But Martin’s a great swimmer.
Still, I remember the numbing effect of the icy water on my ankle earlier, and the way the water sucked at me yesterday when I fell in. The needle sensation when I tried to breathe. The way the river current controlled me and made me feel that struggling was hopeless, that I could never get out. The bumps and knocks of the stones in the water. Any of these things could have knocked me out. I had Tyler to save me. Martin had no one.
And where’s Paris? I wonder for the hundredth time as I lean toward the helicopter window. I swallow down my motion sickness. A scrubby tree here, a bush there. Rocks, a mountain, great wilderness scenery, all in miniature, the way I like it. If it were all stuffed in a glass globe, I could shake it and it would snow. Today I want to shake it to produce my brother and my dog. But no luck. Both have been swallowed up: Martin by the river, Paris by the wild.
Dad doesn’t use his satellite phone in the air but waits till we land at the hospital. While we’re in the emergency room waiting area, he uses a pay phone. It takes forever: four separate phone calls. A call to Mom’s flat, a call to the gallery, a call to Jacques’ cell phone, and then a call back to a private office number at the gallery. I can tell by his face as he talks what he thinks has happened to Martin.
He winces and tries to control his voice, which breaks despite his efforts. “Joanna, we can’t find him. He may have fallen into the water.”
I crumple in my chair nearby, crying quietly to myself.
After he slips the receiver back into the cradle, he comes over, kneels, and hugs me hard. I can feel his shoulders shake and realize I have to be strong for him. “Dad, it will be okay. Martin didn’t drown.
No way. You know we have that twin thing going for us? Well, I know. He’s out there somewhere.”
Dad pulls away. “I hope so, Zanna. Your mother’s taking the first flight out tomorrow.”
“Why not today?” A sudden fierce realization flares inside me from the pit of my stomach up into my throat. I want—need my mother here. Right now!
“I don’t know, honey. Maybe there are no seats available. She’s looking into it.”
She’s enjoying the rest of her opening night, that’s why she can’t fly today. I know my mother too well. Still, I can’t help feeling a tiny lightness inside. The mother who used to be able to kiss anything better—maybe she can fix all this too. “So Mom should be here late tomorrow?”
“She’ll call me with exact times as soon as she knows, so I can pick her up in Calgary.”
Dad calls Drew next so that he can drive the truck over and pick us up.
The emergency doctor calls me in.
Dad claps a hand on my thigh. “Come on now. Let’s see about that ankle.”
I hate that a stupid little twist against a rock is making both of us lose time on the search for Martin. One second is all it takes: something goes wrong and it costs so much and there’s no going back to fix it. I lean on Dad and hobble to the doctor’s office.
The doctor wants an x-ray and as we wait for the results, Dad calls Cassandra to hear how the search is going. Apparently, boats can’t navigate the rapids of Ribbon River so the search party is divided up along the two banks, pacing along the sides, scanning for articles of clothing. Nothing so far, which I hope is a good thing. The thought comes to me suddenly: they’re all searching in the wrong place.
The x-ray confirms that my ankle isn’t broken.
“Just keep it up, and alternate ice and heat on it,” the doctor says as she tapes it. She also hands me some crutches. “Try those for size.”
I slip the wide parts under my armpits. “Perfect.
Let’s go, Dad. Let’s get back on the search.”
“No weight on that at all, says the doctor. If you can help it, stay off your feet.”
“I can’t help it!” I snap. “We’re searching for my brother.” I navigate my way out to the front with Dad at my side.
Drew’s waiting for us in the truck. Still no news about Martin. “Where to, Doc?”
“Home. We’ll drop Zanna off.”
Drew takes us out of the hospital parking lot.
“Dad, I can’t just sit at the cabin. Paris is missing too. Maybe if we find him, he can help us find Martin.”
“Let me think. I have to think.” I can see Dad’s exhausted. His eyes are glazed and red, like he’s sick. “We have to go home anyway—the ATVs are there. You really have to stay back, Zanna.”
I don’t argue. Neither of us can take it. Still, as I recognize the main drag of Last Chance and see we’re going to pass the Park Office, I tell Dad to stop the truck. “I want to see if Tyler made it back okay.”
Drew rolls the truck up to the door, and it takes me a few minutes to get out. I know what I’m going to do. I need to convince Tyler to head back out with me. We can wait till Dad is gone and take another quad. Slowly, I crutch and hop my way into the office. Tyler’s on the phone. My feet and crutches keep swinging toward the computers at the back. For something to do, I check my e-mail. What could Zane possibly have to say that could make me feel better? I wonder, but it’s not so much that. Checking e-mail is routine, habit, comfort, addiction even, as my mother would be quick to tell me.
I sign on and download, all the time watching to see if Tyler’s off the phone. No mail, not even a note from The Artiste, my mother.
I start one.
Zane. Everything’s gone so wrong. Martin’s missing somewhere near Ribbon Glacier.Everybody thinks he’s drowned. I can’t, won’t, don’t believe it! I’ll keep searching the rest of my life if I have to. Wish you were here.
But do I really wish Zane was here, I wonder? I stop and look over at Tyler whose telephone conversation ends in that moment. He gets up and glances my way. I can’t even try to smile. Not now, when I don’t know what’s happened to Martin. But if anyone could make me feel better, I know it would be Tyler, not Zane.
I’ll call you in a couple of days, one way or the other, to let you know how things turn out.
Love, Zanna
I sign off and hump-swing my way toward Tyler.
“Not broken, I see?” Tyler points to my taped-up ankle.
“Just a sprain. And you made it back up that mountain. Amazing,” I tell him.
“Never any doubt.” He pauses and frowns. “Any exciting e-mail?” Tyler’s voice sounds flat—bet he’s exhausted too.
“No. All the excitement’s definitely happening here, unfortunately. You didn’t spot Paris anywhere on your way back?”
Tyler shakes his head. “I hoped you’d find him curled up on the balcony of the cabin when you went back.”
I pause: that makes sense, like in all those animal stories where dogs or cats cross mountains and streams for thousands of miles just to return to their owners. “We haven’t been home yet. Listen, Tyler, I have to find him.” I push through the gate at the counter so that I can stand by him at the desk.
Tyler stands up. “Oh, you think you can find Martin better than the search parties?”
I frown at him, confused. What’s happened to him?
He’s back to sounding like he disapproves of the city girl again. “Maybe. I’m not sure if I just want him not to be in the river where everyone’s looking, or whether I’m getting a vibe from him that he’s somewhere different. Still, I’m the only one who can get Paris in. And Paris can find Martin better than any stranger, right?”
“I suppose.” Dense and rock-stubborn, his jaw juts out.
“Well, then, can you help me?”
“I don’t think so, Zanna.” He stares down at the floor.
I sigh. “You’re tired, I know. Dad shouldn’t go out either, he’s wiped. Maybe I can grab Drew or Jason. I don’t want to go out alone.”
Tyler looks up. “You shouldn’t go out at all.”
“Why not? I can put my foot up in the ATV. I’ll even put a pack of frozen peas on my ankle.”
“Not because of your injury. Because Martin is your brother�
��because you might find him…” I see the flash of pain cross his face before he can force all his features flat again. His eyes wince, his mouth buckles, then they straighten. He stares at the floor again.
“You found your mother.” I say it gently, not even as a question.
He nods.
I reach my arms around him and hold him. “I’m sorry, Tyler.” I kiss his cheek. “But you survived, and you know how you felt then. You had to search.”
“You’re never the same,” he whispers. “You don’t know what it’s like. Everything is dead afterward.”
“If I’m not there when they find him, do you think anything will be the same for me? He’s my brother, my twin brother, for God’s sake.”
He shakes his head. “The other way is worse, trust me. You’ll never get it out of your head.”
“I have to go!” I repeat. “Paris may come if I call him. He won’t return for anyone on the search party.”
Tyler won’t answer.
“If you don’t help me, you know I’ll go out anyway.”
“Fine,” he answers. “Let me call my dad. He’s on the riverbank with the others.”
I wait as he uses the desk phone to call his father. He turns away from me and talks in a low tone he hopes I won’t hear. “Nothing yet. Well, that’s good, I guess. I’m going to go over the Ribbon Glacier Trail with an ATV. No, I’ll make sure it’s got gas.
Okay. See you.”
I don’t even explain to Dad why Tyler’s following us in the Park truck, and Dad doesn’t ask. My ankle throbs in my boot as the truck bumps over the dirt road. I imagine it flashing like a lightbulb. On, the pain shoots red-hot for a moment; off, the pain subsides.
I also imagine that Tyler is right. Curled up at the glass patio door, Paris will lie waiting for us to come pat and feed him. I can see it in my mind. He’ll leap up and go crazy when he sees us. Then we’ll sneak out again in the ATV, and somewhere along the way, Paris will pick up Martin’s scent. He’ll run, we’ll follow, and at the end of the scent…some kind of shelter? I can’t imagine anything further.
If only Dad would drive faster…. Everything takes so much longer when you’re anxious. Still, if Paris is waiting for us around the next bend, on that balcony overlooking the lake, I’ll take it as a sign that maybe my luck has changed and my brother is alive.
When we finally pull into the driveway at the back of the cabins, I jump out immediately and hump-swing myself down to the cabin calling, “Paris!
Paris!”
Tyler pulls in beside our truck and runs to join me. But it’s already clear as I look around calling: my luck hasn’t changed.
There are no wolves here.
CHAPTER 17
TYLER’S THE one who heats up a couple cans of chicken soup for Dad and me; we’re both so depressed. I don’t say anything about the chicken. I’ll just leave it in the bowl, I decide. I tell him where to find the bread and pea butter, and we all sit on the stools, my left leg taking up a seat of its own.
Dad spreads some of the pea butter on his bread and takes a bite. “Geez, this stuff is awful,” he mumbles as he tries to pull the bottom part of his mouth away from the top.
“What did you expect? You hate peanut butter,” I tell him.
“I thought it would taste a little more…exotic. Let me grab some sardines from the cupboard.” Dad slides off his chair and reaches to open the cabinet door. He slaps a small, flat can and a triangular metal wedge-shaped one—Spam—on the counter. Then he grabs three cans of pop from the fridge.
As he sips his pop, head in his hand, Dad seems to slump lower and lower. His eye lids close. Still sitting up, he begins to snore. I can’t believe my luck.
“Quick, let’s go!” I whisper to Tyler.
Tyler grabs the food from the counter and stuffs it in the backpack. Then he opens the freezer, pulls out a bag of frozen peas, and tosses them to me.
“For your ankle. Go show me how you put your foot up in that vehicle.”
“Out the window, on the door, you’ll see. The yellow ATV’s a four-seater with storage space.” Still, I know I’m in no shape to move quickly. When he’s not looking, I poke a hole in the bag and pour some of the frozen peas into my boot. That feels great. It won’t look or smell pretty later, I’m sure. But if it helps me get my brother back faster, who cares?
I grab the keys to the yellow ATV from the hook in Dad’s bedroom and we head out. Tyler helps me climb into the vehicle. I unsnap a window and hang my leg out.
“Trouble is, we can’t hear Paris over the engine sounds,” Tyler says as the engine rumbles to life.
“We’ll have to stop every once in a while and listen.”
“But Paris can hear me, right? I mean, wolves have great hearing, don’t they?”
“I don’t know. You can try calling.”
The engine grumbles and roars so loudly I can’t hear myself, so I give that up right away. “Can I borrow your whistle?” I ask Tyler, and he pushes the backpack towards me.
“Side pocket.” He points.
I take it out and blow as loudly as I can. Over and over. The shriek of the whistle sounds confident and commanding, and it feels good to be trying something, anything. We bump onto the trail from the road, and drive to where the edge crests over the river.
“This is where Cassandra thought she saw something red,” I shout at Tyler. “Where we stopped last night.” I grab Tyler’s arm so he understands to park the ATV.
He steers it to the river side of the trail and hops out. Then he circles around to help me. I pull my left leg out of the window and pour more frozen peas down the boot.
“Down that way is where we found the red ATV. But really, you know how fast and hard Paris can run. He could be on the other side of the park, for all we know.”
I begin calling as I crutch and hobble my way around: “Paris, Paris!” And then just in case, “Martin!”
Tyler studies the brush on the river side of the path. “Hey, Zanna. I found where Martin may have left the path.”
I limp to where he crouches. Large tire marks arc off the trail, through some trampled brush, over the slope. It’s not that high, I tell myself, even as I feel pea butter sandwich backing up in my throat. Martin could have survived. “Do you think Martin was thrown into the river?”
“Worst-case scenario,” Tyler answers.
“But you know, I think I would feel different if he was down there. I’m almost positive he’s someplace else. Let’s go for the best case. Paris! Paris! Damn that dog.”
I hobble and crutch along the other side of the trail away from the river, my favorite scenario. I blow into Tyler’s whistle, again and again. Tyler slips and slides along the river side. Out of frustration, I whistle long and hard using my thumb and forefinger, and stumble over a rock. “Ow, ouch, crap!” I sprawl across the ground.
Tyler rushes over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, really. It’s just hard to navigate with these crutches.” My arm bleeds from the branch that ripped across it as I fell.
“You’re not fine! This is ridiculous.”
“Shhh!” I struggle to get up again.
“Don’t shush me. I’m taking you home right now.”
I punch his knee. It’s as high as I can reach. “I hear something. Listen!” It’s not another bear, it can’t be. I whistle long and hard again, and then grab onto Tyler’s leg and hoist myself up. A wolf howls back.
“Do you think that’s who I think it is?”
“A normal wolf wouldn’t answer a human whistle. It has to be. C’mon.” Tyler grabs my arm and we try a three-legged race toward the sound. “Arooooo!” When it stops, I whistle again.
The howl seems to come from the mountainside itself. I keep hump-swinging toward it. The next howl comes from a rock. It’s eerie. Tyler runs ahead and disappears into the mountain. I squint and keep thumping along.
Paris appears and runs toward me, wagging his tail.
“Paris!” I kneel down a
nd he pushes me over. I let him lick me till I hear Tyler call.
“Zanna! Over here!”
“Over where?” His voice seems to come straight from the mountain.
“Behind the rock.”
I draw closer.
“Martin’s here.” Tyler’s voice sounds steady but flat. Why isn’t he happier?
I can’t breathe. I don’t ask the question but I need to know. I pull myself up on Paris. Together we head toward his voice.
As I step around a huge boulder, I see that Tyler’s crouching down at the mouth of a small cave. He’s got his canteen out. Surely Martin has to be alive if he’s offering him a drink.
“Martin!” He lies still in front of Tyler in the cave. I hold my breath as I step to Tyler’s side. The right side of Martin’s face is unrecognizable—swollen, purple, his eye a slash in the swelling.
“Go back. Really, Zanna, you don't want to see.”
My eyes fix on Martin’s mouth: is it opening, closing? And then his chest. Is it moving? I don’t see anything. My chest aches and I can’t breathe. Despite what Tyler says, my eyes take in the rest of Martin’s body. His right arm is scraped raw and bloody. His jeans are torn and appear to be oozing dark, purple-red blood. Worse still, something pokes out just below his knee. A piece of white bone.
CHAPTER 18
“ZANNA, ZANNA, don’t pass out on me!” Tyler begs.
I force my eyes open.
“He looks really bad but I found a pulse.”
I crouch down quickly. “What should we do?”
“I don’t know.” He lowers his voice. “Martin must have crawled up from the river himself. That should mean he doesn’t have a spinal-cord injury. We could take the chance and move him. He needs help badly.” Tyler winces. “Or should I go back and get a chopper to airlift him out?”
“The chopper would hoist him up. Oh my God, Tyler.”
“He won’t care. He’ll be on a stretcher, and he’s out right now. If he wakes up enough…it might be a shock.”
“How long do you think it’d be before they’d come?”
Tyler shakes his head. “Too long. You know what, I’m going to splint that leg, and we’ll take him out. Stay here a minute while I bring the ATV closer.”
Last Chance for Paris Page 12
