The trip that had taken two hours coming out took five going back. Long before they got there, the dogs had to break drifts higher than their backs. The wind howled like an insane banshee and ripped at them, sucking off every bit of heat their bodies could produce. A time or two Dylan considered stopping and making a cold camp, but he didn’t have enough to feed the whole team because he hadn’t picked up his drop bag before he’d left the checkpoint—mistake on his part. It was make it or die…no other choice.
He stumbled now, pacing beside the sled, knowing that his added weight on the runners would be too much for the tiring team to handle. All at once, he tripped, his leg twisting beneath him, and he fell. A searing pain knifed up his right leg. Oh, shit, I’ve done it now.
Somehow, the dogs knew, stopping almost at once. He grabbed at the sled and tried to get up, but couldn’t. His leg would not bear his weight.
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