Ice Dogs by Terry Lynn Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

snow squeaks we’re in bigger trouble. I’d hate to think about our night if it were January instead.
    I check the color of the hole I’ve made in the snow and smile a little in relief. Light yellow means I’ve been drinking enough. Only once did I see it a dark amber color. That was during the Fur Classic, just after the accident.
    I had fought hard to enter that race, too. And I was desperate to win—to have Dad’s name in the papers and on the radio. But I was so sick and useless to the dogs, I had to scratch the whole race. I had thought that by putting all my attention to the dogs’ needs, we would win for sure. Checking their feet, pulling down their lower eyelids to see their skin color, snacking them—none of that was enough. Without drinking or eating anything myself, it wasn’t long before I hardly had energy to pedal the sled. When I started throwing up, I knew our race was over. I swore that wouldn’t happen again.
    The snow feels plenty cold as I rub a handful into my bare hands to wash. I quickly scrub my face and then stand, pushing the water off my freezing cheeks. I shake my hands and tuck them in my armpits. My face tingles and the skin pulls when I smile.
    â€œCome on, Chris. We should look at your head.”
    â€œEveryone keeps telling me I need my head examined.”
    I rummage in the bag that hangs from the back of the handlebar. Where did I leave that first-aid kit? “Sounds like you’re well enough today to help with the chores. We need another fire to boil water for us and melt some chicken to water the dogs.”
    â€œI’ve got to water a tree first.”
    I try to remember the last time I saw the kit. Oh yeah, I had it in my anorak pocket with the map—
the map!
    â€œAnd seriously, is there like, room service? I’m so hungry, I could eat a dog.”
    I had completely forgotten about the map last night. Chris was going to show me where he lived. But I never saw it after that. I feel a bubble of panic.
    â€œChris, what did you do with the map I gave you?”
    â€œWhat map?”
    â€œThe
map
. The map I gave you last night, remember?” The panic bubble expands.
    â€œUm . . . I don’t remember you giving me a map.” Chris’s head pops up from the sled bag and he glances around as if he’s looking for it.
    â€œYou said we weren’t far from your house! You were supposed to find the slough on the map.”
    â€œOh . . . that map.” Chris rubs his face with his hand. “Um, yeah. I forgot to mention . . . ”
    â€œWhat?” A sneaky dread creeps up my throat.
    â€œIt sort of . . . fell in the fire . . . ”
    â€œWhat? Did it burn?”
    Chris wrestles with his jacket and reaches into the pocket. He pulls out a limp and blackened piece of useless map. “The wind grabbed it.”
    â€œAUGH! Idiot!” I snatch the thing from his hand. Delicate ashes fall like butterflies from the corner and I can’t even tell which corner it used to be. I feel dizzy. I take slow deep breaths but it doesn’t help.
    â€œDo you even know where we are?” I yell. “Do you recognize this slough?”
    â€œI just moved here from Toronto four days ago. That was the first time I’ve even been out on my snowmobile.”
    â€œToronto?” Of course, he’s from a city. That explains a lot. “Then how could you know where we were going yesterday?”
    The anger seethes through my clenched jaw. I don’t even try to keep the panic out of my voice. Why does everything in my life get screwed up? The dogs raise their heads and study me.
    â€œWell, I thought I knew . . . ” Chris stumbles out of the sled. He stands in his boot liners with a purple goose egg on his forehead, crusted blood across his eyebrow below the bandage, and pink woollies that are four sizes too small.
    He