by Paul Greci
I hear another splash and then a whining sound. Sharp and high-pitched, but short, like it’s been cut off. Like whoever or whatever has made the sound has had something clamp their jaw shut.
I step into the stream. It twists away from the road in a lazy S-curve, just like it does downstream. Tam, Max, and Jess all pick up rocks and follow.
Whatever it is, it can’t be too far. I don’t want to walk into a trap, but I don’t want to leave knowing someone could be this close behind us. Whether it’s a person or a group of people or a bear, I need to know what our risks are instead of just running from them. And yeah, I need to know if it’s my mom.
I hear the whining sound again. And then again, only louder, like whatever is making the noise is right around the corner. I raise my hammer up and see the others cock their arms, fist-sized stones in their hands.
I don’t know what to expect. A grizzly bear? A fox? An injured or crazy person? Dylan? But we’ll find out soon enough.
CHAPTER
73
“THAT’S NOT A WOLF,” MAX says. “It’s a dog.”
I haven’t seen a dog, any dog, in over a year. Not since my dad killed and butchered one. No one said much of anything during those meals. It was a pretty small dog, but we made it last. I don’t know what kind it was. We had dog stew for a week or so. And then my mom boiled the bones and we drank dog broth. Jess wouldn’t eat any of it. I was glad when it was gone.
But now, seeing that wet, mangy thing in front of us, my first thought is food.
It has gray and black fur like a husky, but it isn’t as big as I think a husky should be.
It’s stopped about twenty yards upstream from us, a questioning look in its eyes. I feel the weight of the hammer in my hand. I don’t know how much of a fight it’ll put up, and I don’t want anyone to get bitten.
It curls its back and lets out a small whine. And then it starts panting.
“It’s trying to tell us something,” Jess says.
“Nobody move,” I say. “Maybe it’ll come closer. We need it, and I don’t want to have to chase it, because it might get away.”
“I think it needs us,” Jess says.
I don’t want my sister getting attached to something that is going to turn into our dinner.
Tam is standing with the rock still cocked in her hand, but Jess has put hers down. So has Max.
The dog lets out another whine, then turns its head upstream. It looks back at us and whines again. It takes a step away from us, then turns and whines some more.
I don’t want it to get away. “Okay,” I say. “I—”
“She wants us to follow her,” Jess says. “My friend’s dog used to do this when she wanted to go outside. She’d walk toward the door and keep turning around and whining. But then she wouldn’t just go outside even though she had one of those dog doors. She’d only go if we went with her.”
I don’t know any other way to put this, so I just say, “Jess.” I point to the dog. “That’s our next meal. Don’t get too attached.”
She looks at me, then at the dog. “You can’t kill a dog for food. That’s sick.”
“I wish I had my bow,” Tam says.
“I think we should see what it wants,” Max says. “You know the legends about how ravens used to lead hunters to moose or caribou?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Tam says. “Maybe there’s people around the corner and they’ve trained the dog to lure their victims in.”
“Okay,” I say. “All these are possibilities. We might have to eat this dog. We can’t just follow it blindly, hoping it’ll lead us to some food. And, Tam’s point is well-taken. We need to be careful. I mean, dogs live with people—at least they used to.”
No one says anything. The dog whines again and takes another step upstream.
“That dog needs us,” Jess says. “It does.” She keeps her eyes on the dog the whole time.
“Can we all agree to follow it?” I ask. “At a distance. For just a little ways. I don’t want anyone getting bitten. And, if there are people upstream, I’d like to see who they are and where they’re going. I mean, if they have a dog, maybe they have food—because if they didn’t, they would’ve eaten the freaking thing.”
I still hope we’ll end up eating the dog. I don’t want to run into people. No way will anyone have enough food for the four of us. But if there are people, why aren’t they calling for their dog, or coming for her? Maybe they hear us and are playing it cautious.
The dog takes another step upstream. We all step forward and the dog turns its head. Then it turns back and keeps going. The bend keeps unfolding in front of us. I’m scanning both banks, peering through the maples as best I can, looking for evidence of people. Anything that will give me a hint of what to expect.
The creek starts to bend in the opposite direction. The dog looks back, its tail flying at half-mast, but then the dog keeps going, never waiting for us to catch up entirely. I don’t know how long to follow this thing or whether we should try to call it so it’ll come to us. I think about fresh meat roasting on a fire and feel a little burning sensation in my stomach, which is so empty that it’s pressed up against my spine.
We’re hugging the same shore the dog’s on, mostly walking on gravel, but sometimes in ankle-deep water. The maples grow close to both banks.
At the middle of the bend the dog increases its pace. It turns its head and gives one sharp bark, then keeps going.
“Everyone,” I say over my shoulder, “keep an eye out on shore.” We’re walking single file.
The dog stops where the creek runs fast over some rocks. I slow down. I don’t want to walk into a trap, but something keeps pulling me forward. I’ve come this far and need to know what we’re up against. I haven’t smelled any smoke. And I haven’t heard anything but the noise from the creek, which fills my ears with a constant hiss.
I keep scanning the banks as we approach the dog. We’re only about ten feet away. The dog whines again, then opens its mouth and starts panting. It takes a couple of steps toward the maple jungle and whines again.
I take another step forward, and then I see them, just beyond the dog.
Two legs sticking out of the jungle.
CHAPTER
74
I PUT MY HAND UP, motioning for everyone to stop. Then I point.
The legs are sticking out from the trees, like someone is lying on their back. Two old brown boots. And some dark green pants, thick-looking, like maybe they’re wool. The dog has positioned itself so I can’t see any more of the person.
I motion for everyone to come up. I feel Jess and Max and Tam crowding in behind me, peeking over my shoulders.
Ten feet between us and the legs. Are there more people just back in the jungle? Was this a setup to trap us? If it was, it’s working, because we’re just standing and staring, waiting for someone to blindside us.
The dog whines again, then barks. It paws at the brown-booted feet.
“Do you think he’s dead?” Max whispers.
“How do you know it’s a he?” I whisper back.
“Just a guess.”
I take a step forward and the dog lets out a low growl, but at the same time its tail gives a little wag.
“Let me,” Jess says. She looks at the dog. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you. Or your friend.”
Jess is standing even with me, and then she takes a step forward. The dog holds its ground but doesn’t growl. Jess takes another step. Then she makes a little clicking sound with her mouth and the dog raises its head a little, tilts it sideways, and wags its tail again.
I take a step forward behind Jess, and the dog lets out another low growl. Maybe it can sense I’m not above eating it for dinner. I feel a hand on my arm and turn. Max is holding my bicep. “Let her go,” she whispers. “You don’t want to overwhelm the dog.”
“Jess,” I whisper, “be careful.”
“It won’t hurt me,” Jess says. “It likes me.”
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Jess takes another step toward the dog. The husky just keeps looking at her, tail wagging slightly.
Only five more feet and Jess will be standing next to the dog. Then I see one of the booted feet move, like a hand waving. The dog couldn’t have seen it but must’ve sensed it, because it turns toward the person and lets out a whine.
“Hello,” I say. “Hello.”
The dog barks at me. Jess turns and puts her finger to her lips, trying to shush me.
The foot moves again.
“Chena,” a weak voice from the maples says. “Come.”
The dog turns and paws at the feet.
“That a girl,” the voice says. “You stay with me.”
“Hello,” I say again. I take a step so I’m standing next to Jess. The dog growls. Then I see what Jess is seeing. Through the maples I make out the rest of the man attached to the legs. He’s got a white beard and is lying on the ground, his head propped up by a backpack.
Tam and Max move in next to me.
The man’s eyes seem to notice us for the first time. He opens them a little wider and thrusts his head back.
“We want to help,” I say. “Your dog. She approached us. And my sister”—I point at Jess—“she was pretty sure your dog was asking us to follow her.”
The man just keeps staring. His foot moves again. “She’s a good dog.” His voice is strained and weak. “The best,” he says, his words barely reaching beyond his lips.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“I’m the last one.” He takes a few shallow breaths. “Got everyone else. In the river. Everyone. Dead. Grabbed my survival pack and ran.”
The hundreds of bodies we saw in the river, I think. “What happened?”
His eyes close and then open again. “Gas tent. Gas tent. The greedy gold-hungry bastards.”
“Where did they come from?” I ask.
He coughs once. “Where they always come from.”
“What’s a gas tent?” I ask.
He coughs again and puts his hand on the dog’s side. “You … you treat her well.” Then his head slouches down and he stays that way. The dog whines again and paws at his foot.
How has he gotten here? Where was he trying to go? What else does he know?
“I think he just passed,” Max says. “He couldn’t go until he knew someone would look after his dog.”
“I will,” Jess says. “I won’t let anyone hurt her.”
“He’s the guy,” Tam says, looking at Max. “The one coming up behind us on the road after we crossed the river. His dog must’ve been out of sight at the time.”
“Yes,” Max says. “You’re right.”
“We have to examine him. Maybe he’s just passed out.” But if he is dead? I look at the dog. I can’t kill and eat a dog whose owner’s last words were to treat her well. And maybe the dog will be good for Jess. Maybe it’ll be good for all of us. If it’ll just let us approach close enough to see what its deal is.
Gold. I tell everyone what Wendy and Ellen told me about the religious commune being at the site of an old gold mine. Where they always come from. I wonder where that is. And a gas tent? What is that?
“Chena,” Jess says. “See that? Her ears perked up. That’s what the man called her. Chena, come.” Jess pats her thighs. “Come on, good girl.”
The dog wags her tail and Jess calls her again. She comes another step and Jess keeps at it until Chena is at Jess’s feet.
“Don’t touch her yet,” Max says. “Let Chena make the first move.”
I take a step away from Chena and toward the man. Chena looks at me but doesn’t come forward.
“It’s okay, girl,” Jess says. “It’s okay, Chena girl.”
* * *
I wish we could’ve talked longer to the man, learned more about where he’s been and what he’s seen. But Max is right. He’s gone. I don’t think he starved to death, because there’s food in his pack. And if I got it right, he’s the sole survivor from the lakes, where the bodies in the river came from.
I feel bad about not burying him, but the ground is hard with a maze of roots, and we don’t have a shovel. We drag him back from the stream a ways. We don’t take the clothes off his back, but we do go through his pockets, looking for some clue about who he was. We find nothing.
His dog, we figure, is named after the Chena River that runs through Fairbanks, so we’re pretty sure he came from around there before being part of the community at the lakes.
I don’t feel bad about taking the man’s pack since we’ve decided to keep Chena and will try to carry out his wishes. No way could I kill that dog now even if we hadn’t found the owner. Jess is in love with her.
And this guy has about five pounds of dried beans in his pack and a bunch of tea. There’s an old coffee can—bailing wire strung through a couple of holes on the rim for a handle—blackened from sitting on a fire. He also has a spoon and a knife, some clothing, and a couple of rusty brown blankets.
If I have to guess, I’d say he was in his sixties or seventies. We examine his body, looking for clues about why he died. We find no wounds. Maybe he had cancer, or an infection.
We collect wood and build a fire. We put some beans in the coffee can with some water and let them boil away. We keep stirring them, adding more water by cupping our hands in the creek and dumping it into the pot.
Chena follows Jess everywhere. She warms up to the rest of us, lets us pet her without growling. But Jess is her chosen one. Chena licks Jess’s hands and face and lets Jess scratch her belly and behind her ears.
We take turns eating beans out of the pot and put a few spoonfuls on a flat rock for Chena. We rinse the pot and make some tea.
Tam holds up our one spoon. “I used to share a spoon with my mom. Even when she was losing her strength as the cancer took over her body, she made eating into a game. I would feed her a spoonful and she would feed me.” Tam smiles and then her face goes flat. “In my first foster home, I got slapped on the hand when I tried to share my foster sister’s spoon. There was no lesson about what to share and what not to share. Just a slap and a mean look and a don’t-you-know-any-better lecture. I learned from my mom to share everything and then from my first foster family to share nothing. I mean, I had just turned six.”
“Some humans,” Max says, “they just plain suck. No one’s perfect, but look at us. Even with the tiny amount of food we have, we’re sharing it with a dog.” Max smiles. “We rock.”
I think about how lucky it is that we found the dog. Or that the dog found us. And how if we hadn’t stayed at the creek crossing to see what the noise was, we’d probably be starving. We took a risk and it worked out. And, at the same time, we helped a man die in peace. But his people had been massacred for gold. Then I remember what Stan said about choosing a spot in the maples that had nothing anyone else would want. That’s one way to live. But shouldn’t people be able to make choices about where to live that aren’t based on fear?
We decide to stay up the creek for the night since the day is already turning toward darkness and we have hot coals for a fire. We can drink more tea and heat up water to wash our faces and hands and my gunshot wound.
CHAPTER
75
THREE DAYS LATER AND WE’RE approaching the pass. Thompson Pass, I remember from the map. The maples have thinned out and you can actually just walk on the old road for stretches instead of constantly bushwhacking.
Chena stays with us, like she’s always been part of our group. I haven’t said or done anything about my attraction to Tam, except in my mind, but I can still feel her face buried in my neck from five days ago. Between coaxing as many miles as I can out of Jess each day, rationing our meager food supply, and keeping watch at night, my mind and body are already overloaded. Still, on quiet stretches like this where the walking is pretty easy, my mind goes to Tam.
Maybe someday we’ll be in a place that won’t be so fraught with danger that there’ll be space to have a relationship
. To be with someone I like, who also likes me. Does she like me the way I like her? According to Jess, she does. But when we hit these quiet stretches, I think, If she really does like me the way I like her, then why not start now? Why wait? Today we are alive. There could be no tomorrow.
“What’s that?” Jess asks, pointing, and my mind instantly shifts from what could be to what’s right in front of me, to the girl I need every ounce of my awareness to protect.
“It looks like an old section of pipeline,” I say. I thought they’d hauled it all away years ago. That’s what we’d learned in school. When the Trans-Alaska Pipeline shut down, all the materials were gathered to be recycled or reused. Metals were getting scarcer and more expensive, so every scrap was coveted. That was back when there was still a transportation system in Alaska, and oil and gas were being shipped here to power heavy equipment to do the work.
We keep walking. I don’t know if it’s still September or if we’re into October, but I know the higher up we spend the night, the chillier it’ll be. I hope there’ll at least be some willows to build a fire with; otherwise we’ll be hungry and cold.
We have about two meals of beans left and enough tea for a few more pots.
The closer we get to the pass, the more I start to believe that we might actually make it. If there really are people living on the coast, what will they be like? Will they accept us? What kind of laws and rules will they have? Will they even let us live there? Will I recognize anyone? Are they the ones responsible for the massacre with the gas tent?
I’m comfortable with Jess and Max and Tam, and yeah, we’re pretty close to starving right now, but we’re together. I know how to do this, how to be moving toward something, but actually arriving—I’m nervous about that part. Scared.
