Beneath the Snow by CJ Carver

Author:CJ Carver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction

Twenty-two

Walter turned the dogs around, a difficult process given the narrowness of the track, and involving a lot of untangling of traces and heaving of his sled. Then he bundled Abby in front of him, wrapping her legs in a length of lightweight caribou skin, with its hair facing inward.

‘Traps air for added warmth this way,’ he told her briskly before giving her his enormous fur hat with ear flaps the size of dustbin lids. ‘Should keep the cold out.’

Standing behind her he urged the dogs down the mountain. ‘It’ll only take us a couple of hours if we take a shortcut,’ he told her. ‘Then we can radio the troopers.’

He went on to tell her his village was called Raven’s Creek, and that he was the only Native in the village who still kept a team of dogs.

‘Everyone uses snow machines. Soon as they appeared, all the trails vanished. My father had a fit when he saw our way of life was just about over.’

They sped down the track. She could hear the patter of the dogs’ feet on the frosty snow and their steady panting as they pulled them ahead. Unlike the plastic sled the kidnappers had used, this one was made out of wood and was sturdy and strong. The motion was incredibly soothing, along with the hiss of the runners on snow. Clouds of steam rose from the dogs’ mouths, evaporating above their ruffs. Like Moke, the dogs were heavily coated and powerful, and from the way their tails waved, they appeared to be enjoying the run.

‘Can’t be doing with those snow machines,’ Walter continued, ‘not if you’re serious about heading into the wilderness. They weigh a ton, they’re impossible to manoeuvre over ravines and creeks, and as soon as it hits twenty below, the engine gets real cranky. And weak ice . . . Don’t get me started. You try and free up one of them things once they’re icebound.’

When they reached the valley the team veered sharply to the left, away from the kidnappers’ ski tracks. The sled picked up speed. High above the endless spires of mountains and spruce, the stars shone with cold brilliance. Soon they were approaching a large, frozen river, about the width of two motorways, side by side.

‘Shortcut,’ Walter informed her. ‘Go round it, we’ll be here all night.’

Nervously she asked if it would hold their weight.

Walter gave a chuckle. ‘I learned how to read the colour of ice when I was knee-high. But the best guides are the dogs. When they stray off course, it’s because their paws feel changes in the moisture on the surface. A snow machine can’t do that.’

As the sled bounced and slid across ribs of frozen water, he told her how to detect thin ice, how dark spots were to be avoided, and that she should steer clear of smooth patches and go for the large, lumpy, heavy-looking peaks that were thick enough to support a seven-ton truck.

‘Narrow valleys in between can crack underfoot,’ he finished.

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