They had a three-course supper. Licorice as an appetizer, Mars bars and Snickers for the main course, bubble gum for dessert. And all washed down with Coke.

“We’ll open two cans and share,” said Jesse.

“I’m not touching it after someone else,” protested Nish.

“Suit yourself,” said Jesse. “But we have no idea how long we’ll be here.”

“We can eat snow,” Nish suggested.

“People die eating snow. You have to melt it first–so save the cans.”

Travis had never seen this side of Jesse. Usually Jesse hardly said a word; he always let others take the lead and simply followed along. But now he was in charge. Captain, sort of, of the lost team.

They kept the fire going and talked. Travis asked about Jesse kneeling when he chopped with the axe, and Jesse explained to him that all the Cree did this. “You live in the bush, you can’t take a chance on cutting your foot,” he said. “You’d never get to help in time.”

Nish was warm finally, and most of his clothes were dry. He wrapped himself up again in the sleeping bag, changed back into his own clothes, and sheepishly handed Liz hers back with an awkward “Thanks.”

“Any time, cross-dresser,” said Liz.

Nish squinted and frowned at the same time. “Not one word of this to the others, okay?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

“How could one word describe you?”

They all laughed, until a great burst of wind suddenly hit the shelter and snapped the plastic, bending the poles.

“It’s really gonna blow,” said Jesse.

“They’ll be wondering where we are,” said Liz.

“They’ll know where we are,” said Jesse. He seemed certain.

 

Later, Jesse and Rachel got up to arrange the snowmobiles and toboggans so that they gave more shelter as the kids huddled into the best corner of the wall they had built. They were fairly comfortable–out of the wind and snow, each one wrapped in an Arctic sleeping bag, lying on soft boughs over the snow–but they were also miserable, and badly frightened.

Travis had never seen such a storm. It seemed to howl and pounce like an animal, the air growing eerily quiet and then suddenly rising and punching the tarp so they felt it would rip off and come down on them. But Rachel had done a good job; the tarp held. And Jesse had cut and stacked enough wood for the fire to burn forever.

But they were still cold. Cold and hungry, despite the chocolate bars and licorice. Travis felt ill from all the sugar. Nish was making funny gurgling noises. Travis realized he was crying, very softly, to himself.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I lost the Ski-Doo,” Nish said.

“It’s not important,” Jesse said.

“It’s my fault,” Nish said.

“That’s right,” Jesse said. Travis had the sense that this wasn’t what Nish was hoping to hear. “But it would have been my fault if we’d lost you.”

“And mine,” Rachel added.

“How?” Nish moaned.

“We’re responsible for you,” said Jesse.

“Our grandparents would say you are guests in their home,” said Rachel. “So if something does go wrong, it’s up to us to fix it.”

“But we’re not in their home, we’re in the middle of the bush,” corrected Travis.

“This,” she said, “is our grandparents’ home.”