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Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

3) Following the Tanana ninety miles upstream southeast to the Chena.

4) Following the Chena the last fifteen miles upstream northeast to Fairbanks.

If we headed out today, it would take a month.

We’d be lucky to get back by the end of July.

I let out a deep exhale.

I’ve never felt so defeated.

All I want is to hold Ingrid. To spend all sixty minutes of my day with her head tucked to my chest.

I look at my watch.

It is 3:04 a.m.

I climb back on the table and lie down. I close my eyes and pray for 4:00 a.m. to come early.

::::

It doesn’t.

I feel hands on my shoulder, rocking me.

I open my eyes.

Opik smiles at me. He has a fruit or a nut in his hand, one I‘d yet to see. He offers it to me. I shake my head.

I don’t want to eat.

He places the food next to me, then he climbs up on the table. He puts both hands on my side and pushes.

“Stop.”

He pulls the map out from under me and climbs down.

A minute passes.

“On-ray! On-ray!”

I open my eyes.

He jabs his hand at the map.

I sit up.

“What?”

He waves at me to get off the table.

I slide off and he spreads out the map, then climbs onto one of the creaking log chairs and settles on his knees. He points to the small black dot that signifies the cabin, then he traces his finger down the Yukon eight inches to another small black dot on the river.

I shake my head.

He points at the spot on the river and begins rambling in Eskimo.

“What? Dude, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He shakes his head, blows out his cheeks. His eyebrows raise. He points to his shirt, to the word Indian.

“There are Indians there?”

He nods. He must know the word “Indian.”

For a quick moment, I feel a glimmer of hope, until I realize eight inches is even farther away than Fairbanks.

“Too far,” I say, then show him the route to Fairbanks with my finger. “Better to go this way.”

He shakes his head, moves his finger over the route to Fairbanks. He moves his finger slowly. Then he moves his finger over the Yukon River to where I suppose he knows there is an Indian settlement on the river. He moves his finger fast.

I don’t understand for another five minutes.

Not until he grabs my hand and leads me from the cabin, down through the heavy brush, and to the river.

Lassie is there.

Sitting in a small boat.

::::

Meow.

“You were guarding the boat? From what?”

Meow.