Ice Island (15 page)

“Hey!” he called.

Is he talking to me?

“Hey!” she called back. Her voice was hoarse in the burning cold.

She’d been cursing deadly weather—snow, ice, and wind—for five days, accusing them of ganging up on her. Yet she’d made it.

Tatum shook hands with her handlebars, throwing her shoulders into the sled. “One more time!” she called.

Wet snow whooshed up from the runners as Wolf led them through the final stretch into Anvil. He kept glancing over his shoulder, tail curled over his back.
This is my village. I brought you home
.

Within minutes, the man greeted her like an old friend. “Are you alone? That looks like Samuel’s dog,” he said, staring at Wolf.

His gaze slid from Wolf to Alyeska, Denali, Wrangell, and back to Wolf. “You’re that girl, aren’t you? What happened to the boy? Samuel’s nephew? Cole?”

Tatum stared at him, dumbfounded, trying to get a grip on his questions. They came too fast. She looked past the man to the houses, then down at her mud-splattered boots and at Bandit peeking her head out from inside the sled.

“My name’s George,” he said, smiling.

“I’m Tatum.”

“You don’t look so great.” He swiveled toward his house and shouted something in Yupik. Within minutes a plump woman in overalls, flannel shirt, and work boots trotted out.

“Hot tea!” she said, swinging a canteen. “Here! Drink this!”

Tatum coughed to clear her throat. “Thank you.” She uncapped the lid and sipped. The tea tasted sugary—too sweet—but so good that she drank every drop. Even her toes felt warmer.

“You must come inside,” the woman said, brushing Tatum’s cheek lightly. “Thaw yourself by the stove.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” George said, already leading the way. “My wife, Umi, doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“But …,” Tatum tried again, her stomach churning. “Cole’s still out there. We have to finish together, even if it’s not at the same time.”

Tatum realized how ridiculous she sounded.

Wolf mouthed her glove affectionately. She slipped it over his brow, scratching his head. His tail drooped, relaxing.

“Wrangell knows where he is,” she said. “See the dog chewing his booties? That’s Wrangell, Cole’s lead dog.”

“I’ll get a friend,” George said, shuffling off. “Rev up our snowmobiles.”

Tatum didn’t remember everything that happened during the next hour. But Umi fed and watered all the dogs. Wolf gorged himself, then lifted his head, sniffed the wind, and ran off.

“Wolf!” Tatum called.

He kept going, not once glancing back.

“He will return,” Umi said. “Samuel is in Nome on council business.”

Tatum stared after him. “Wolf!” She felt like crying.

Umi helped hitch baskets to the back of two snowmobiles. They were the size of a small oxcart with skis instead of wheels. George flashed a warm smile, his round face happy as the sun. “We’ll bring them all back,” he shouted before taking off.

Wrangell raced out in front.

Tatum watched them go, wondering how long it would take before they returned. She pictured Cole loading the caribou meat into the baskets, covering it with tarps … Cole straddling the seat behind George … the sled being towed like a barge … Wrangell, Chugach, Brooks, and Kenai hitching a ride instead of being hitched.

Umi led Tatum inside. She fixed her a bowl of hot soup before taking her to the village doctor. Tatum sat on the
examination table, clutching the basket of puppies. Bandit watched from the corner.

The doctor asked question after question. There was disbelief in his eyes when she told him about the past five days. “Get someone to go to Harold’s,” he barked at the nurse. “Have him radio Fireweed Lodge.”

He handed Tatum a tube of ointment for her split lip. “Keep it lubricated,” he said, “and we won’t have to stitch it.”

No way a needle was touching her lip. “Okay.”

“Harold’s a ham radio operator,” he went on. “Phones don’t work too great out here.”

“A plane will be able to take off from Wager in the morning,” Umi added, rubbing circles on Tatum’s shoulder. “It won’t be long until you see your mother.”

Tatum nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. It was going to be a long night. She wondered if Cole would be able to race in Kotzebue. Was there enough time to rest up?

Bandit suddenly put her front paws on the table. “Don’t worry,” Tatum said. “The puppies are okay.”

She started to climb down, but the doctor told her to sit still. “We’re not quite through here,” he said, pressing a stethoscope against her back. “Take a deep breath.”

She breathed in slowly, staring at her hands. What a mess! Her nails were ripped below the cuticle, clotted with bits of dried blood. She was startled by the sight of her skinny legs sticking out below the cotton gown. They looked like they’d fought
Ursus maritimus
and lost. Her shin had a long gash, already forming a scab. She didn’t remember hurting it.

Back at Umi’s, Tatum listened to the safe sounds of the small house. It was so much like Grandfather’s, too hot and smoky. It smelled like burned cooking oil. There were small appliances scattered around—pencil sharpener, cup warmer, popcorn popper. Black cords snaked over the braided rug.

Umi made Bandit a bed in an open duffel bag and lined it with towels. Bandit slept with her puppies, curled up by the stove. The runt was already plumper. Soon he’d be as big as his sister and two brothers. Alyeska and Denali slept outside on scattered straw.

Tatum scrubbed her teeth with her finger in the shower, then again after she got out with the toothbrush Umi had given her. Umi had laid out clean clothes too: sweatpants, a heavy T-shirt, and thick socks. It took forever to comb the tangles from her wet hair.

Tatum wiped steam off the mirror, gathering enough nerve to look at herself. Her lip was twice its normal size,
puffy like cooked sausage. The wound was raw and deep. She winced, smearing on ointment. The circles under her eyes screamed,
Get some sleep!

Later, over a plate of spaghetti with canned corn, Tatum told Umi about the cabin, the creek with overflow water, and Cole’s decision to split up. She was surprised by the calmness in her voice when she talked about Bandit killing the sick caribou. “She saved our lives.”

Umi couldn’t pass Bandit’s bed without stopping to pet her, making clucking noises at the puppies. Bandit licked her hand, smiling her doggy smile.

Umi fixed Tatum a bed on the couch, but Tatum doubted she’d be able to sleep. Not as long as Cole was out there.

Umi went into the kitchen, avoiding the web of cords with practiced steps.

Tatum sat on the floor by the duffel, staring at the flickering fire without really seeing it. “Mom will be on her way as soon as it’s light,” she told Bandit.

Then she got up and crawled into bed. She heard the back door slam, followed by chattering in the kitchen and the thud of what sounded like a frying pan. She caught a whiff of bacon. Later, a baby cried. She listened to Umi and another woman soothing it in Yupik.

Tatum slept, stirred, rolled, and nearly fell on the floor. She felt limp, exhausted, as if she’d been running all night with her dogs, instead of sleeping on a couch in a warm house. The coals in the stove cast eerie shadows on the walls. Her watch blinked 11:36 p.m. Worry stabbed at her. Cole should have been back by now.

She sat up even though her body begged,
Go back to
sleep!
She reached for Grandfather’s totem, which she’d set on the coffee table earlier. Tatum knew the tiny swallow had helped guide her and her team to safety.
Thank you
.

Bandit looked content in her bed by the stove. “Think I’ll check on Alyeska and Denali,” Tatum whispered. “It isn’t right that we aren’t together.”

Bandit whined softly.

“I knew you’d agree.”

Tatum tugged on her boots and grabbed her parka. Her gloves had dried quickly in the hot room. The front door creaked when she opened it. She hoped it wouldn’t wake Umi. The sky was clear, with so many stars they looked like one big blur.

She nearly tripped over the dark lump on the porch. “Wolf?”

He got up and stretched his great body.

“Hey, fella.” She reached out to pet him, but he stepped back cautiously. “Come on, it’s me, Tatum.”

Wolf made a slow circle, sniffing. Then he nosed her pocket.

“A midnight snack, is that it?”

Tatum went back inside and walked quietly to the kitchen. Umi had hacked what was left of the caribou meat into pan-sized steaks. Tatum sliced the thickest one into strips, then wrapped it up.

On her way out, she stopped to snack her dog. “Here you go, girl.”

Bandit inhaled it.

Wolf was waiting for her on the porch. “Follow me,”
Tatum said. He trotted down the steps, nipping at the bloody package. “Patience, now.”

Alyeska and Denali eyed her from their straw bed. “Hungry?” she asked.

They got up and wiggled their rear ends. “I’m happy to see you too,” she said, dividing the meat into thirds.

Wolf ate his share, then took off like she’d known he would. A light snow began to fall, turning the streetlights fuzzy. Tatum talked to Alyeska and Denali, grateful for their company.

Through the snowy night she saw the tiniest point of light. It bobbed and disappeared. A moment later, there were two lights. Snowmobiles? She listened intently, hearing the drone of engines.
Finally!

I was inspired to write
Ice Island
when I visited St. Lawrence Island, Alaska, after the 1,049-mile Iditarod Sled Dog Race. This remote island lies west of mainland Alaska in the Bering Sea—about 230 miles southwest of Nome. Yet it’s less than 40 miles from Russia.

It was mid-March, and freezing cold. I had flown to Nome in part to cheer on Iditarod mushers as they crossed the finish line. At the same time, I was promoting my photo-illustrated book,
Dashing Through the Snow: The Story of the Jr. Iditarod
.

While walking the icy streets of the historic gold-mining town, I fell in love with the rustic buildings and the beauty of the frozen Bering Sea. I was amazed to see locals in pickup trucks spinning doughnuts on the ice.

From Nome I flew to a village on St. Lawrence Island. The island has two villages: Gambell and Savoonga. The Siberian Yupik people received title to most of the island through the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act in 1971. As a result, they legally carve and sell fossilized ivory found there.

Like Tatum in my story, I was picked up at Gambell Airport by a woman driving an ATV. I stayed in a simple rooming house much like Fireweed Lodge. Bundled up against the cold, I wandered through the village and talked to Native men repairing a walrus-skin boat. I learned that it was called an
angyapik
in the Yupik language.

I was startled by the sight of polar bear hides drying on racks, and amused by children playing with large chunks of ice, stacking them like blocks. I remember thinking,
One of these days I’ll use these details in a story
.

Some time passed before I created Tatum and Cole and their faithful sled dogs. But I never stopped reading about St. Lawrence Island and its inhabitants. According to my research, the island was part of a land bridge that connected North America to Asia more than ten thousand years ago. It’s the sixth-largest island in the United States—over seventy miles long and almost twenty-five miles wide in places.

In
Ice Island
, St. Lawrence Island is called Santa Ysabel Island, and Gambell is renamed Wager. I made the decision to rename them during an early draft when I realized I had to alter the geography to make the story seem plausible.

Today Gambell looks much as it did when I visited it. Unlike Tatum and Cole in
Ice Island
, I never ventured beyond the bounds of the village. And although the temperatures dipped below freezing, I never suffered frostbite or dehydration. Nor did I fall through ice into bone-chilling water.

Alaskan husky:
A dog of mixed heritage bred primarily as a working dog.

“All right!”:
The command a musher uses for “Let’s go!”

angyapik
: A Yupik word meaning “skin boat.”

booties:
Socks that protect sled dogs’ feet from snow, ice, and exposed rocks. Polarfleece or a durable Cordura fabric is used most often.

checker:
A race official who checks each team in and out of designated checkpoints. Racers’ mandatory gear is also checked.

drag brake:
A flat metal device with claws on the bottom attached to the back of the sled. The musher steps on the brake to slow or stop the team.

dropped dog:
A dog that is tired or injured and thus
“dropped” from the race. A dropped dog travels inside the sled to the next checkpoint, where a veterinarian cares for it. After the race, dropped dogs are flown back to Wasilla in a bush plane.

gangline:
The main line that runs through the center of the team and attaches to the sled. Each dog is joined to the gangline by the tugline (snapped to the back of the harness) and neckline (snapped to the collar).

“Gee!”:
The command for a sled-dog team to turn right.

harness:
A device that fits over a sled dog’s shoulders and along its back, putting the pulling power in the lines. Race rules require that the neck and breast panel of all harnesses be padded. Six inches of reflector tape must be visible on each harness.

“Haw!”:
The command for a sled-dog team to turn left.

“Hike!”:
A command that means “Let’s go!”

Iditarod:
A ghost town approximately halfway between Anchorage and Nome. In odd-numbered years, the Iditarod race follows the southern route passing through the town.

Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race:
This famous 1,049-mile race was organized in 1973 by mushing enthusiasts who feared that the tradition of dogsledding was dying out. The annual
event honors the 1925 serum run from Anchorage to Nome, Alaska. It’s also called the Last Great Race on Earth.