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By Sue Henry

Along with her cabin a pile of ashes and her lite in items, champion Alaskan "musher" Jessie Arnold has gratefully accredited a friend's suggestion that she force his motor domestic up from Idaho, alongside the Alaska road -- a wide ranging, thousand-mile-long direction winding previous scorching springs, glaciers, and ice-blue lakes. however the idyllic journey takes a depressing flip while a teenage hitchhiker brings terror aboard. fearful and by myself, Patrick Cutler disappears earlier than the police tell Jessie that the younger runaway is needed in reference to surprising murders. all of sudden she is forged right into a raging maelstrom of darkish secrets and techniques and lethal effects. And the chilly and empty highway she's touring may be top her to not her home...but to a grave within the trackless wilderness.

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He scares me. You know what he said he’d do. You know . ” “I know you were really dumb to let him catch up with you. ” “He was really mean. My arm still hurts where he grabbed me. ” His worried tone came close to a whine. ” “So? I’d rather not graduate than get arrested. My dad will have less of a snit-fit. Besides, we’ve either gotta tell McMurdock something or go and try to find Pat. ” But Kim sounded anything but persuaded and certain. He glanced out the window and bit his lip, a mixture of fear and confusion deepening his frown.

At last two guys in a red pickup with a camper, towing a canvas-covered boat, pulled over, the passenger door opened, and one of them waved an inviting arm. Patrick grabbed his backpack and ran to climb in. “Give you a hop to Fort Steele,” the driver told him. ” “Hey, that’d be great. ” With these men in their forties, Patrick lied without hesitation, for he had found soon after leaving home that the idea of someone his age hitching all the way to Alaska made older people uneasy. ” Alarmed that they would report him to the authorities as a runaway, he managed to grab another ride when they stopped at a gas station, and hoped they’d forget about him.

He knew that if the guards had known how little money he had, they would have turned him back into Mon- DEAD NORTH 43 tana, and he couldn’t go back—had to make it to Dave. Waiting for the right kind of truck to pull into the last service station on the American side had taken some time—he’d needed one with a load or cover that he could hide himself and the pack under and a driver who went into the store to pay for his gas. But it hadn’t been too difficult to slip into the back of the truck between the empty fivegallon cans, crawl under the heavy folded tarp, and lie flat enough not to be seen—to disappear into an all but empty truck bed that wouldn’t be checked because it obviously carried nothing suspicious.

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