My senses warn me that there may be more than rain in those clouds overhead. It’s about ten miles or so to where the road turns off towards Skagway. With weather like this approaching, I won’t make it there by tonight.
I consider sheltering at the gas station along the way, but then dismiss it as too dangerous. Once the cops discover I’m not in my room, they are sure to come looking for me - the storm will not delay them.
The afternoon light fades quickly as the storm blows in, and I trudge on along the verge of the forest, ready to disappear into the trees at the sight of a car.
My luck holds for more than five miles before the weather is too bad for me to continue. I need to find shelter.
The icy wind tugs on my clothes, tears the breath from my mouth, and stings my face. Sharp, freezing rain pelts me from the back.
I slip into the forest to my right and walk until I can’t see the road anymore. A boulder and a fallen tree form somewhat of a cave, and I push my backpack into it.
My hands shake as I take out the one-man tent and then erect it beneath the dome of the fallen tree’s branches. The rain comes down in earnest, now, and the sound roars around me.
I zip up the tent, stash my bag against the opening, spread my clothes over the floor, and then shift. Fur is warmer than clothes - always has been.
I walk in a circle, twice, then settle down with my nose tucked under my tail. Thunder bellows overhead, and I shiver as it vibrates through me. This isn’t just a storm - this is going to turn into thundersnow.
Chapter 5
“Tatum, what are you doing here?” My blood pressure instantly goes through the roof.
My ex glances at the delivery van, and his mouth pulls down at the corners. “Our driver is off sick. I’m doing deliveries for the day.”
I nod, trying hard not to laugh, and I instantly feel better about the situation.
Unfortunately, Tatum immediately perks up. “I’m done for the day, anyway. I’ll keep you company while you’re at the Wilson’s. We can talk about things.”
Tatum steps forward and into my space. I suppress a shudder and open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I know, Kimmy, being apart must hurt you so much.” He lifts his hand to stroke my cheek.
My dad steps between us, pushing Tatum back. “I don’t think so, Tatum. We don’t need any help. Say hello to your father.”
Dad takes me by the elbow and steers me towards the Wilson’s house, leaving Tatum standing open-mouthed in the driveway.
We climb the few steps to the front door, and Mr. Wilson opens the door for us before we even get there. I’m sure Tatum is seething in the driveway, but who cares - except my heart that’s still racing like a team of Huskies.
“I’m so sorry, Kimberly,” Anthony Wilson says as he closes the door behind us. “I tried to get him to leave, but he just kept talking and talking. I think he knew you were coming.”
“It’s alright, Mr. Wilson, no harm done.” I smile at him while my heart hammers in my chest. “Let’s take a look at Rover.”
“He’s through here.”
Mr. Wilson leads us through the kitchen into what used to be a scullery but was converted into a hall where the Wilsons put their winter gear. It has a tile floor, and in a corner, on a soiled blanket, lies Rover.
The Chocolate Labrador has been soiling himself since yesterday, and the stench in here is overwhelming. The dog’s plight is immediately all I can think of, and my panic about Tatum subsides.
“Is he drinking?” I ask as I approach the dog.
“A little.”
The moment I have all the info I need from Mr. Wilson, him and my dad retreat to the kitchen. I guess the smell is just too bad, even for my dad, and he is used to being around sick dogs.
“Hey, Rover,” I hum gently, “good boy.”
My stethoscope reveals nothing good, and although Rover is, indeed, a good boy during my physical exam, I am beginning to think that he may need surgery.
“There’s a boy,” I whisper as I slip him a sedative.
I find the men leaning against the counters in the kitchen. Both are burly, weather-beaten men in their mid-forties, but Mr. Wilson has dark hair, and my dad has the same light blond hair as I do.
“Hey, Mr. Wilson, Rover will have to come with us. I want to monitor him for a day, but I think he may need surgery.”
Anthony’s face visibly drops. I know he will have to explain this to his wife once she gets back from town today. She loves the dog.
“Alright,” he says, “I’ll help you put him in the truck.”
The men wrap poor Rover in a blanket and put him on the back seat. I sit beside him and keep him company while Dad takes us home. The weather is getting worse, and the wind drives icy rain against our windows.
When we pull into our driveway, all the dogs are in their kennels. They don’t like this rain, either. Dad pulls up to the nursery first.
Artemis growls when we bring Rover in, but even in his sedated state, the Labrador still wags his tail. Such a good boy.
“Give it a rest, girl,” I tell the bitch.
Given a chance, the Husky would eat Rover alive. None of our bitches is the friendly type, but with Artemis injured, she’s incredibly grumpy.
Dad takes the truck around, so Ethan and Connor can take our shopping into the house while I make Rover comfortable. My brothers never go shopping, so unpacking is the least they can do.
The nursery is part of our house, linked via a door to the back of the kitchen, but it is a self-sufficient unit with a tiny bathroom and a bed to sleep on. When we have a severe case, I’ll sleep here to monitor the dog around the clock.
With as many dogs as we have, it isn’t cost-effective to send sick dogs to the vet every time. Besides, if they get sick during the snow months, it’s difficult to get them there via sled, anyway.
“We’re going to have an early winter,” Dad says when I get into the kitchen half an hour later.
Mom kisses me on the cheek and goes to put the kettle on for me. “How was your trip to town?” she asks.
“Fine, we got everything, except those frozen berries you wanted.”
She shrugs. “There’s still time. I’ll ask Ida if she can order them.”
A nasty gust of wind howls around the house, and we all look out of the kitchen window.
“Early winter,” Dad says, again.
“The tourists are going to love it,” Mom points out.
Dad grumbles.
Down the hall, the door opens, and Connor comes in. He takes off his boots and coat and then comes through into the kitchen, setting down the last bag from the truck.
“Just got word over the radio. There’s snowfall on the mountains and a massive storm system building to the east.”
‡‡
Darkness, noise, and cold. Those have been my three constants for the past few hours, and the storm is showing no signs of letting up.
If it weren’t for the boulder and the tree, my little bubble of a tent would have blown away long ago. It moves, shifting and lifting in unsettling ways as I lie curled up, trying to keep the warmth close to my body.
Canines feel thunder in a way humans will never understand. This storm that hangs so low over me, now, frightens the shit out of me, but I won’t shift back. I’m better off in my fur.