Sled run for survival, p.1
Sled Run for Survival, page 1
To Karen B., who helped me through a difficult journey.
—M.H.
Sled Run for Survival
© 2022 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.
A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188
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With the exception of known historical figures, all characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations.
Cover art and interior illustrations by Sergio Cariello. Additional spot illustrations from Vectorstock.
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ISBN 978-1-64607-015-2
ISBN 978-1-68428-332-3 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-68428-333-0 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-68428-331-6 (Apple)
Build: 2022-11-18 09:56:40 EPUB 3.0
Contents
Chapter 1: Snowbound
Chapter 2: The Ice
Chapter 3: The Wolf King
Chapter 4: Danger in Nome
Chapter 5: Quarantine
Chapter 6: Amelia
Chapter 7: Plane vs. Dogsled
Chapter 8: The Children’s Ward
Chapter 9: Amelia Again
Chapter 10: Where Is Leonhard Seppala?
Chapter 11: Ruby, Alaska
Chapter 12: Nenana
Chapter 13: Along the Trail
Chapter 14: The Norton Sound
Chapter 15: Storm
Chapter 16: Fire
Chapter 17: Minnie
Chapter 18: The Camera
Secret Word Puzzle
About the Author
Snowbound
Beth followed her cousin Patrick down the steps to the workshop at Whit’s End.
Patrick pushed open the basement door. The cousins burst inside.
“It’s a snow day!” Patrick shouted.
“No school till next week,” Beth added.
They took off their jackets and hung them on a coatrack.
Beth slipped off her yellow rubber boots and left them near the door. She padded across the floor in her socks. She stopped next to Whit.
The inventor put his wrench down on his workbench. His skin looked chapped, and he had frost in his eyebrows. He smiled at the cousins.
“Were you shoveling snow?” Patrick asked.
Whit shook his head. “I was just testing out an Imagination Station adventure in—”
“Don’t tell me,” Beth said. “The Sahara Desert?”
Whit laughed at her joke. His eyes twinkled. “Somewhere much colder,” he said.
Whit plucked a white hair off his black wool sweater.
“Fighting a polar bear?” Patrick asked. He made motions as if jabbing a bear with a long stick. “They’re the biggest bears on the planet.”
Whit was silent for a moment. He shook his head again. “I was fighting something much more dangerous,” he said.
“A wolf then?” Patrick said.
“No,” Whit said.
“Walruses,” Patrick said. “They have long tusks.” He pointed his index fingers downward. Then he pressed them against his puckered lips.
Beth giggled at Patrick’s finger tusks.
“Walruses are strong,” Whit said. “But this was a fiercer opponent than all the wild animals combined.”
Beth wondered what it could be.
Whit picked up something from the workbench. “Why don’t you test out the adventure for me,” he said. “I think you’ll find this one a challenge.”
Whit walked to the Imagination Station. It looked like the cockpit of a helicopter. But there were no spinning blades on top. He opened the control panel on the side. He fiddled with some buttons, and the machine’s door slid open.
Patrick motioned for Beth to get in first. She slid into the far seat. She ran her hand across the dials on the dashboard.
Patrick followed, settling into the black leather seat. He put on his seatbelt.
Beth fastened hers, too.
Whit held up a pair of old-fashioned earmuffs. They had puffy wool pads to cover a person’s ears. “This is a new version of the translation device,” he said. “Who had it last time?”
Patrick pointed at Beth. “She got to talk to dolphins with a conch shell,” he said.
Beth thought Patrick sounded a little jealous.
Whit handed the earmuffs to Patrick. “You’ll need these,” he said. “Communication is important on this adventure.”
Patrick took the earmuffs and set them on his lap.
“Will I be able to speak ‘girl talk’?” Patrick asked. He elbowed Beth gently.
“Hardy har har,” Beth said.
Beth saw some little orange packets on the floor of the Imagination Station. She knew they were Hot Handz hand warmers.
“You’ll need those,” Whit said, nodding at the packets. “Keep them with you.”
Beth picked up the packets. She was about to ask what else besides good communication would be needed.
But before she could ask, Patrick hit the red button. The machine lurched.
Beth felt as if she were on a sled, sliding down an icy hill. Then she felt the machine spin in circles. She felt dizzy and excited all at once.
Then everything went black.
The Ice
Patrick got out of the Imagination Station. He stood in a large, snow-covered open space. Trees encircled the area.
All he could see in every direction was the white and gray of winter. The world seemed to be one enormous snow globe. Snow frosted the trees and nearby shrubs. Distant rocks looked like giant marshmallows. Round, white clouds with gray bellies floated across the sky.
He breathed out, and his breath formed mini clouds.
Patrick glanced at the Imagination Station. Beth was climbing out of it. She was dressed in animal pelts. A large, furry backpack clung to her back.
Beth stepped away from the Imagination Station. The machine seemed to melt into the hilly landscape and disappear.
A chill traveled up Patrick’s sleeve. They would need those Hot Handz.
Patrick looked at his clothes. The machine had transformed him into a human bundle of fur. Like Beth, he was wearing a jacket, pants, and boots made from animal pelts. He touched his arm and saw he was wearing thick mittens made from black fur. Beaver skin?
He took off a mitten and felt his head. He had on a fuzzy hood with fur trim. The translation device was covering his ears. The earmuffs felt warm. He listened carefully, hoping to hear a bird or something.
But the only things he heard were wind and an odd whistling sound. A sudden gust swooshed across the flat land. It picked up a mini cyclone of snow, pushing it toward him.
Beth moved away from the swirling snow. She stepped into a thick grove of spruce.
The sound of an engine came from above. Patrick looked up.
A yellow biplane was over the trees. The pilot waved as the plane passed overhead. The cousins could see that the pilot was wearing thick goggles and a yellow scarf.
“Hey!” Beth shouted. “Here! Down here!”
Patrick jumped and shouted, “We need a ride!”
But the plane flew away toward the west.
As he jumped, Patrick heard a crack below him. The ground moaned and made eerie popping sounds.
He looked down. He was not standing on land but on snow-covered ice. And the ice was splitting. His heart raced.
Beth watched the crack between Patrick’s feet widen.
“Jump toward me!” she shouted. “Or you’ll fall in!”
Patrick pushed off of one leg. He crossed over the crack and dove on his stomach, sliding a few feet.
Beth rushed down the small slope. She stopped at the edge of the ice.
“Now pull yourself toward me!” she said. “You’re six feet away from safety.”
Patrick moved his arms and legs. He wriggled forward slowly. Just as he got near the edge, the gap widened. It was about eighteen inches wide now.
Her heart was pounding. What if Patrick falls in? What if he drags me into the water with him? We’ll both freeze to death within minutes.
But Beth took a deep breath. She leaned forward and took hold of his wrists. She pulled him off the ice.
“Thanks,” Patrick said. “That was a close call. Weren’t you afraid I would pull you into the water?”
Beth nodded and gave a wea
The cousins stood up and brushed off the powdery snow.
“Listen,” Beth said. “The ice is singing.”
The frozen lake moaned and popped and crackled.
“Weird,” Patrick said. “I’ve never heard that before.”
The sounds grew deeper in tone.
“It sounds angry now,” Patrick said. “Let’s go.”
“Which way?” Beth asked. “Mr. Whittaker didn’t say much. We’re looking for something dangerous.”
“Like that?” Patrick asked. He pointed behind her.
Beth turned around.
A moose was crashing through the spruce trees.
Beth froze. It was the strangest animal she had ever seen. It had only one antler. But that wasn’t all. A white wolf had taken hold of the moose’s front leg. It was not going to let go.
The moose let out another deep moan. Patrick lifted his mitten to the earmuffs.
“The translation device is working!” he shouted. “I can understand the moose—sort of.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “It’s afraid.”
“How did you know?” Patrick asked.
Beth smiled. “We should find some cover,” she said. Then she turned and moved behind a large spruce.
Patrick followed. But his boots sank into the deep snow. He had to lift each leg high to take the next step.
The moose moved straight into the spruce grove. It dragged the wolf with it. The moose thrashed its head wildly as if trying to bite the wolf.
But the white animal’s teeth held on to the loose skin at the top of the moose’s leg.
The moose moaned and thrashed again. Its antler banged into a tree trunk.
The moose walked on, dragging the wolf into a small clearing.
“Look,” Beth said, “the moose’s antler fell off.”
Patrick remembered the translation device. He shouted to the moose, “Hey, Mr. Moose, brush the wolf against the tree! It will let go!”
But the moose kept walking and groaning.
The moose stepped toward a large pine that was missing branches. It pinned the wolf against the tree and leaned.
“It listened to me, Beth! It listened to me!”
The wolf let go of the moose. But then it turned toward the cousins and snarled. Patrick saw its long, sharp teeth. Moose blood dripped from its mouth.
“Okay, Dr. Dolittle,” Beth said. “Please tell the wolf to leave us alone.”
Patrick shouted at the white creature, “Go home!”
The wolf stepped closer, the silvery gray tips of its ears twitching.
“This is its home,” Beth said. “We’re the newcomers.”
Patrick reacted quickly. He picked up the fallen antler and held the pointed side outward. “Get behind me!” he said.
The Wolf King
Beth crouched near Patrick. She heard a far-off jingling sound coming from behind her. She wondered if that was the bell at Whit’s End.
She looked around for the Imagination Station to rescue them, but she didn’t see it anywhere. She didn’t hear the machine’s familiar hum either.
But the jingles grew closer . . . as did the white wolf.
Beth could now see its left ear was ragged and scarred. A silver streak ran from its forehead to its nose. Its almond-shaped eyes were close-set and glowed like yellow jewels.
Patrick thrust the antler in the wolf’s direction. “Yah! Get back!” he shouted.
“Tell the wolf we don’t taste good,” Beth said. “Human meat might upset its stomach.”
The wolf snarled.
“His stomach,” Patrick said. “He said he’s the alpha male.”
Patrick said in a kind voice, “Hi, wolf king. Let’s talk this through . . .”
Excited yips and high-pitched howls mixed with the jingles coming from behind them.
The hair along the wolf’s back rose and formed a spiky ridge of menace.
Beth didn’t dare take her eyes off the white wolf king.
“Listen! More wolves are coming,” Beth said, putting a hand on Patrick’s back. “This must be the danger that Whit meant.”
“Not wolves,” Patrick said. “I hear dogs through the translation device. Happy dogs.”
Patrick turned and looked behind him.
Just then, the wolf sprang.
Beth screamed as the wolf lunged. The animal’s teeth bit into the backpack.
Patrick swung the antler and knocked the white wolf away. The wolf hit the snow on his side but quickly bounced back to his feet.
Suddenly a gunshot rang out. The sound echoed off the snowy hills.
The wolf let go of the backpack. But his fur was still raised, and his teeth were bared in a snarl. He had retreated only about six feet.
The jingling and yapping were closer now. A sled pulled by seven large dogs drove into the small clearing.
The dogs were large and of differing colors. They had bells on their harnesses.
A man stood on the sled. Its cargo was several large, white canvas bags. The musher wore a fur jacket with a hood that covered most of his face. But Patrick could see he was old with a thick, white beard.
Patrick thought the man might have looked like Father Christmas except for one thing: the rifle in his hands.
“The wolf,” said Beth to the musher. “Please—he’s after us.”
The musher sprang off the sled and rushed at the wolf. He held the rifle like a club. “Go on, get out of here!” he shouted and waved the weapon.
The sled dogs yelped and yipped as if to encourage their master. The bells on their harnesses shook and jingled loudly.
The wolf king backed away.
Patrick could understand the hunger in his growl. He wanted food for himself and his pack.
Then the wolf ran off, nose to the snow, sniffing. Patrick knew he was following the scent of the moose.
The musher lowered his weapon. “Phillip Clearsky at your service,” he said.
Beth walked over to him and shook his hand, thick mitten to thick mitten. She said, “I’m Beth.” She motioned toward Patrick. “And this is my cousin Patrick.”
Patrick also shook Clearsky’s hand.
“Thank you for firing your rifle to scare the wolf away,” Patrick said.
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to scare the wolf,” he said. “I didn’t even see it at first.”
“Then why did you fire the rifle?” Beth asked. “The shot came at the perfect time.”
“A crazed moose came running at my sled,” Clearsky said. “I was afraid it would kick one of my dogs. So I fired a warning shot, and it ran away.”
“Anyway, it helped us scare the wolf,” Beth said. “Thank you.”
“You two have an odd accent,” he said. “It reminds me of a visitor we had a few days ago. You ever met a man named Whittaker?”
The cousins nodded.
“Mr. Whittaker sort of dropped us off here,” Patrick said.
“He is an odd one. Though nice enough,” Clearsky said. “I’m glad he gave up on that silly idea of his.”
Patrick looked at Beth. They both shrugged. Neither seemed to know what Whit’s silly idea was.
The dogs began to whine and yelp. They wanted to get going so they could eat.
The musher pointed to the sun hanging low in the sky. “Not much daylight in January. I’ve got to hurry,” he said. “I don’t want to travel in the dark.”
Patrick glanced at the bags on the sled. They all had U.S. Mail printed on the side. We’re in the United States with snow and mountains and sled dogs, he thought. Alaska?
“May we have a ride into town?” Beth asked. “We got a little farther out than we realized.”
“Sure. You two look light enough,” Clearsky said. “Hop on, and I’ll take you to Nome.”
Beth threw her backpack on top of the mailbags. Then she climbed on top of the sled. Patrick stood on the musher’s footboards.
Finally, Clearsky bent to pet his dogs. He scratched the lead dog behind the ears. “Good girl, Storm,” he said. Then he got on the back of the sled and shouted, “Hike!”
The dogs began to run.
Patrick felt a gentle breeze. He listened to the harness bells as the sled slid along packed snow. The single dog in front, Storm, yapped and barked.
Using the translation device, Patrick knew the dog was just happy—she was made for this work. She was saying, “Hurry, hurry,” to the dogs tethered behind her in pairs.
