Page 30 of Dark Roads
“Jesus, dog. I thought you were a wolf!” The dog trotted to my front and sat down, stared at my pocket, and then back at my face.
“You have got to be kidding me. You tracked me for salmon?”
The dog looked at my pocket again, made a soft grumbling whine.
“I don’t have any more.” I looked down the road. If he’d followed my route on the highway and then through the woods, he might have left paw prints arrowing straight to me.
“Go home.” I made a sweeping motion with my hand. He didn’t budge. I clapped loudly. He lifted a furry ear and studied my face. I stomped my feet, raised my arms. “Get out of here!”
The dog startled, danced back, and then shot into the woods. I stayed for a moment, listening. I couldn’t hear him. Hopefully he was running back to the farm.
I kept walking and soon reached the road sign warning drivers about winter runoffs and falling rocks. Just past the sign was the old wooden bridge. It had collapsed last year but the logging company hadn’t fixed it yet and the only way over was by bike, horse, or foot.
My dirt bike was hidden a few feet into the woods behind the sign. I found it and mentally said thanks to Jonny, and to my parents for watching over me. I was almost free.
The headlight made strange shapes on the road as I droveslowly, looking out for any fallen trees that might have blocked the way. I was so focused on the road that I didn’t see the dog running along beside me until I caught the flash of a small dark shape. I slowed nearly to a stop, and he zipped in front of me. I hit the brakes and fell over in a slow-motion topple, with the bike landing on my leg. I looked up. The dog was standing over me, panting into my face.
I did a quick body scan. I was okay. I had been going slow enough, and the bike had pushed me against a soft bank of dirt. I lifted the bike up, checked it over. It was fine. I let out my breath and turned back to the dog, who was watching the entire process with interest. Like he hadn’t just caused the crash. I put my hands on my hips. “We need to work on your timing.”
We sat on the bank and shared some water—he drank from my cupped hands—and strips of my beef jerky. He licked my fingers clean, watching my face, like maybe he expected me to betray him, to snatch my hand back at the last minute. He’d learned not to trust. I got it.
I gave him another piece of jerky, then stood to get on my bike. “You can’t follow me. It’s too dangerous.” I eyed him. He eyed me. “This isn’t going to work, dog.”
He stood on his back legs and rested his front paws on my thighs.
I reached down and tried to pick him up. He wriggled free with a sharp bark and a dance backward. “Then go home!” I started the bike, legs braced on each side, and revved the throttle a few times—two hard twists of my wrist—hoping the noise would freak him out. He looked at the smoking exhaust pipe, and then back at me, his eyes narrowed. Like he wasinsulted.
“I’m out of food.” I held up my hands. He didn’t move. “Listen, wolf-dog, the only way you are coming with me is if you learn to ride a dirt bike.” I tapped the seat in front of me.
The dog leapt up, his front feet landing on the gas tank andhis hind end on my lap. Startled, I reached out to hold him in place, but he was balanced perfectly. He leaned against me, his gaze on the road ahead. I didn’t move. What just happened? I thought about the farm. The tractors. Maybe this dog had ridden with the workers. He glanced over his shoulder at me.
“Okay. We’ll give it a try.”
The headlight lit up the orange reflective tape Jonny had tied to a branch to mark the head of the trail. I tugged the tape free, then turned off the logging road, bumped down the bank, and rode carefully through the old-growth trees. I couldn’t see it yet, or hear it, but I knew that the narrow animal trail was following the line of the river. I reached the next marker, removed that tape, and turned again, climbing higher until I found the ridge of rocks rising out of the ground.
When I stopped the dirt bike, the dog jumped down and began sniffing around. I could hardly make him out in the dark. I hid the bike behind a tree, hooked my helmet onto the handlebar, and got my flashlight out of my backpack. I walked softly, shining the light through the trees. The dog kept close to my heels. I wondered if he was worried about being left behind.
I pushed through shrubs and climbed over fallen logs and stones. We were at the base of the bluffs—a long slab of stone that had been formed years ago by a glacier. The flashlight beamed ahead of me, landing on the barely visible outline of a building. The cabin.
The dog moved past me and trotted toward the door confidently, like this was our home and we were just coming back from the grocery store. I followed him, but more slowly, taking in every detail. Anyone else would think the cabin neglected, dark, and cold, with the back wall, and half of each side, built into the bluff. They’d see the gray moss-covered rotten logsslotted together and think them beyond repair. The cedar shingle roof was buried under a layer of fir and pine needles. Overgrown trees blocked out the sky and any hint of sunlight.
I thought it was beautiful.
A few hard pushes, and the door creaked open. The dog squeezed through. I took careful steps, trying to avoid the gaping holes in the wood floor. Those would be my first repairs. The woodstove was rusted to a light brown. Someone had cemented around the pipe where it went through the roof, but it was crumbling in places, and water had been leaking in. I’d have to clean it and check for holes before I ever tried a fire, or I’d be smoked out of the cabin.
Nothing had been left behind by other people except a few metal containers and dusty jars that Jonny and I found last time. All my supplies were stacked in the middle—bottles of purified water, food in bear-proof containers, including fruits and vegetables. It was cool in here, but they wouldn’t last long. After that, I’d be living on canned food and cured meat.
I found my lantern on top of the supplies and hung it on a rusted nail sticking out of the wall. Hands on my hips, I surveyed the rest of my equipment, and took a deep breath.
I’d done it. I was finally free from Vaughn.
For the first few days, I stayed hidden in the cabin and only ventured out briefly for bathroom breaks with the dog, who was now named Wolf. I dyed my hair dark brown with a box of color Jonny had bought for me, rinsed it out with a jug of water. When I was finished, I used my dad’s old camping mirror and his clippers to cut it short on the sides and in the back. I left the bangs long so that they swooped over the side of my face and covered my eyes.
I’d acted tough in front of Jonny, but I was terrified ofgrizzlies, scared of how they could tear apart buildings to get at food. I was careful when I went outside, and checked for signs that there might be one in the area—overturned rocks, ripped-off bark on the trees, scat, claw marks. I kept a rifle by the door, and another under the makeshift bed frame I’d hammered together with logs and covered with an air mattress. I slept with my dad’s Smith & Wesson under my pillow.
I set about making the cabin livable. I had some of my dad’s tools—not the power tools, those were going to be sold, but the basics. Hammer, nails, screwdrivers. I patched holes with duct tape or pieces of wood, replaced rotten logs, evicted spiders and bugs. My table was a crate turned upside down, and I made a shelving unit with peeled logs. I didn’t feel safe unpacking much and hid anything personal under the floorboards, wrapped in plastic bags. Pictures of my parents, photo albums, some of my mom’s smaller paintings that we’d stolen from my house.
My backpack was ready to go at all times with a first-aid kit and enough survival gear to get me to safety if I ever had to make a run for it. I built a latrine behind a low rock slab—so I could keep an eye out for animals. I set up a perimeter alarm with a trip wire, cans, and bells.
