Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  "Thanks. I really needed to do that."

  "Any time," he said. His hand found her back and rubbed gentle circles there. "It's been years since you've had to call, but things are still the same. Any time, anywhere, Lainey."

  She grinned at him. He had received many a call once he had become her sponsor. That first couple of years had been rough. Strauss had taken her calls in stride, whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning. He had been her connection while she put her life back together after the shooting, neither condemning nor condescending toward her as she fought with the nearly overpowering urge to return to the bottle.

  Lainey patted him on the knee. "Thanks, Ben. That's good to know."

  "Are you going to be all right now?" he asked.

  His words indicated the here and now, but she knew him well enough to understand the real question. "She finally said it," she told him. "She said she loves me, and I said I love her back. I think I just needed to let go of all the crap I've been riding with this week."

  Strauss nodded in commiseration. "I know it's been exhausting for me just following the trail. I can't imagine doing the real thing like you are. You've got a set of balls the size of Texas, Lainey."

  She laughed out loud and blew her nose once more. "Thanks. I'll take that in the spirit it was given."

  He stopped rubbing her back, placing his hand on hers. "It was inevitable, you know."

  "What was?"

  "You and her. You've always loved Scotch best."

  Lainey burst into giggles. "Yeah, you've got that right."

  "On the rocks."

  "I suppose I had to come to Alaska to get the right ice for her."

  Strauss joined her laughter.

  After a nap, Lainey felt more refreshed than she had in days. She was certain it had everything to do with her phone conversation and crying jag. Refusing to be embarrassed by her outburst, she used the kitchen microwave to warm up a meal of chicken dumplings. As a special treat, she had brought in two pieces of apple strudel that had thawed while she slept.

  Six more mushers had arrived while she was out of it, but all of them were an hour or more behind her check in time. The predominant discussion around the table was the weather on Topkok. As she ate, she learned that this was the most treacherous section of the race, surpassing even the Dalzell Gorge in its dangers. Lainey did not know if it was an indication of her exhaustion or her newfound confidence, but she felt no fear at the scare stories being passed around the room. Nothing was going to stand between her and Scotch for long. She had a woman to kiss senseless at the other end of this race and meant to get there to do so.

  "You're out of here soon, right?" a woman asked, her plain face rugged with windburn.

  "Yeah," Lainey said. "In less than two hours." She pried open the tin foil encasing her strudel.

  "Bad time to be out there. Night time's never good on the mountain. You can't see what you're heading into," an older man said, fingering his gray beard.

  Lainey grinned and stood up. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a pot on the stove. "Think I should wait until a couple of hours before dawn?" she asked. That was the preferred time to depart White Mountain. If the wind were going to die down, it would be after dawn, making a musher's arrival at Topkok a lot easier.

  The man's expression became sly, and a couple of others smiled at her. "Would you do it if I said yes?"

  "Nope." She sipped the strong brew and nibbled her dessert.

  They laughed as Lainey finished eating and dumped her trash. She found her mukluks and slipped them on.

  Before she left the kitchen, one of the rookies tailing her said, "Good luck."

  "Good luck to you, too."

  "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

  The others guffawed at his boast, Lainey included. "No offense, but I hope not." She waved farewell to the others and left to collect her belongings.

  Strauss met her at the door, his hair rumpled from a nap. "Wind isn't picking up any, but it's still going to be a bitch," he informed her. "Remember what Scotch said about visibility."

  "I remember, Dad," Lainey said. She stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll probably be in Nome before you are."

  "No doubt," he said, smiling. "And you'll be very busy until the awards banquet."

  "Very busy," she assured him with a wink.

  "Kick butt, Hughes," he said.

  "You know I will, Strauss."

  When she arrived at her sled, she was pleased to see her dogs rouse themselves. "Hi, guys! You ready to hit the finish line?"

  Lainey worked her way up the line, talking to her team as she removed dog blankets and checked them over. Then she dished up dinner for them. While they ate, she cooked another batch. Granted, chances were good that she would be in Nome for their breakfast, but if Topkok was as bad as what everyone said, it would behoove her to have an extra meal or two stocked away for emergencies.

  Some mushers went through their sleds and dropped as much as possible at this point. Scotch's notes did not mention doing this until the Safety checkpoint. If something did happen on the next stretch of trail, Lainey would rather go slow and have the gear necessary for survival. This was the point where even hardened veterans had come close to losing dogs, life and limb. As a rookie, Lainey knew to be extra cautious.

  What little gear she could afford to lose was set aside for shipment to the kennel. This included extra socks, work gloves, boot liners, her mid weight long underwear, left over lithium batteries for the head lamp, extra dog booties and wrist wraps. She almost put the .44 revolver into the pouch but was uncertain whether it could be legally mailed. With a sigh, she eyed the ugly thing and put it back into her bag.

  Lainey checked her watch. She still had half an hour to go. Again she walked down the line, picking up dog plates. Then she donned hand warmers and latex gloves. Each dog received a thorough paw massage and ointment application, and had their booties put on. Bonaparte licked her face again, and she laughed at him. He did not quite act like a puppy, but his regal manner hovered on the edge of a desire to frisk.

  "Who are you and what have you done with Bonaparte?" she asked him.

  He yipped and wagged his tail, causing her mouth to drop open.

  "This is a day for miracles, that's for sure," she said, hugging him. "You've been hanging out too much with Chibee."

  Her youngster, Chibee, whined in pleasure at hearing his name.

  Lainey finished her task in amusement, finally packing everything into the sled.

  "Ready?"

  Trace and Montana hopped into position, the others following their lead.

  "Let's go."

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  IT WAS NOT too windy in the parking area. Once around the bend of the Fish River, however, it blew harder and Lainey hunkered over her sled in determination. Her recent experience dealt with worse than this, but she also knew she was nowhere near the ultimate trouble spots on this leg.

  They followed the river for a short bit before turning onto land and heading southwest. Here the ground was barren, the landscape dotted with scrub brush, and trail markers few and far between. As her leaders followed the obvious path ahead of them, the sled jerked and shuddered from the wind. It felt similar to driving a small car while speeding eighteen wheelers passed on the highway. Lainey knew Sholo would have never left White Mountain had he remained with the team this long. As much as she regretted dropping him, she was glad she had Montana in the lead now. He seemed to take the weather into stride, slightly turned away from the oncoming wind but never faltering.

  Their forward motion no longer a concern, Lainey worried about the sparse trail markers. She located maybe one reflective indicator every mile or so. Was the wind so strong it knocked down the sturdy tripods the trail breakers used? As the dogs plodded on, she saw a flash from the ground downwind of her. There lay a marker, barely visible through a minor ground blizzard, collapsed in the snow beside the trail. A gust shook her s
led and she saw the depressed area where someone had fallen against the tripod and into the snow, knocking it down. No wonder markers were missing. She had half a mind to put them back up, but doubted their stability. Besides, stopping for each marker would invariably slow her down to worse than a crawl and give her competition plenty of time to catch up.

  The barren landscape faded into a tree line as they approached a creek valley. Open water gurgled in several places up and down stream with an ice bridge spanning one section. Her dogs took her across the ice, standing water spraying to either side of the sled runners. Lainey winced, knowing her next stop would be to change wet booties.

  They cut into a river valley that was less windy, and her team made decent time as they trotted along. The Klokerblok River was completely iced over with some overflow. There were two trails here, one on the river with the official markers and another, private trail along the right bank. Lainey figured that was the one the locals used when the river was unfrozen. In any case, both trails eventually converged, the overland trail dropping down to cross the river, and turned left onto the river bank.

  The river continued on its path while her team followed the trail southwest and into another river valley. Her head lamp illuminated a dilapidated building that may have been a cabin at some point. It hardly looked sturdy enough to shelter a mouse now. Overflow from the river surrounded its base, and she could well imagine the frigid interior. Starting a fire in whatever that thing used as a stove would cause the entire place to become a humid, dripping mess. Regardless, it was time to give the dogs a break. They had been running for several miles without a stop and the worse was yet to come.

  After the dogs were snacked and Lainey changed their wet booties for dry ones, the team followed the Topkok River valley to the coast. Several miles later, they passed another cabin, this one in better repair. Scotch's notes indicated this was the last shelter between here and the other side of Topkok. Lainey stopped the dogs to test the wind. It still blew if not with much force. From what the veterans sad at White Mountain, that did not mean anything. The Topkok trail was literally a series of wind tunnels and there was no telling what she would be mushing into.

  "Ready, guys?" she asked her team.

  Bonaparte's tail wagged, his eyes carrying the unfamiliar light of devotion. Trace yawned and grinned as if this was old hat to him. Montana wriggled in his halter, still pleased at being in front despite the battering the wind was giving all of them. The others stood at their places, awaiting her order.

  "Let's go."

  Past the cabin, the trail took a sharp turn upward as it left the river. As level ground and the nominal protection of the valley dropped behind them, the wind picked up its pace, blowing across them from their right. It was not strong enough to knock Lainey over, but she had no doubt such was still a possibility. The trail climbed the four hundred foot height, following the side of a hill. To compensate for the angle, she was forced to balance the sled on one runner . She did not want to roll back down to the river. The wind plucked at her and the sled, maliciously teasing her with that possibility.

  They reached the ridge and dropped down the other side to cross a creek. The wind literally disappeared in the hollow. Lainey remembered reading a story by a well-known horror author about a living storm that lashed out at an unwary township, and she shivered. It almost felt as if she were being watched in the sudden calm. She shook off the sensation, glad her dogs frisked in their harnesses. At least they were not as spooked as she was.

  Again the trail ascended a similar rise, the wind increasing the further along they went. She helped her team along by pushing the sled, using sheer willpower to keep it balanced on the hillside as they went. The going was slower this time, and she peered over the handlebars to see her leaders struggling through chest high snow. The trail had drifted badly here and the last musher through had been hours ago. Lainey was unable to move forward to help them, though, since she needed to keep the sled on the trail.

  Still, they made the ridge and flew down the other side, the wind not quite dissipating this time. Lainey called a halt which her team obligingly agreed with. This tiny valley screened the worst of it, but that did not mean it would never blow through here. These blow holes were notorious for sudden hurricane force winds rising and falling with little warning.

  Lainey snacked her dogs again and gave them extra scratches and hugs as she checked harnesses and massaged muscles. Her team was not so eager now, but none appeared on the verge of breaking. She cheered them, doting on the more morose ones until they all grinned and yipped at her.

  She looked up the next incline, gauging distance. It was not much bigger than the two she had already completed. With no vegetation, however, she could not gauge how hard the wind blew up there. The trail looked a little more level and she wondered if her dogs could keep the sled on it while she packed down the drifts with snow shoes.

  Her dogs sat in their harnesses, watching her. Regardless of her indecision, she had to get started now or lose whatever ground she gained. She could not afford to allow them to think it was a full on rest break here.

  Lainey climbed aboard the runners. "Let's go."

  As soon as they climbed out of the protected valley, Lainey knew there was trouble. The wind howled around the team, shaking her sled and even shoving her unprepared dogs into the snow at the side of the trail. The drifts here were worse than before, if that were possible, though the side hill slant was not as pronounced. Lainey could not see the next trail marker from the snow flurries rising to her chest, but she knew her team cowered under the weight of that wind. She had to do something or they would balk where they stood, and that could kill them all.

  She stopped the dogs, amazed they could hear her over the wind. With quick movements, she donned her snow shoes and slogged forward with dog coats. The slower pace and higher wind was a very real frostbite danger for her and the dogs, and she spent the next few minutes securing the jackets onto her team to help combat the heat loss.

  When she reached the front of the team, she found her leaders chest deep in a snow drift. Ahead of them she located one of the markers, and she breathed a sigh. Her notes indicated there was some concern about losing the trail here; the easier path led toward cliffs and that was the wrong way to go.

  Lainey hooked a dog harness to the front of the tug line and put her arm through it. "Ready?" she called to Trace and Montana. "Let's go!"

  She guided them to the trail marker and searched ahead for the next one. Unable to see it, and unwilling to take the dogs further until she did, she called, "Whoa!" Then she trudged further up the ridge, pulling the ruff of her hood close as she peered forward. Several steps later, she saw the next marker and returned to her team to move them closer.

  They made their way to the summit of Topkok in this manner, one blustery, freezing foot at a time. There were a couple of places that Lainey lost sight of her dogs before she found the next marker. Clouds covered the sky and ground squalls obscured her view. Only a cool head and careful thought allowed her to find her way back to urge the team forward.

  She had gone a good twenty feet before she realized she was on the down grade. The wind here had lessened, though it was still strong, but it appeared the trail was clearer. She whooped aloud, her voice lost as soon as it left her mouth, and removed the harness she was using. On her way back to the sled, she played with the dogs, rousing them from their hard work to frolic.

  "Trace! Let's go!"

  The trail was not too steep, but it also was not a laid back ride. Several sections were nothing but ice, and even her brakes did not slow them appreciably. It was a relief to Lainey and her dogs when they leveled out, though the wind picked up again. At least here she was not forging a new trail or fighting to keep her sled upright on a slanted surface. They passed the Kennel Club cabin, but Lainey wanted to get out of the next stretch of wind before snacking the dogs again. This was considered the worst blow hole of the entire race, and she could ill afford
to rest here.

  They went out onto a frozen lagoon, the wind having scrubbed the area bare of nothing but ice. Her dogs slipped and slid along, their booties giving them no traction on the ice, and the wind pushed them along when they managed to remain upright. Lainey cursed when she stepped off the runners and almost fell flat on her butt. This was not going to work for any of them. She called the dogs to a halt and dug out her notes and map, using her body to shield them.

  Scotch's handwriting suggested the dune line, though remarked that the going was dangerous with driftwood and scrub brush sticking out here and there. It would take Lainey a little longer to skirt the lagoon rather than cross it, but that was a hardly a loss considering how long it would take to get her team across the bare ice in the first place. The notes also said that the trail on the other side of the lagoon would end up on those same dunes, and to stick close to the trail markers when she got there.

  Decided, Lainey carefully put away the paperwork, mindful not to lose it to a gust, and ordered her team toward shore. She still had a two hour lead on the next musher out of White Mountain. If the winds kept up on Topkok, she doubted anyone would be catching her anytime soon.

  It seemed to take forever to return to the dunes, but they finally made it. Going was slow as Lainey let Trace and Montana pick their way along. The ever present wind mellowed but she kept close tabs on its location. Experienced mushers had been known to get lost in this area, the wind and snow blinding their dogs until they found themselves on sea ice and heading toward open water.

  Soon they picked up the Iditarod trail as the markers reappeared along their path. It was heavily marked here to keep the racers aware of the dangers and pitfalls of the uneven trail. It seemed there was a reflector or wildly fluttering caution tape every three feet, and Lainey wished there had been that much care to point out the trail on the other side of Topkok. Regardless, visibility was much better down here than up on the summit, and she was able to navigate the tangled mass of driftwood and brush with minimal difficulty.