Read Online Lone Wolves by John Smelcer - Free Book Online

said, looking at the snow-covered ground.
    â€œThanks,” replied Denny.
    They stood in an awkward silence for a moment, neither really looking at the other.
    â€œI gotta get going,” said Denny. “We’re having supper at my second cousin’s house.”
    â€œYeah, I gotta get home myself. See you back in the village.”

    The next morning, hours before sun-up, Denny and her grandfather set off for home beneath a star-raddled sky with the northern lights streaking overhead. The thermometer outside Joseph’s cabin had read -10. Somewhere along the thirty-mile ride back to their village, Sampson got his snowmobile stuck in overflow, where water from beneath the ice rises and mixes with the deep snow on the surface of the ice to create slush. He had been playing around, speeding far ahead of Denny and her dog team, and making his own trail in deep snow off the packed, main trail, when he found himself knee-deep in the heavy slush. Concealed as it was by snow and darkness, he had not seen the ensnaring trap until it was too late.
    At first, his momentum helped him to slog through the overflow, but the engine quickly bogged down, and the machine wouldn’t budge no matter how much he gunned the throttle. A snowmobile on a firm trail is already a heavy thing to lift or move. Stuck as it was in deep overflow, the machine was far too heavy for a single man to move, no matter how strong. But if he left the stranded machine in the slush for too long, it could freeze solid where it sat, and then he’d have a much bigger problem.
    Knowing this, Sampson yanked and pulled and tugged at the front skis and at the black handle at the rear. With all his might, he tried to manhandle the machine out from the quicksand-like mix of snow and water, until his heart was pounding like a potlatch drum. His gloves were soaked from reaching into the icy water. His pants were soaked clear up past his knees. He couldn’t feel his frozen fingers or toes.
    Suddenly, he felt a stabbing pain in his left arm, like an ice pick in the crook of his elbow. A cold sweat drenched his body, and he felt dizzy and nauseous, twice almost vomiting. He steadied himself with one hand on the black snowmobile seat, the other held against his chest, as if he could somehow control his heart’s erratic beating.
    In the distance, he could see his granddaughter coming around the river bend.
    Just then, Sampson collapsed, his world turning as dark as a wintry night.
    From faraway, Denny saw her grandfather fall to the snow. She shouted to the dogs to go faster. When she was close, Denny stopped the sled near the stranded snowmobile, but still on the packed trail. She quickly set the snow brake and ran to the crumpled old man.
    Sampson was regaining consciousness, trying to get up from his knees. Denny helped him to his unsteady feet.
    â€œAre you okay?” she asked.
    Sampson’s face was white and drenched in sweat. He didn’t answer.
    â€œGrandpa?” she said again, “Are you alright?”
    Sampson turned to his granddaughter, speaking so softly she barely heard him.
    â€œTake me home,” he whispered.
    Denny helped her grandfather into the belly of the sled and covered him with her own parka to keep him warm. In a panic, she pulled the snow hook and shouted the command to go. The dogs yanked so hard that Denny almost lost her grip, nearly fall ing off the back of the sled. But she held on, yelling through the darkness to go faster.
    â€œMush!” she yelled over and over again.
    The dogs ran as fast as their legs could move, their pink tongues flapping from their slobbering mouths as they pushed their muscles and lungs to their limits.
    Denny looked down at her grandfather whenever she could take her eyes off the trail.
    â€œHang in there, Grandpa! Just a little further,” she reassured him, though they were still far from the village and her voice was not as certain her words.
    â€œMush!”