6. Reading The Snow
Reading The Snow
Kai
Maskwa takes Honor’s scent from the sweater Rose gave me and turns north.
No hesitation.
“Find her.”
The team moves out, pulling us away from the old haul road and into country fresh snow has been trying to erase since sometime before dawn. I take the sled, Angus behind me, and Jax skis behind us, comfortable enough on the rough trail that he can move independently.
Yesterday gave us the direction. Today we follow it.
The old mine route lasts another twenty kilometers before it becomes little more than a suggestion through the trees.
Snow fills the ruts, spruce grows into sections that haven’t seen regular traffic in years, and fallen branches force us around stretches that might once have carried Lockhart trucks.
Maskwa works steadily with Niska beside him, sometimes following the ground, sometimes lifting his head when the wind carries something useful. Fresh snowfall makes the job harder, but scent doesn’t vanish because tracks do.
By midmorning, we’re well into the bush.
Jax knows enough about northern country that I don’t have to explain much to him. He watches the snow, the tree line and the frozen muskeg with the same attention I do. Angus is learning quickly, mostly by listening when either of us tells him where not to step.
The country gives warnings if you know how to read them. Snow sitting differently beneath the spruce. A patch of overflow where water has pushed above the ice and frozen beneath fresh powder. Old snowmobile tracks crossing a route that shouldn’t see much traffic.
Even the ravens tell you things.
One follows us for several kilometers before disappearing north. Another sits high in a spruce later that morning, interested in something beyond us.
I slow the team.
Jax notices immediately. “What’ve you got?”
“Maybe nothing.”
Angus looks toward the bird. “And maybe?”
“Someone’s been through.”
We leave the most obvious route and work through denser trees until we find what the snow has almost hidden.
Two snowmobile tracks.
Recent.
Jax crouches long enough to inspect them. “Could be Lockhart.”
“Could be hunters.”
“Think it is?”
“I think assuming we’re alone would be stupid.”
That’s enough for all three of us.
We continue without touching the tracks and keep our route away from open ground whenever the terrain allows it.
The snowfall thickens before noon. Visibility shortens, our own trail begins filling behind us, and the temperature drops with it. We stop long enough to water the dogs, check paws and harnesses and eat without wasting daylight.
I look at Jax. “Time for a break on the sled. You’ve been working hard enough.”
Jax is already unclipping his skis. “Okay.”
Angus looks back at the country we’ve covered. “Still following her?”
“Yeah.”
He looks at Maskwa. “How the hell can you tell?”
“Because he’d tell me if he wasn’t.”
Jax smiles. “Useful arrangement.”
“It usually is.”
Maskwa loses Honor’s line twice. Both times he circles, works the wind with Niska and finds it again.
That matters more than speed.
Five years ago, I didn’t have this team. I had an RCMP file, people telling me they were doing everything they could and a sister who never came home.
I don’t think about where that trail ended. I look north.
Honor’s is still there.
By early afternoon, we’re deeper into Lockhart country, with enough wilderness behind us that turning back will soon become its own journey.
Maskwa rises as soon as I reach for his harness. Ready.
I straighten and look at Jax and Angus. “We keep going.”
Neither argues.
Lockhart can hide its roads, but Maskwa still has her.
Lockhart Mining Compound Perimeter, Northern Manitoba, Canada. 1500 hours.
We reach the outer edge of Lockhart property in the middle of the afternoon.
Not the fence. Not yet.
The dogs bring us close enough that the industrial noise carries through the trees long before anything becomes visible. Engines, reversing alarms, the deep metallic crash of machinery moving somewhere beyond the forest.
Maskwa stops first. His attention fixes north.
Honor’s scent has brought us here. That’s enough for today.
I take the team well off the trail and choose a sheltered hollow between dense spruce where the dogs and sleds can stay out of sight. Jax helps settle them while Angus studies the terrain ahead through binoculars.
“Compound’s active,” he says.
“I can hear that.”
“More than active. Busy.”
We leave the dogs secured with our gear and move forward on foot.
Staying still for too long in this cold is asking for trouble, so we work in shifts.
The first observation point gives us a partial view through the trees. Chain-link fence. Vehicle road. A generator building throwing exhaust into the cold air. Beyond it, the tops of industrial sheds and one enormous haul truck moving slowly between them.
Angus takes the first watch while Jax and I move fifty meters east and find another angle.
From there I can see a security gate. Two men. Pickup parked beside the booth. Camera above the entrance.
Jax studies it through binoculars. “Private security?”
“Looks like it.”
“Lockhart badges?”
“Can’t see from here.”
We don’t stay long enough to find out.
Ten minutes in one place, maybe fifteen if the wind stays down, then move, warm fingers, keep circulation going and let someone else take over.
Angus joins us at the next point. “Vehicle shed on the west side. Three snowmobiles outside. Two pickups. Could be more inside.”
I add it to the rough map on my phone.
“Guard rotation?”
“Not enough time yet.”
“We’ll get it.”
For the next two hours, we work the perimeter carefully. One watches while the other two move, then we rotate. We never use the same path twice.
Jax finds a second camera angled toward an access trail. Angus identifies another gate farther west. I find the generator fuel tanks, a maintenance building and what looks like employee accommodation beyond the main work area.
Then there’s the smaller building.
Set apart from the rest. No Lockhart signage. Frosted windows. Security camera covering the only visible entrance.
Angus lowers the binoculars. “Interesting.”
“Yeah.”
Jax studies it next. “Could be storage.”
“Could be.”
Maskwa’s scent line is the reason I don’t believe that. It brought us to this compound.
Now I need to know where inside it Honor went.
We pull back before dusk.
No heroics. No pushing closer just because we finally found the place.
Back with the dogs, Jax checks them while Angus brings up the map.
“Tomorrow?” he asks.
“Tomorrow we learn the guard pattern and find a way closer without crossing open ground.”
“And Honor?”
I look toward the compound beyond the trees. “Her trail ends here.”
That changes everything. We know where she was taken.
What we don’t know yet is how many people are holding her there, how many women are with her, or how difficult Lockhart intends to make getting them out.
We’ll find that out next.
Northern Manitoba, Canada. 1700 hours.
We’re less than five kilometers from the compound when the weather starts closing in.
The first warning is the wind.
It strengthens through the spruce, driving loose snow across our trail and stripping visibility from the open stretches. Within half an hour, the compound behind us has disappeared completely, and even the tree line ahead fades in and out behind blowing white.
We need somewhere sheltered to make camp before dark.
I lead the team toward a creek we crossed earlier, intending to follow the bank south until we reach a stand of spruce thick enough to break the wind.
The temperature has dropped with the storm.
Jax and Angus ride with me after hours of recon.
“Creek’s ahead,” I call back. “Stay close.”
The crossing looked solid this afternoon. Now drifting snow has covered everything.
Maskwa slows before we reach it.
I slow with him. The dogs know ice, usually better than people do.
I step off the runners and move ahead, testing the crossing while Maskwa waits behind me. The creek isn’t wide, but current beneath ice makes narrow water dangerous in ways a frozen lake sometimes isn’t.
The first section holds.
Then Misko, running closest to the sled, shifts sideways.
Ice breaks beneath him.
He disappears to his shoulders with a crack that cuts through the wind.
The team erupts.
“Whoa!”
I’m off the trail before I think about it.
The dog claws at the edge, harness dragging him against the current beneath the ice. Maskwa and Niska strain forward while the other wheel dog fights the traces.
I drop onto my stomach and reach him.
The edge breaks.
Freezing water takes me to the waist.
“Fuck!”
Jax is there seconds later, flat on the stronger ice with one hand locked around the back of my jacket.
“Get the dog!”
“I’m trying.”
Angus secures the sled and moves up beside him.
I get both hands under Misko’s harness.
“Come on, Misko.”
He scrambles. The ice breaks again.
Jax and Angus haul backward as I lift, and between the four of us we get Misko onto solid ice.
Then they drag me out after him.
There’s no time to celebrate.
We move fast.
Angus gets Misko wrapped in an emergency blanket while Jax helps me strip off the wet outer layers and into the spare gear Serenity packed. My legs are already aching from the cold by the time the dry clothing goes on.
“Still think she packed too much?” Jax asks.
“Never said that.”
“You thought it.”
“I take it all back.”
Misko is shaking but alert. I check his legs, paws and breathing, then work my hands through his coat beneath the blanket.
No obvious injury. Just cold and scared.
So am I, if I’m admitting it.
I sit beside him while Angus and Jax establish a sheltered camp farther back among the spruce.
This is why I usually work alone.
If I make a mistake by myself, it’s mine. When dogs depend on me, every decision carries more weight. Add other people and the consequences multiply.
But today I wasn’t alone.
If Jax hadn’t grabbed me, if Angus hadn’t secured the sled, I might still be fighting that current with Misko.
Working alone wouldn’t have saved either of us.
I look toward the north, though the compound is invisible through the storm.
Honor is in there. Maskwa brought us all the way to Lockhart’s fence.
Whatever happens next, we’re not leaving without learning how to get her out.
I rub Misko behind the ears.
“Enough excitement for one day, atim.”
His eyes close.
Tomorrow, when the storm breaks, we go back.
Together.
Northern Manitoba, Canada. 1830 hours.
The storm makes the decision for us. We’re not going anywhere tonight.
Visibility has dropped to almost nothing, darkness is closing in, and Misko is still shivering despite the emergency blanket wrapped around him.
“We need shelter,” I tell Jax.
He looks into the blowing snow. “Got a luxury suite in mind?”
“Five star.”
Angus shoulders his pack. “Does it have a bar?”
“Dig faster and I’ll see what I can arrange.”
We move deeper among the spruce until we find a bank of drifted snow protected by thick trees. The three of us carve a shelter into it, pack the walls and keep the entrance low enough to hold warmer air inside.
It isn’t comfortable, but it’ll keep us alive.
The sleds stay secured outside. The dogs come in with us.
Misko gets the warmest position.
A fire would be useless in this wind and too visible once the storm clears, so Jax uses the small camp stove near the ventilated entrance to heat water while Angus checks the satellite phone.
Within twenty minutes, Misko’s shaking begins to ease.
I sit against the packed wall with him curled tight beside me beneath the sleeping bag. Maskwa settles near my boots while the others curl together nearby.
Jax finally gets through to Steve.
“We’re sheltered. Nobody’s hurt. One dog went through creek ice, but he’s warming up.”
Steve’s voice comes back immediately. “One dog went through the ice?”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s your definition of nobody’s hurt?”
“He’s fine.”
“Which dog?”
“Misko.”
A pause.
“How bad?”
“He’s warming up. No obvious injury.”
Steve exhales. “And the rest of you?”
“All fine.”
He leaves out the part where I went in after Misko.
I’m fine with that.
Steve says, “You’re sure you’re secure for the night?”
“Yeah. Snow shelter, camp stove, dogs inside. We’re not moving until the storm eases.”
“Right. Check in again when you can. Jan’s going to want the medical version, not your Canadian version of fine.”
Jax grins. “Tell her it’s a bit fresh.”
Steve swears. Angus laughs.
I look between them. “Still don’t understand that.”
“Give it time,” Angus says.
The wind pounds the forest outside, but the snow walls muffle most of it.
I check Misko again. Warm ears. Steadier breathing.
He’ll be fine. Only then do I let my thoughts return to the compound.
I haven’t seen Honor, but I know her photograph, the glove she dropped, the route that carried her north and the scent Maskwa followed all the way to Lockhart’s fence.
I know she went looking for women everyone else had stopped searching for.
Then Lockhart took her too.
Five years ago, my sister’s trail ended with nothing. For a long time, every search after that felt like paying a debt I’d never clear.
This one feels different.
Maybe that changed when Maskwa proved Honor’s trail was still alive. Maybe when we reached the compound and I saw that smaller building behind the fence.
Something about it tells me she’s in there.
I hope I’m right.
Whatever the reason, I want to see her walk out of there. I want to take her back to Rose and hear Honor St. John tell us herself what Lockhart tried to bury.
I pull the sleeping bag higher around Misko.
Tomorrow we get closer.
And somewhere beyond the storm, I hope Honor keeps fighting until we reach her.