Pam Withers - Mountain Runaways

PAM WITHERS

Copyright Pam Withers, 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Publisher: Scott Fraser | Acquiring editor: Kathryn Lane | Editor: Susan Fitzgerald

Cover designer: Laura Boyle

Cover image: helicopter: istock.com/kevinjeon00; mountain: istock.com/Mumemories

Printer: Marquis Book Printing Inc.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Mountain runaways / Pam Withers.

Names: Withers, Pam, author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20210150394 | Canadiana (ebook) 20210150408 | ISBN 9781459748316 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459748323 (PDF) | ISBN 9781459748330 (EPUB)

Classification: LCC PS8595.I8453 M68 2022 | DDC jC813/.6dc23

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and Ontario Creates, and the Government of Canada.

Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

The publisher is not responsible for websites or their content unless they are owned by the publisher.

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Edge of Willmore Wilderness Park in west-central Alberta, Canada

Its the familys last day together, but nobody knows that yet. Nobody knows anything except that theyre all tired after a full day of February snowshoeing on the mountain above their log house, and that the mist is floating down, wrapping all five in a shroud. They cant even see their tiny mountain town of Peakton below.

Jons snowshoes crunch to a stop as he squints through the blanket of white. His fathers face, ruddy as his wool scarf, turns to Jon and his siblings, Korka and Aron.

So, kids, what do we do when visibility is bad? Dad asks.

Stay put, Jon says with full confidence. As if he even needs to be asked. At seventeen, he knows more than most of the adults who file through his parents two-week wilderness-survival courses. Or

use a compass if theres still a sightline left, his younger sister, Korka, finishes for him, flipping her thick blond braid back with gloved fingers, her blue eyes sparkling. At fourteen, she annoys Jon with her constant attempts to prove herself.

The two watch Aron plop down in the snow with the angelic smile of an eleven-year-old. Its his way of saying that when youre fogged in, you should stay where you are. And who cares about weather, anyway? If youre with the only four people who matter to you in the world, all is well.

Good, kids, their mother, bundled in a parka, says in her enthusiastic teachers voice. And why do we not just continue to march forward?

Because without a compass Jon begins.

well end up going in a circle without meaning to, Korka finishes.

Aron rolls onto his back and kicks one leg up in the air like a baby moose trying to right itself, chuckling as his snowshoes send white stuff flying.

Their mom interprets: Because we all have one leg slightly longer than the other, which means no matter how hard we try, we cant walk in a straight line without a sightline or compass. She leans down to tickle Aron through his padded snow vest. Good answer, my young Viking.

Jon watches Aron wrap his mittens around her ankles and tug her off-balance, sending her into the snow beside him. She screeches with laughter, and they create synchronized mother-and-son snow angels. Warmth radiates through Jons chest. Its always good watching Aron come out of his shell.

We have a compass, Korka declares, folding her arms and frowning at her dad like shes keen to get home.

Shes always got places to go, things to do, Jon reflects. Fogs not about to slow her down.

Jon, on the other hand, is happy to linger in the soup. Not only does he love an outdoor navigation challenge, but up here, theres no phone reception. That means he doesnt have to listen to whiny apologies from his date from hell at the Valentines Day dance the previous evening. Maybe todays fog can obliterate the recurring flashback of the high school gymnasium strewn with crepe paper and the echo of her harsh words as she dumped him, shouting over the racket of a musically challenged band.

All hed suggested was ditching the dance and going to the local caf for a bite. Okay, maybe he put it too strongly. Hed felt so claustrophobic in the overwarm, overlit, jarringly noisy gym that he insisted they get out of there. She seemed to take it the wrong way, like girls always do.

No way. We came to dance. Stop ordering me around. Like you did last week when you dragged me up a slope on a stupid, freezing walk. Were done. Go find a girl who likes a bossy tyrant. After another fifteen minutes of arguing, she stalked off.

When he looked for her to apologize, he found her in a dark corner making out with some other guy.

So, being wrapped in a heavy cloud pretty much suits his mood. Besides, the last thing he wants is to get home and be yanked into his fathers home office. Youre the oldest, and the most responsible, the one with a good head for marketing and numbers, his dad likes to say. We need you to help run the survival school as soon as you graduate.

In a few months hell march across the stage at Peakton High School. But for now, hes hopelessly clinging to his own plan for the future. He knows his parents cant afford to send him to college, but they only shake their heads when he begs them to let him get his emergency medical technician EMT certification this summer, a course hes been studying for every minute of his spare time. An EMT job could earn him decent money, and hed be able to save lives in the great outdoors that he loves so much.

Sorry, Jon, his dad has said a million times, frowning. The survival school needs you, immediately. More work, less play when you graduate, son. Its all about earning enough to feed the family.

Jon sighs. The family. A family enveloped in fog at the moment and, unknown to his younger siblings, in debt.

Lets turn around already! Korka demands. I want to get home in time for my Krav Maga session!

Hmm, not till you demonstrate something youve learned from that martial arts class, Dad says with a smile.

Its not technically martial arts, Dad. Its a tactical defence system, she declares with her usual pout.