Erin Bowman - Frozen

I sprint across camp. Aiden is trying to call the animal off, but it clearly has no intention of letting go. I throw myself onto the dog, latch my hands in his mouth, and tug. I’m bleeding almost immediately, but I pry harder, attempting to loosen the animal’s grip. His paws slash at me; his teeth clamp down. And then I feel someone else tug at the animal’s jaws. Jackson. His hands are still bound and yet he’s helping me force open Rusty’s mouth. The dog’s grip gives, and Blaine scrambles backward, cursing and clutching his arm to his chest.

“That dog is crazy!” he shouts.

Aiden puts a hand on Rusty, whispering until he calms. “He thought you were attacking me, that’s all.”

Blaine mutters a few curses as I kneel next to him. His forearm is a mess of blood and shredded clothing. I call for Emma, but she’s already there. Clipper hovers, flashlight poised.

Emma cuts Blaine’s sleeve open. She works swiftly, disinfecting the wound, washing away the blood, and dressing his arm in bandages. She takes the flashlight from Clipper to better inspect the rest of his arm—the minor cuts and scratches from the dog’s paws—and then focuses the light on Blaine’s face, his eyes.

“Blaine?” she says, her hand resting on his forehead. “Do you feel okay?”

He blinks rapidly. “It’s too bright.”

She looks at him hesitantly. “He’ll be fine.” Then she moves on to me and Jackson, examining our hands, shining her light in our eyes as well. She still looks confused when she finishes with the spy. Shaking her head, Emma packs up the gear and walks away to clean the used equipment.

The team is discussing what to do with the dog, which Aiden hugs as though it is harmless, but I’m staring at Jackson. He’s on the outskirts of camp, gazing into the trees like he’s thinking of running for it. The gag, which Emma loosened when she attended to him, hangs around his neck.

“You helped,” I say.

“Was there a reason I shouldn’t have?” When he looks at me, his eyes are too bright. Hopeful. I step away from him.

“We’re still keeping you bound and gagged. This doesn’t change anything.”

He shrugs. “It was worth a try.”

LATER, WHEN THE COMMOTION HASdied down and people have settled back around the fire, I approach Blaine. We sit shoulder to shoulder, staring through the branches that scrape at the sky. The moon is bright, nearly full, and it makes the stars seem minuscule.

“I used to do this sometimes in Claysoot,” I say to him.

“Get bitten by dogs?”

I laugh. “Stare at the sky. When you were snoring too much, I’d sneak out to the crop fields.”

“I used to do the same,” he says.

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“That you snored, or that I used the same escape?”

“Both.”

Blaine glances at my hands. “You going to have another scar to add to the list?”

“Nah. They should heal all right. What about you?”

He touches his bandaged arm and winces. “Not sure. But the dog’s dangerous. We should put it down.”

“Pa already discussed it. Rusty stays. He’s so astute, he’ll be able to warn us if the spy is up to something.”

“And he might chew someone’s limb off in the process.”

A star streaks across the sky, and we point to it at the same time, Blaine gasping at the pain the movement causes.

“If Pa thinks we should keep him, we’re keeping him,” I say.

Blaine turns toward me and even with the shadows obscuring his face, I can tell he’s hurting.

“You’re gonna side with Pa?” he says. “Over me?”

“If the dog attacks again, I’m on your side. You come first. Always.”

He turns back to the stars, smiling. “Always.”

I wake to Xavier’s foot jabbing at my sleeping bag.

“It’s your watch.”

I feel like I only just closed my eyes. “But Sammy always follows you.”

“Owen gave him the night off. Special birthday privileges.”

I grumble and pull on a few more layers, feel around the corners of the tent for my hat. Bree stirs beside me. Like most nights, she came to my tent just a few hours earlier, only this visit she was uncharacteristically sweet. I think she was trying to make up for her attitude during (and following) the archery match.

I know the two of us shouldn’t let our guard down so much in the evenings, but sleeping alongside her is the only small comfort that exists on this mission. It melts my fears, silences the constant worry, makes me brave in a way I’ve never experienced before. It also doesn’t hurt that I like the feel of her lips on mine—like the feel of her in general.

“Is it your hour?” she mumbles.

“Yeah. I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

But even as I crawl outside I know she will. She never stays through a full evening. She’ll sneak back to her own tent before I return from watch. Just like how she always darted back to her room on those nights we fell asleep together in Crevice Valley, leaving me to wake up alone, the only sign of her an impression on my pillow.

I head for the fire pit, where Xavier left the watch propped up on a stick. Fifty-eight minutes until I can wake Bo to take over. Three more minutes go by and my eyelids grow heavy. Another two and it’s a struggle to keep them open at all.

I hear the gentle crunch of snow. Bree, sneaking back to her tent as I predicted. But no, the sound is coming from the opposite side of camp. Near Blaine’s tent. He’s been pitching it at a distance because he’s been tasked with keeping an eye on Jackson, and if they stay too near Rusty, the dog spends the entire night growling.

A moment later, I hear whispers. Worried the spy is giving my brother trouble, I steal toward the voices. The nearly full moon makes crossing camp relatively easy and I spot Blaine standing just beyond his tent. Sure enough, he’s arguing with Jackson.

“The dog is no good,” Blaine is whispering, his voice tense.

“I’m not killing it,” the spy answers.

Blaine thrusts a knife at him. “It’s just a dog. Do it.”

“But Aiden . . . It will crush him.”

“He’ll think a wolf got to it. Or a coyote.”

“If you want it done so badly, do it yourself.”

Blaine must be scared senseless, asking Jackson to kill the dog in the middle of the night. Why wouldn’t Blaine come to me if he was so worried? I promised I was on his side just earlier.

“Blaine?” I call out. He sees me and grabs Jackson’s arm, yanking him closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” But his voice quavers slightly. “The spy had to take a piss so I was escorting him.”

Why is he lying to me?

“I know what’s really happening here,” I say, looking between him and Jackson. “Why can’t you just tell me, Blaine?”

He laughs. “Tell you? I couldn’t tell you!”

What could be so terrible about admitting you’re scared of a dog? I pause, wondering if I’ve misinterpreted something, when he adds, “And you can’t tell anyone either. I won’t let you.”

Footsteps approach, and I turn to see a sleepy Emma walking to meet us. “You guys are going to wake the whole camp if you can’t keep it down,” she says.

What happens next unfolds so quickly I blink and nearly miss it. Blaine shoves Jackson aside and grabs Emma. He pulls her into his chest and brings the knife to her neck. All I can do is pull my bow up instinctively, an arrow already nocked, and aim at my brother.

“You figured it out, you sly little weasel,” he snarls at me. “How did you know? When did you know?”

“Blaine,” I say slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”