Broken Trails (39 page)

"Really? That would be great. How much do you want for it?" She reached under her parka in search of an inner pocket where she kept her money.

The waitress dithered a bit, looking at the other patrons with a frown as she figured out monetary values. She finally quoted a price that was well below what Lainey had expected. The village was literally in the middle of the wilderness, and everything had to be trucked in through fair weather and foul. That made costs she took for granted in the lower states double or even triple in some places up here.

She was certain arguing the point would only insult the woman, so Lainey paid what was asked and the waitress went back into the kitchen area to get the goods. As soon as she was out of sight, Lainey folded a twenty dollar bill in half and slipped it under a sugar container with the corner peeking out. She blushed as she realized both the old man's and Suzy's sharp eyes had seen her furtive movement. He nodded, a smile on his face, and sipped his coffee. Suzy acted like nothing had happened.

"Here you go," the waitress said. "Would you like any coffee or anything? I've a fresh pot. We could whip you up a great breakfast, too."

Lainey took the brown paper bag and stood. "I'd love to, but I've only got a few hours of sleep before I head out. Thank you so much for this. You're a life saver."

The waitress reddened and smiled. She brushed at her apron, but appeared pleased. "You're welcome. Maybe some time you can come back for a good meal."

"I'd like that."

"What's your name?" the old man asked as Lainey edged toward the door with Suzy.

"Lainey Hughes."

"Good luck, Lainey Hughes," he said, lifting his cup in salute.

The others in the cafe murmured the same, and Lainey thanked them before stepping outside.

Soon she was back at her sled, stomach full from a meal of moose stew and fresh buttered rolls. Her team slept on, and she joined them. She was unconscious before her head hit the rolled up clothing she used as a pillow.

Upon awakening, she grabbed her thermos and returned to the community center. Those rolls had been wonderful, and she hoped there were more. At the very least, a thermos of coffee or even warm Tang would taste better than the juice packs and Gatorade she carried. She had tried to get an assortment of flavors in her food drops, but their taste was getting old. Maybe next time she could substitute a couple of other items to drink.

Next time? Where did that come from? Lainey snorted and shook her head, stepping inside the community center.

The faces of the mushers had changed, new ones having come in the afternoon while she slept, others having left. Roman Spencer was there, looking groggy as he spooned stew into his mouth. Lainey was pleased to see him, wandering if he had just arrived and planned to stay long. It looked like she might have evaded him for the rest of the race. She could only hope.

Lainey went to the drying racks and scooped up her things. Most everything was dry, though the boot liners were still slightly damp. Ruefully, she wondered if there would be a place in Kaltag to dry things. That was her next layover. She could really use those liners before reaching Unalakleet. She fumbled for her notebook and checked her food drop inventory for Kaltag. At least she had two pairs of liners in that drop, just in case.

"Lainey?"

She turned to see the woman who had taken her to the cafe, Suzy. "Hey, how are you holding up?" she asked with a grin, putting away her notebook and juggling her belongings.

"Better than you guys are," Suzy said, indicating the unshaven and exhausted looking mushers peppering the center. "While you were asleep there were a few deliveries for you. I've got them right over here."

Puzzled, Lainey followed her to where the volunteers had set up their office, a row of tables covered in paperwork, radios, and all manner of odds and ends. "Deliveries? I didn't ask for anything to be delivered here. Other than my food drops, anyway." She looked at the large chalkboard on the wall, Searching for Scotch's name. It looked like she would be leaving the Kaltag checkpoint in the next couple of hours. Roman had only just arrived, giving Lainey the potential for another five or six hour lead.

"Well, old Harris spread the word after we left the cafe this morning." Suzy pulled a large cardboard box out from under a table and hefted it on top.

"Harris?" Lainey lifted the flap of the box and blinked at the contents. A lump swelled in her throat, making swallowing difficult.

"Yeah, the man at the counter. He let some folks know about your need. We've had five or six people show up to give you these."

Lainey pulled a plastic gallon jug of cooking oil from inside the box. There was another one just like it as well as several sticks of butter and margarine of different brands, obviously from someone's home refrigerator. A large plastic bag held chunks of meaty bones, still mostly frozen - enough for sixteen dogs. In a smaller paper sack, there was a canning jar filled with a thick yellow fluid. "What's this?"

Suzy whistled. "That's seal oil. It has a very high fat content. That was probably meant for you rather than the dogs. You can either drink it straight or dip bread or something into it. Ever have it before?"

"No." Lainey did not know whether to laugh or cry. Unable to make the emotional decision, she smiled as tears stung her eyes.

"Well, if you like fish, you should like this. It's got a fishy aftertaste, anyway."

Sniffling, Lainey found cards from a couple of children and seven notes from well-wishers. "Harris, you said?"

"Yep, Harris," Suzy agreed. She poked through the cards and messages. "Everybody who brought something left a note for you."

Lainey read each one. The children had drawn crude pictures of a sled and dogs. One even showed her bright yellow sled bag, so the kid had to have seen her while she was napping. The others were scribbled messages of good trails and encouragement to reach the finish line.

She made certain she had the names of the people involved, asking Suzy to translate those signatures she could not read. Though it took time, Lainey would not leave until she had written thank you notes to everyone involved, including Harris and the waitress at the cafe. When she finished, she gave them to Suzy who promised to deliver them.

Before Lainey could leave, Suzy pulled her over to the buffet table, and insisted she grab a snack to take with her. She chuckled as the volunteer buttered four rolls and wrapped them in tin foil for the trail.

Still a bit weepy, Lainey took the box - now piled with donations, rolls, and her dry gear - out to her sled. It was a little after three in the afternoon and the sky was darkening. Her six hour break would be finished soon. Still, she stopped and gazed at the village around her, memorizing its appearance. She even dug out her camera and took a few photos, more for her than any magazine article. What an amazing group of people here in Galena, Alaska.

She put away her camera and forced herself back to the business of dog sledding. Firing up the cookers, she moved down the line to rouse her dogs. The lump was still in her throat, but she forced it down.

Whatever could she do to repay the village of Galena?

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

LAINEY SPENT THE night on the trail, stopping at the Nulato checkpoint only long enough to snack her dogs. She pulled into Kaltag a little after three in the morning and took a much needed break. The dogs enjoyed their bones, gnawing and cracking them before they fell asleep.

Her notes indicated that the next stretch of trail to Unalakleet had the potential for problems. A straight shot through was not unheard of, though, despite the fact that it was ninety miles away. As she woke her dogs from their mandatory eight hour break, she gauged their strengths and weaknesses for a possible twelve hour run. All of them were eating well; they had been fortunate enough not to pick up some of the illnesses floating through the race. It was inevitable for dogs to get ill, what with hundreds of them on the trail. It only took one with a cold or canine version of the flu to infect a dozen others who parked in the same areas on the route. Her team still ate heartily, especially now that she had the extra fat to include in their diet, and they appeared no worse for wear.

Physically, they still pulled with abandon, though even her monster wheel dog, Jonah, had curbed his overbearing enthusiasm. He remained eager to get on the trail after every stop, but his boundless energy had mellowed with the many miles under his paws. None of them appeared to be straining anything. The veterinarians gave them good marks at every checkpoint. In fact, Lainey was one of the few mushers with fourteen dogs. Most had dropped to thirteen, some as few as nine by this point. Even Scotch was down to thirteen dogs according to the ratings, and she was renowned for taking excellent care of her team.

If anyone on the team was fading, it was Lainey. She was the weak link. Her emotions were all over the place, and the easy trails left her plenty of room to moan and grumble over everything from the idea of scratching to avoiding the complications of her feelings for Scotch by taking the first plane out of Nome. The desire for a drink had gotten stronger, her perpetual thermos of coffee and many juice packs not filling the need. She had not quite started hallucinating, but she knew from other mushers that sleep deprivation and not taking care of her health could cause her to see things that were not there. Snorting, she packed her sled bag. Maybe she would see pink elephants; she never had when she was a drunk so at least the possibilities were entertaining.

The only thing keeping her on the trail was an acronym she had learned in her AA sessions - H.A.L.T. It stood for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired, and whenever she felt one or more of these things she knew to not make a hasty decision. Her entire being throbbed with those emotions but her experience taught her not to jump to wrong conclusion. That was the only thing keeping her in the race now.

She chuckled grimly as she prepared the team to leave Kaltag. The choice to quit the race was out of her hands so long as she refused to make a decision. If she made it to Nome it would be because of that. What a way to finish the race., too morose and exhausted to quit. She doubted anyone else could claim the same.

Returning to the assessment of her dogs, she questioned one of the vets. He graciously went over her team again and returned with a verdict that they could make it to Unalakleet in one hump providing she watched them closely for any signs of injury. None appeared on the verge of strain, but things could happen on the trail as she well knew.

Lainey thanked him and continued readying the team. One of her reasons for pushing through was her distaste for camping in the middle of nowhere. According to the standings, unless someone behind her blew through Kaltag and tailed her, she would be in the wilderness, hours away from anyone the entire time. If she forced the team to keep going, at least they could take another eight hour break in Unalakleet, a town of several hundred people. Civilization was preferable to the bush and after a ten or twelve hour run, the extra rest would be beneficial before they started their run on the Alaskan coast.

The sky was cloudy, the rising sun obscured by murky gray. Weather reports said a bit of storm was expected, but nothing too outrageous. Still, this stretch of trail was notorious for sudden and extreme storms.

H.A.L.T. She laughed to herself again. No hasty decisions. If the situation came up, she would stop and camp out. If not, look out Unalakleet, here she came.

Lainey finished her chores and brought the dogs to the checkpoint. She signed out, mentioning that she was going to attempt a straight shot. Better to warn the officials; if she took too long to get to the next layover, at least someone would have an idea when to start the search for her.

She did not need to yell to be heard anymore. The dogs had calmed down considerably with their time on the trail and easily picked out her voice. "Ready," she said. Her team, ears pricked in eagerness, awaited her order. Trace and Sholo pulled them straight, their eyes only for the trail leading out of the checkpoint. "Let's go."

Over the next hour and a half, the team climbed a gradual ascent through woods and tundra along the Kaltag River valley. There were a couple of places where the sled tilted with the grade. It remained on track though, following the well delineated path of previous mushers and trail breakers. By the time she reached the summit, about eight hundred feet above sea level, the sun had fully risen behind its veil of cloud cover. The sky was gray and heavy and the ground white with a dry, powdery snow. Trees in varying achromatic shades broke the landscape but not the dreariness. The view was not as stark as the Farewell Burn had been, but Lainey's already dismal mood seemed to descend with the trail into another valley.

The drop was as gradual as the rise, and the path was an easy one. No snow had fallen recently, and the trail was packed solid and smooth. It was bitterly cold, as well. When Lainey forced herself to eat something, she finished by putting on her face mask and tightening the ruff of her parka hood.

What the hell was she going to do about Scotch, other than the obvious, when she got to Nome? Was she really entertaining the notion of retiring from free lance work to settle down? Introducing Lainey Hughes, Alaskan housewife! Ludicrous! The reason she became a photo journalist in the first place was because she loved cameras and had itchy feet. Sooner or later, the urge would hit her, and she would be on the next plane out of Anchorage, guaranteed. It was a rare gig that kept her attention for longer than six months.

She ignored the little voice reminding her she had yet to feel that itch in the nine months she had been cooling her heels at the kennel.

Besides, that domestic daydream rested largely on Scotch's shoulders. Who said she wanted more than a brief liaison? They had never discussed a relationship, only the need to hold off from jumping into the sack until after the race was finished. Lainey had played the field for years. Women as attractive and confident as Scotch were usually players. Granted, she did not have the opportunity to sow wild oats out here in the bush, pun not intended, but the potential was there. Had Scotch grown up in New York, she would be the toast of the town, sleeping her way through a multitude of warm and willing partners.