Erica
A startled scream left Erica’s mouth. It was her last sound before the fear gripped her body and stole her voice. Not that it would have mattered if she could’ve shouted for help. No one would’ve heard her, not even Molly standing two metres away, already on her sled and ready to go.
The huskies, with the exception of the one eyeballing Erica with an I’m-going-to-rip-out-your-throat glare, were all attached to the sled lines, their heads pointed to the sky and a stream of incessant barking filled the air. Every few seconds one of the pack would break from the barking to add a screeching yelp to the noise.
It reminded Erica of Isla’s nursery on the occasions Erica collected her. Shouting, talking, crying, followed by more shouting. Sixty seconds in that place gave Erica a headache that would last for an hour. Erica was quite sure if it wasn’t for the adrenaline and fear throbbing through her body, she’d have a headache now too.
So much for having nothing to do with dogs. So much for ‘they’ll do their thing and I’ll do mine.’ Erica almost laughed at her own naivety. Stupidity more like. But laughing required movement and she was currently frozen to the spot about to be mauled by the biggest dog Erica had ever seen.
The creature was head to toe black and shiny, like the monitors at the studio right before being switched on in the morning. Its dark eyes fixed on Erica’s face as it crouched down, losing its front paws in the snow before barking at Erica. It wasn’t the excited chattering type of barks of the rest of the huskies, but something ferocious – a vicious warning.
A second later the dog launched into the air and flew at Erica. The force of his weight – a furry bus – slammed into her body sending her falling to the ground with the dog on top of her. Erica scrunched her eyes shut as the putrid stench of the dog’s breath hit her senses. Her body tensed as she waited for the pain of its teeth to sink into her skin.
‘Wow, Erica,’ Lee said from somewhere above her. ‘Looks like you’ve made a friend.’
A moment later, Erica felt the weight of the dog lift from her body and she scrambled to her feet. She scooped her hat from the ground and pulled it over her head, only realizing after the hat had covered her ears that she’d collected a scoop of snow. It slipped down the collar of her jacket, sending a shiver racing down her back, or maybe that was the lingering fear from the dog attack.
‘He … he just turned on me,’ she said with a sudden urge to burst into tears, from the fall, or the fear, or the frustration that she was the only one incapable of handling the dogs. A mix of them all, she guessed.
‘This is Kriger,’ Lee said, holding the dog by the back of his collar with one hand, and stroking its back with his other. ‘Kriger is the Norwegian word for warrior.’
‘He was going to bite me.’ Her voice was high and as screechy as the yelps from the rest of the huskies.
Lee laughed, a bellowing chuckle-like noise. ‘He gives the other dogs the odd nip now and again when they misbehave but he’s never bitten a human yet.’
Yet? Gee, how reassuring.
‘Why did he bark at me like that then? It’s like he’s telling me off.’
‘Well, first of all he’s excited. All the dogs are. Pulling sleds is what they live for. They know they’re going on the week-long trek and they can’t wait. But Kriger here is also trying to tell you that he likes to be at the front. Kriger comes from a long line of alpha leaders, and he’ll keep all of your pack in line if you pop him at the front next to Jagerfly.’
Lee crouched to the snow and grinned at Kriger. The dog barked and slathered a floppy pink tongue across Lee’s face. Lee scratched the pointed black ears and whispered something in the dog’s ear. The dog barked as if replying and looked up at Erica before reeling off a torrent of barks that rang in her ears.
‘Maybe he’d be better with one of the others? Someone who has more experience handling dogs.’ Erica’s gaze travelled across the group. Everyone was on their sleds, waiting for her. The frustration fizzed under her skin again.
‘You’ll be fine. Here –’ Lee motioned for her to take Kriger’s collar. ‘If he starts playing up, hold him between your legs and give him a quick squeeze. It lets the dogs know you’re the boss.’
Erica’s hands shook as she took Kriger’s collar from Lee. The dog jerked and twisted against her hold, sending a wave of panic rushing through her body.
Lee stepped towards her sled and unclipped one of the dogs from the front, walking it on its back legs to the middle space all the while Kriger strained against her hold, choking as his collar dug into his neck and almost pulling Erica face first into the snow.
There’s no shame in recognizing you may not be cut out for the challenge. Lee’s words echoed in her mind.
Erica gritted her teeth. After everything that had happened in the past few months there was no way she was going to let this dog beat her. Erica pulled Kriger between her legs and squeezed her knees against his firm, panting body. ‘I’m the boss, OK?’
Henry was right. She didn’t like dogs, or cold, but she was here now and there was no way she was going to let one fur ball on legs get the better of her.
‘All right, group B,’ Lee hollered over the sudden onslaught of renewed barking. ‘Group A will go first today, and we’ll follow on. Remember to keep your gang lines taut. There are some downhill stints today. When you see the line slacken, tap your foot on the brake until it pulls tight again. On uphill runs you’ll need to run or walk in between the runners and push the sled, helping the dogs carry the weight of it up the hill, but there won’t be much of that today. This is just a practice run. Any problems or if you want to stop, raise one hand in the air. And remember – don’t let go of your sled.’
Erica’s eyes dropped to the black pedal-like brake sitting in between the two runners – strips of narrow wood stretching the length of the sled. A raised wooden platform connected the runners at the front where their tent, sleeping bag, food, and other equipment were secured by a red canvas. In order to use the brake, Erica would have to lift a foot from the runner and press it against the black pedal, something that seemed impossible without toppling the sled or falling off, and she wasn’t even moving yet.
‘Are you all right with all this?’ Erica called to Molly.
If Erica had been hoping for some sisterly support – a don’t worry I’m nervous too look, she didn’t get it. Instead Molly rolled her eyes and said nothing. A moment later Erica watched as Molly lifted the snow hook – a metal anchor holding the dogs and the sled in place – from the ground and pulled away behind Rachel and the rest of the group already moving ahead.
‘Hike,’ Molly shouted, using one of the three musher commands Valek had given them in the briefing. ‘Hike’ for go (not ‘mush’, as Erica had previously thought); ‘easy’ for slow down, and ‘whoa’ to stop.
Erica glanced at Lee, waiting on his sled to her left. He gave her a nod of encouragement. Erica swallowed hard and wriggled the hook free from the snow. The sled jerked forward from the power of the six dogs, almost sending her toppling backwards.
‘Hike,’ she called out, the word lost under Kriger’s flurry of barks. Kriger’s command seemed to have a better effect on the dogs as a moment later the pack fell into a rhythmic run behind Molly, leaving Erica to cling to the handles tight enough to make her fingers ache.
Don’t let go, Lee had said a hundred times. As if she would ever do that.
The snow beneath the runners felt as smooth as silk and in no time at all Huskyleir was a distant speck behind them. Grey cloud hung low in the sky, covering the landscape in a damp mist. Snow, the purest white, blanketed the ground, stretching across a flat white land of bushy green fir trees that looked to Erica like naked Christmas trees, waiting to be draped with fairy lights and gold and red baubles.
Erica focused her eyes on the back of Molly’s jacket, hoping Kriger and the other dogs would do the rest.
‘It’s not like we know each other.’ Molly’s biting words drifted through Erica’s thoughts again.
The last year had gone – poof – in a heartbeat – and they had barely spoken. She’d tried to keep in touch with Molly – firing off a quick text or email as she’d grabbed lunch at her desk; balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she’d changed Isla’s nappy or stacked the sterilizer, leaving rambling voicemails about everything and nothing, asking Molly to come down for a visit and meet her niece followed by cocktails in Covent Garden like they’d done on Molly’s twenty-first.
Molly had never ignored her calls before, even when she’d been in the midst of training for the next race Molly had always found the time to chat to Erica.
At least she’d had an excuse back then, Erica thought. Now what was Molly doing with her time? Nothing as far as Erica could tell. Molly didn’t compete any more and didn’t spend hours every day training.
Frustration tightened its hold on Erica. What gave Molly the right to cut her out without so much as an explanation? She couldn’t even be bothered to send them a new baby card, let alone visit her newborn niece. Molly thought she had the monopoly on grief, but she didn’t. Not by a long shot.
Erica got it, she really did. Molly was grieving – they all were – but Erica had had Henry’s rock-like support, pulling her through the overwhelming sadness, and then Isla had been born a month later and the flood of love Erica felt for Isla eased the pain of Billy’s death. Erica had still cried: big fat tears dripping onto Isla’s newborn head, but with Isla in her arms something inside of Erica had healed, and Molly hadn’t had that.
Another pounding of guilt hit Erica’s stomach. Running had been everything to Molly, and she’d given it up just like that. Why?
The answer was obvious – Billy.
Molly was wrong. They did know each other. Erica knew Molly needed her, the same way she knew by the pitch of Isla’s cries if her daughter was hungry or tired. Erica knew Molly needed her because Erica needed Molly. They’d already lost a brother; they couldn’t lose each other too.