Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  “Nothing is truly real. You see it all through the viewfinder. It’s a photo op, the destruction, the death. There’s no time to feel; you have to record the event as it unfolds and hope to God you’ll remain in one piece after.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  Lainey returned to the present. “Ah, ah, ah,” she said, waving a finger. ‘my turn.”

  Scotch grinned, and shook her head. “You want me to answer your last one?”

  “Nope. I retract it. Why do you run the Iditarod? What’s the draw?”

  Scotch pressed back against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think you’ve already said it. One part challenge, one part terror, and three parts excitement, though it’s stirred in this case.”

  “On the rocks?”

  “Only in warmer years with little snowfall.” She remained quiet for a moment.

  Lainey snorted. “Oh, no. Now’s not the time to get terse. Give me something to go on here.”

  Scotch chuckled. “Okay, give me a minute.”

  As she paused in contemplation, Lainey’s fascination grew. The aura of strength Scotch already held in abundance solidified and grew around her. The race or the dog sledding was the root of her confidence. Lainey’s heart thumped with the realization. Why? How? Not everyone carried themselves this way despite having raced; she had met many of the racers last year, including women, and had not seen it with any of them.

  “You’re alone with sixteen dogs, crossing the tundra or weaving through trees and brush. It’s so cold and the air so crisp that you can actually see better than at any other time, crystal clear. There’s nothing but the dogs panting, their feet crunching in the snow, and the next turn of the trail. You feel so small and so insignificant, but the dogs rely on you as you rely on them. I can’t really explain it. It’s the ultimate high.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, Scotch mulling over her memories, and Lainey soaking in the feelings those recollections invoked.

  “My turn.”

  Lainey bowed her head in a nod. She watched Scotch shift her gaze away, and begin chewing the inside of her cheek. A frown rippled across her fair features. Lainey braced herself for the next question, sensing it would not be an easy one.

  “It’s been bugging me since you got here. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t seem to shake it.” Scotch looked back at her. “Where were you shot?”

  She stared blankly at her roommate. Here she thought she would have to answer something really tough like, “·¢Are you really drooling every time I walk by or do you just have an advanced case of rabies?” Scotch seemed to retract from the conversation when she did not immediately answer, so Lainey hastened to reassure her. “It’s all right. Really.”

  Sitting up, Lainey dropped her feet to the floor, upsetting Scotch’s legs beneath her. They laughed nervously as they readjusted their positions. Lainey stood and turned so that her right side faced Scotch. “I was out with a US military patrol in Kosovo. They were ordered to do a standard sweep through a village for insurgents. Luck was with me then.” She lifted her shirt to reveal the scar on her side. “There was an ambush. I got a lot of really good photos of the action.”

  Scotch grimaced at the jagged scar about six inches long. “Damn, that must have hurt.”

  Unaccountably nervous, Lainey laughed. “Not at the time.” She peered past her shirt at the cause of her sudden career change. “I was prone on the ground behind cover. Nobody realized there was a flanking team until we started getting shot at from behind. The bullet came in at a very low angle.” She touched the bottom of the scar, and traced upward. “He was aiming for my heart. Instead it hit and shattered my ribs, poking holes in my lungs.”

  “Ow,” Scotch said in soft sympathy, engrossed in the damage. She reached out and traced the upraised tissue with gentle fingers.

  Lainey had not expected her to take the liberty. She swallowed against a desire to cry. What the hell? Shaking her head, she forced a chuckle. “Anyway, I hardly felt it; just a sharp sting in my side. When I tried to get up to follow the rest of the firing team to safety, I couldn’t. That’s when I passed out. One of them realized I was wounded and carried me out.” She stepped slightly away, and pulled her shirt back down. “I don’t remember much else until I woke in the hospital.”

  “You were out for a year. Was most of it in the hospital?”

  Despite the fact it was Lainey’s turn, she answered. “I was in Kosovo for about two weeks before I could be shipped back to the states. Spent another month in a hospital in Washington DC before being released as an in-patient.” She sat down, leaning her elbows on her knees rather than sitting back. “Had some counseling and some physical therapy, but got a clean bill of health after a couple of months. I guess I just needed some time to think about what happened.” She did not volunteer that she had spent a good portion of the rest of the year attempting to pickle what inner organs had not been damaged.

  Scotch seemed to be at a loss for words, and they sat for a moment.

  Lainey pushed away the sudden vulnerability that had reared up at Scotch’s touch. She did not know what that was, and had no time to investigate it. After a deep breath, she propped her feet on the coffee table, and relaxed. ‘my turn.”

  Smiling, Scotch went with the change of subject, visibly easing.

  “Have you ever been hurt on a race?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Scotch agreed. “Though nowhere nearly as bad as you were. When I was seventeen, I was finally eligible for my first adult race. Ran the Yukon Quest 250 that year. It was my first overnighter that wasn’t on familiar territory.”

  “What happened?”

  “Frostbite,” she said. “I set my gloves down while feeding the dogs during a break. I haven’t a clue where they went. It was pretty warm out when I left the checkpoint, so I didn’t even notice they weren’t with me until it started to cool off.”

  “Ew.” Lainey wrinkled her nose.

  Scotch grinned, holding out her hands to study them. “Yeah. The 250 takes about two and a half days to run. I lost the gloves on the second day; had to go through the night and into the next morning to get to the finish line.”

  “Looks like your hands survived.”

  “They did. I was lucky that it was such a warm year. I had some leather work gloves with me. My sled wasn’t in the best of shape, so I was prepared to make repairs on it. Those and a couple of pairs of socks for mittens kept the worst of the frostbite away.” Scotch leaned closer, showing the side of one hand. “You can see where I lost a bit of skin there. The seam on the gloves was worn, and the damage was too much to recuperate from.”

  Lainey shivered and shook her hands in excess empathy. “Yuck! That gives me the willies.”

  Scotch leaned back and laughed. “Well, you asked.”

  “Yuck,” she repeated.

  “Your turn.”

  “Anything I ask now will seem anticlimactic.”

  “Probably.”

  Lainey smiled. “How about we head over to the main cabin for dinner instead? I believe I have a date to beat you at Monopoly.”

  Scoffing, Scotch said, “You wish. I am the Monopoly Kingpin in this family.” She stood and offered her hand.

  Lainey accepted the assistance, enjoying the touch too much, and rose. “Time for me to topple your funny money empire, sister.”

  They shared a look before bursting into laughter.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  August

  LAINEY SAT AT the dining table in Scotch's cabin. She stared at the blank legal pad before her, a pen rapidly waggling back and forth between her index and middle finger. Normally she would be typing her work into her laptop, but she did not want to run the battery down any more than necessary. Her computer stayed at the main cabin for the most part, keeping itself juiced up and available for the final copies and email correspondence.

  Daylight poured in from the two windows above her, as well as through the windows in the loft, as
it did almost twenty hours a day. It was August and Lainey was only now getting used to the constant sun. In a couple of months, she might even see darkness go beyond twilight before she fell asleep. The idea that January would find her sitting here with a lantern at three in the afternoon to ward off the constant night seemed almost as alien.

  Her training was going well. She had eighteen dogs assigned to her to choose from for March. With Scotch and Rye's help, Lainey had created an elaborate training schedule to keep all animals working together. She had graduated to driving eight dogs at a time now, and had to rotate between her canine companions to ensure each was getting the proper workout. Lainey was the only one to feed her dogs, the only one to spend any significant amount of time with them. Miguel Sanchez, the handler, helped with all the animals, of course, but those on Lainey's team had to look to her as their pack leader.

  Lainey tossed down her pen with a grunt and leaned back in the chair. Poked in the back by a torn piece of vinyl for her effort, she readjusted herself, forcing the flap flat with her shoulder.

  Howry was working on the final preparations for his first article. Their editor, Strauss, had arranged for their articles to run hand in hand on a quarterly basis rather than filling an entire spring issue. Lainey had to have something to give him by the end of the week or miss her deadline. But she could not seem to focus on anything.

  Scotch had been a wonderful instructor. Lainey had learned so much from her about how to handle the dogs; not just about discipline but to get them to want the same things she did. During the mornings, the women spent time together with their chores. Afternoons were for training or tourists. Lainey was not allowed to take any guests out on cart rides yet because she had not learned all the trails. Evenings consisted of another round of feeding and poop scooping, followed by dinner and spending time with the Fullers and Howry. When it was time for bed, Lainey and Scotch would make the trek to their cabin, swapping stories about their day. So many times Lainey wanted to take Scotch's hand, and give her a hug or a kiss. Now that she had gotten to know the woman, she discovered she really liked Scotch as a person. It did not dampen her original desire one bit, much to her chagrin. If anything, she wanted Scotch much more now than when she had started this assignment.

  Lainey forced herself back to the paper. Having never missed a deadline, she did not plan on starting now. Her feelings for Scotch could not be used as an excuse. Maybe if she started with a description of one of her runs. Retrieving her pen from the middle of the table, she began to write.

  The wind brushes past me at a whopping eleven miles per hour. I hear nothing but the sound of panting dogs, and rubber tires crunching across the previous season's detritus. The smell of pine and loam fill my nostrils, competing with the ever-present odor of dog fur that has become the center of my world for the last forty-five days.

  This is one of my first lessons as a musher. I have no license here, no insurance. My only company is a team of eight canine athletes who have decided to give me a shot at leading them. Up ahead is another all-terrain vehicle disappearing around a bend. My partner in crime - my mentor, Scotch Fuller, three time Iditarod finisher - is leading the way. I have no idea where I'm going, just that I'm to follow her lead. Oh, and make sure my team thinks I'm in charge.

  Such begins my day of training for the Iditarod sled dog race that takes place every March in Anchorage, Alaska. I am one of thirty-eight rookies signed up for the next one, thirty-eight novices taking on the challenge of what is billed as the Last Great Race in the World.

  The days all seem to run together here. The constant sunlight doesn't help my sense of time; I've yet to see full dark since my arrival at the end of June. I hear it might make an appearance by the end of August, at least for a little bit. Until then, I go to sleep in daylight and wake up to daylight, even at 10:00pm and 5:00am.

  In the morning, the dogs are seen to first. There are almost a hundred of them at Fuller Kennels. You'd think with that amount they would all sort of run together in the mind, a mass of wet fur and wagging tails with little in the way of distinction but markings on their coats. That's not the case, however, as I've discovered. In the last month and a half I've gotten to know all the animals, and each is different from the last with his or her unique foibles and strengths.

  The ones I know the best are my team.

  Sholo is all white with bright blue eyes flickering with intelligence. He's a hard worker who has little patience for incompetence, though he's at least polite when I exhibit mine. His ability to stick to a trail is astounding. I've found he'll refuse orders from me and, when I try to call him on it, I discover I was the one in the wrong - the trail didn't go the direction I wanted, or an obvious obstacle that I couldn't see blocked our way. I swear this dog is a barking, shedding dowsing rod.

  Trace is Sholo's diametric opposite in appearance. His black coat and eyes will make him difficult to see in the dark (providing I ever see him at night. Some days I have my doubts.) He's finished the Iditarod twice before, leading part of the way. His experience will be a tremendous asset to us when we get to Anchorage.

  Behind the lead dogs are another couple of characters. Meshindi is a rookie at two. His only experience has been in sprints last year. His brown eyes are almond shaped, making it seem he's more Asian than canine. He's not 'inscrutable,' by any means. I have no doubts about his opinion on anything as he grins or grumbles at me. Most of his grumbling has to do with interrupting his naps during out training breaks; his grins are for frozen moose liver treats, his favorite.

  A leader in training, Montana has had experience in several mid-distance races. This will be the first Iditarod for him, too, but I'm hoping Trace will take him under his . . . paw and show the new guy the ropes. He has a tendency to swagger as he runs, as a young male is prone to do, and is more than willing to wrestle with anyone willing to play.

  Behind them is Bonaparte. No one else is allowed in his section of the mainline; he'll balk if he's not treated with proper deference. He's a small dog with a big attitude, and God help the handler who doesn't give His Majesty his due. Despite the regal behavior, he doesn't want to lead - such is the job of mere mortals. Instead, he follows just behind the leaders, keeping the rest of the team in line.

  His consort is Kaara. Her name means 'shining light of the morning' and it's so apt. Off white with mottled brows and grays, she gives off a calm and cheerful aura. She's the only dog in the kennel that doesn't call Bonaparte on his snotty attitudes. In fact, she adores him, playing Josephine to his high falutin' ways. It's rumored that she's in love with him. If ever there was a living example of puppy love, Kaara carries it with pride.

  Just in front of my ATV are Jonah and Aegis. Male and female, they're the largest dogs on my team, weighing in at a total of one hundred fifty-seven pounds. They're that big because they're the wheel dogs - the animals right in front of the sled. They need the extra power to keep control of a six hundred pound sled during turns. Yet they also must be fast enough to avoid getting run over.

  Jonah is a wild and wooly fellow, the mountain man of the team, with shaggy hair and an obsession with pulling. Given the chance, he'd be happy to do all the work, and leave his mates back at home. When the rest of the team hears the command, "Ready,” he's the one who leaps forward with the most eagerness to get going.

  Aegis is my sweetheart. Her size makes her appear somewhat threatening (though all the dogs are thoroughly adapted to humans from the time they're born.) In reality, she's nothing more than a big mushball who enjoys tummy rubs, and daintily nibbles on her treats while the others wolf theirs down.

  The cabin door opened, interrupting Lainey. She looked up to see Scotch clattering down the steps.

  "Want to go swimming?” she asked, eyes sparkling. Scotch was without a cap, her tawny blonde curls uncontained. Her skin had taken on a light gold color from her constant exposure to the outdoors. From the looks of her peeling nose, perhaps she had had too much time in the sun.

  L
ainey smiled in return, wondering how much longer she could take this unrequited yearning. "I don't have a swimsuit,” she said. Truth be told, she had been so worried about the coming winter, she had not packed much in the way of summer clothes at all. Last week she had to go into the general store to get some lighter clothing, having not expected to become so acclimated to the Alaskan summer.

  Scotch sat down across from her. "Doesn't matter. You can use your sleep clothes. All you need are shorts and a t-shirt. That's what I do.”

  "Who's going?” Lainey asked, more to keep her talking than to get an answer. She enjoyed hearing the woman's voice, enjoyed the undertone of happiness there.

  Scotch's face became even more animated. "Pretty much everybody. You know the trail near the river?” At Lainey's nod, she said, "About a hundred feet around the bend there's a cove. We swim there every summer.”

  Lainey looked at her article, chewing her lip. "I don't know. I've really got to get this done...”

  Scotch leaned forward, elbows on the table that showed its age as it wobbled from her weight. “There's a rope swing,” she said, a slight wheedling tone coming into her voice.

  Looking at her, Lainey could see flecks of dark mixed with the light blue of her irises. At this range, the freckles dusting Scotch's slightly crooked and peeling nose were adorable. She felt her resolve waver, the call of playing with this woman far louder than the professional demand to get the job done and in early.

  "You're evil,” she finally said.

  Realizing she had won, Scotch jumped up with a whoop. "All right!" She headed toward the stairs. "You can change here or at the river.”

  Lainey stood, refusing to look at the article lest it cause her to change her mind. "Where do you change?” she asked.

  Past the door and almost to the loft, Scotch grinned down at her. "At the river. Nothing like getting nekkid in the great outdoors.” She disappeared into her half of the sleeping loft.