wondering what was happening back here, if Tom Hatch had showed up yet.

  Helen waved a hand. Oh, who knows where he is now. Steve’s got him traveling all up and down the trail. Jesse’s going to have a front-row seat to the entire race, from what it sounds like.

  I went back to chopping to hide the relief that come over me.

  Helen went on, He also said to tell you Bill stayed six hours at the checkpoint. He’s using the Tracy Strategy, is what Jesse said.

  Hearing that made me smile. Dad had planned to check in at Skwentna and get through the vet check, then grab his food bags and hit the trail again, quick. His strategy was to run fast early on, get as much distance from the other mushers as he could.

  But I had planned to run my race slow and steady. Since it was my first year, my job wouldn’t of been to try and win but to learn the course, finish strong, and look toward the next year, when I could run as a seasoned musher. I had read how long-distance runners pace themselves, going slower the first half of a race to conserve energy so they could speed up toward the latter half, and I thought that plan could work for a team of dogs. I’d meant to try it out over the course of the Iditarod, just to see. Weeks before, I’d asked Dad what he thought. Might just work, he’d said. Then added, Every musher’s got to come up with their own way of running a race. Now he had decided to run my race for me, in more ways than one.

  Helen took her coat off, laid it over the hood of her Jeep. Started gathering the logs I’d split, stacked them on the sled till it was full then drug it over to the woodshed. When she come back, I swung the axe, then told her, Appreciate you bringing Scott home from school. I reckon I can drive him tomorrow morning.

  You don’t have to worry about that, Trace, she said. I thought I’d stay the afternoon. I’ve got a night shift tonight at the clinic, but after that I thought I’d hang around for a couple days. I figure you could use the company. Besides, you’ve been sick—

  I feel fine now.

  She nodded. You’re still on the mend, though. I don’t imagine you’ll want to keep the house up and run Scott around while your dad and Jesse are away.

  I appreciate it, I said again, but I can manage.

  I really don’t mind—

  I do.

  She put her hands in her pockets. I kept my eyes on her, waiting for her to look away, but she didn’t.

  I told your dad I’d look in on you, she said. I know you’re old enough to manage on your own, but you don’t have to, Tracy. I really think I ought to stay. I’d like to.

  She was growing roots right in front of me, every second I let her talk they sunk deeper in the ground. Truth i
s, I wanted to let her stay. A wildness come over me, a recklessness sent the words battering at my lips, clamoring to get out and let Helen in on my secrets, all of them. Tom Hatch, Jesse, how both of them come to be here, and why. What I was, what I was capable of.

  Instead, I thought of Tom Hatch. Conjured up the same images I’d worried over when I seen him at the Junior. A knife in his hand, a gun, his weapon pointed at Scott and Helen. I found a hardness inside myself, like a wall, and stood behind it.

  It don’t matter what you like, I said. Fact is, you’re not my mother, Helen. I’m eighteen. I don’t need a mother. I don’t need you.

  The smallest smile on her face as she watched me. I piled the rest of the logs on the sled and waited for her to move, prayed she would leave. An apology on my tongue that I couldn’t give voice to.

  Finally she tugged her coat back on. Opened the door of the Jeep. Before she got in, she said, Fine. I’ll bring Bill’s truck in the morning, and you can give me a ride back to the village when you take Scott to school.

  I took the axe in hand again.

  Call me if you need anything, Tracy.

  I didn’t look back, just listened as her tires shuffled over the soft snow.

  The second day of the race, when Scott called after school to ask if he could spend the night with the Lester kid’s family, I told him it was fine. Then, trying not to sound too eager, I added, Do you think his mom would be okay with you staying a couple days, actually? I’m not feeling so hot again, and I don’t want you to catch nothing.

  Sure, Scott said. Or I could just stay at Helen’s—

  No! I snapped. If Helen got wind I was sick again, she would come back to the house, no matter how rude I had been to her before. I added, I just mean, Helen’s awful busy, and she’s done so much for us. Let’s give her a break, what do you say?