Her terror turned to determination. She wouldn’t let her fear kill them all. Not when she had just gotten Gunnar back. She planned on living a long life with him, not dying like that depressing movie about the Titanic.
“I’m coming. Hold tight.”
She ripped her mittens off with her teeth and shoved them into her parka pockets. Without them, her fingers would get cold fast, but with them, she couldn’t get a firm grasp. She searched the sled for the best handholds, mapping her way as best she could up the supplies.
At the last minute, she unsnapped the lock on her wrist sheath for her small knife. If the sled started going, she’d cut the thing loose and save Gunnar and her dogs.
“Moving,” she hollered, pulling herself higher onto the handlebars.
She kicked one leg until the toe landed on the edge of the cargo basket, then pressed with all her might to get herself further over the bar. Wrapping her fingers around a strap holding a crate down, she pulled. The material cut into her already chapped skin, making her fingers bleed.
She inhaled sharply, ignoring the pain as best she could, and reached for the next strap. She needed to hustle, but moving fast meant less caution. Did caution matter when one hung over an ice monster waiting to swallow her whole?
Just a few more handholds and she could use her feet to climb. She growled as her muscles shook with fatigue. Why did she have to choose the extra-long sleds for the expedition?
She could see the ridge now.
Her wheel dogs’ feet were planted precariously close to the edge. Their entire bodies shook as they strained against the weight of the sled. Gunnar stood a little farther back, his face tensed with exertion, more than likely positioning himself in front of the wheel dogs’ neckline. It’s what she’d do to avoid getting tangled with the dogs.
When her feet touched the handlebars, she stood, reaching for the strap closest to the front of the sled. She was almost there. Just a few more feet and she’d be safe.
As she gripped the strap, the hook holding the skinny fabric to the sled came loose. She screamed as her bloodied hand slipped. A crate tumbled out of its spot, knocking her in the head and bouncing off of her back. Stars exploded in front of her eyes.
The swaying of the sled broke the edge of the crevice free. Her wheel dogs yipped in fear as they fell and crashed against the crevice wall. Panic tumbled in her, making her vision blur. Gunnar’s eyes bulged as he looked down at her. The veins in his neck throbbed with the strain of holding them.
They would not make it.
She couldn’t let them all die.
Clambering as fast as she could, she ignored the frantic barking of her dogs. She reached the brush bow of the sled and steadied herself in the space left by the crate. Her heart beat in her chest like someone was taking a sledgehammer and ramming it against her ribs. She could do this, save them.
She yanked her knife out of its sheath on her forearm and gazed up at Gunnar.
“Jules—” The sled plunging farther down cut off his words as he adjusted his hold.
Grabbing the gangline with one hand, she sliced with the other. When the rope held, she hacked again, trying not to let Gunnar’s protests stop her. The knife chopped almost through. The thin threads still holding frayed in slow motion. She held her breath, the sledgehammer of her heart pounded loud in her ears.
She stared up at Gunnar, his eyes bright with unshed tears. The thread snapped, and she gulped down a scream as the sled dropped from her feet. Her slick fingers slid along the rope.
She dropped her knife and reached up with her other hand. The rope was coated in her blood and slipped beneath her skin. Without the weight of the sled, the rest of her dogs yanked her and the wheel dogs upward, but not fast enough. Desperate to keep her grip, the rope’s end got closer and closer as she slid down the rope.