Free Ice Dogs by Terry Lynn Johnson

doubt I’d be able to find the trail. We can only keep going. But how far? We could be out here for days before we cross a road. I imagine all the wide green space on the topo map.
What if we are going the wrong way?
    An icy dread runs through me. We could all die out here running straight through to nowhere. If I could just study my map one more time.
    â€œIf we had a map, then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
    â€œIf we had a GPS, then we’d be home eating cheeseburgers,” Chris barks back. I can see the fire in his eyes from here. “Or if we had snowmobiles, instead of these stupid dogs!”
    I suck in my breath as if he’s slapped me. I’m about to scream back, but then his expression reveals the fear he’s been hiding.
    Chris quickly rubs his face with both hands. A silent moment stretches between us. The only sounds are the constant wind moaning through the tree branches and the dogs grunting with contentment as they scratch their backs in the snow.
    Chris clasps his hands behind his neck. “Forget it,” he says with a much softer voice. He hauls himself to his feet, brushing the snow off his jeans. “I’m just mad.”
    I’m mad, too. At myself, at him, at this whole situation. But I can’t help myself as I point to his jeans. “Try not to roll around in the snow with those. The woollies underneath will only do so much to keep you warm.”
    He gapes at me, then snorts, adjusting his scarf and shaking his head with a bemused expression.
    I bend to hug Bean. His hot tongue brings me back to center, and after a moment I feel ready to stand.
    â€œOkay. Anyway. Let’s keep going out of this nasty spot at least. We’ll find the main trails soon. No point sitting here crying.”
    â€œHope we find a Tim Horton’s soon, too,” Chris says.

13
    T HE COLD, DARK PART OF EVENING arrived suddenly. Like entering the haunted house my town sets up at Halloween. Your eyes struggle to adjust from the daylight to the oppressive darkness of the interior, strain to see the scary things before they jump out at you.
    But I didn’t have to see the scary things to know they were here. Scary things like dehydration. Starvation. Hypothermia. Scary like the skin on Bean’s shoulders sticking up for a second when I pinch it—the first sign of dehydration. Scary like sleeping another night in the sled bag with Chris.
    â€œWhoa,” Chris says in my ear. His arms are around me in the nest of the bag and we both hear the loud complaining of his stomach. I actually feel it on my back. “It’s rebelling after that tea.”
    Without food, our bodies are having a harder time staying warm. And tonight is much colder than last night. It’s hard to guess how cold because I haven’t eaten so I’m feeling it more than usual. Even the furnace that is Chris’s body is barely radiating the BTUs it did last night.
    Go hungry—get cold.
    I thought about making a proper lean-to shelter to reflect back the heat of the fire, but that seemed like so much work. All of our energy should be used to move forward and get ourselves out to a road. We couldn’t afford to waste any time or effort making a shelter when we already had one. I shiver again and feel Chris’s arms tighten.
    We’ve set camp near another slough. Plenty of water, but the dogs didn’t drink enough for the energy they are putting out. And they’re used to baited water. I still don’t recognize the land or the slough, but I’m guessing, since we haven’t come to a road or main trail, that we’ve somehow gotten turned around far north of where I wanted to be. Without a map, my compass doesn’t tell us much. I don’t need a compass to show where west is when I have the sun.
    Calculations buzz in my head. If we’ve been out here two days, possibly traveling twenty miles a day with this deep snow and slow speed, we