Around her, the forest was dripping. It always amazed her how quickly the winter transformed once spring decided to hit. How the ice cap on the mountaintops melted away, forming into the raging rivers, the lakes growing weak, then opening up from the edges, and finally the trees reaching out to push forth buds.

They were at least a month away from any color, but already, in the last two weeks, the sun had started to shine longer, giving them almost twelve-hour days. It would stretch out quickly until at the height of summer, it would burn all day, until they had no more than four hours of darkness.

How she loved the sunrises of spring in Alaska.

But not today. “Hike!” The dogs leaned against their harnesses, and the sled broke free, heading down the ravine toward the creek bed that would take them west, toward Cache Mountain.

But first, like her father said, they’d have to cross the lake, which sat at the bottom of the mountain, blocking the pass.

She lifted her gaze to the blue sky, the parting of the trees ahead. She whistled to her dogs, and their pace picked up, the quiet thunder of their feet on the snow and her heaving breath evidence of their labor.

Her father tried to hold in his groans, but the ground was uneven and jostled and bumped him.

“Hang in there, Dad.” She put her hand on him when he went quiet. He was still breathing.

They followed a deer path in the forest along the creek. The dogs slowed to a walk, and she helped push as they fought the tiny pathway. She finally stopped, reeled out the gangline so they could go one by one, and re-hooked them.

They moved easier, snaking through the forest to her occasional “Yip, yip,” and “Good job.”

He father had gone terribly, awfully quiet.

She wanted to shed her jacket. Instead, she unzipped it, sweat tunneling down her spine.

This was a terrible plan.

Her eyes filled, and she didn’t even bother to stop the tears as she continued to push the sled. They finally broke free of the forest and stood at the edge, on a slope overlooking the lake.

She set the brake, then dug out water from the supply that she’d melted last night. She tried to wake her father, but he wouldn’t rouse. Her breath was shaking as she pressed her fingers to his carotid artery.

Weak. But still alive.

She took a drink, then watered the dogs, letting them rest a moment.

Below her was the lake, a long stretch of ribbon at the base of the mountain, some two miles across, ten miles long. More of a river, really, but in the winter, it was frozen solid.

Except it wasn’t winter anymore, and she feared the flux of the recent weather would have weakened it.

What choice did she have?