Razor and the Wolves
Razor and the Wolves Razor and the Wolves Razor was starting to wonder if he would make it home alive. Uncle Ted had taken a nasty spill down a gully as the pair hiked out of Anderson Pass. The fall smashed Uncle Ted's cell phone to bits, and the battery in Razor's phone was dead. Razor's GPS - he never left home without it - was still working, but a lot of good it did. Finding the way out wasn't the problem - moving Uncle Ted was. The fall had knocked Razor's uncle unconscious. His head had a
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Razor and the Wolves
Razor and the Wolves
Razor was starting to wonder if he would make it home alive.Uncle Ted had taken a nasty spill down a gully as the pair hiked out of Anderson Pass.The fall smashed Uncle Ted's cell phone to bits, and the battery in Razor's phone was dead.Razor's GPS - he never left home without it - was still working, but a lot of good it did.Finding the way out wasn't the problem - moving Uncle Ted was.
The fall had knocked Razor's uncle unconscious.His head had a huge, bloody gash and a bump the size of an egg.His leg was probably broken.To make matters worse, Razor saw that the skies were darkening around the West Fork Glacier.It was going to be a long, cold night. Yup, Razor thought, I'm in trouble.
Razor was supposed to have been back in town hours ago,fixing up the old motorcycle he and Jake had found a week earlier.It had been lying in the dirt forty paces off Valley Stream Road in a thicket full of mud, brush, and worms.The tires were both flat, the body rusted.A family of beetles had burrowed into the motor.
"Wow," Razor had said. "This thing is a hunk of junk."
"Yeah, but look," Jake said, pointing to the name on the gas tank."It's an Indian motorbike, a classic. We can fix her up and get her runnin'."
Two hours later, the boys had lifted the old Indian into the back of Uncle Ted's pickup.Jake had wanted to start working on the bike right away,but Razor and his uncle were leaving to go backpacking near Denali that afternoon.Denali, also known as Mount McKinley, was the highest peak in North America.The motorcycle would have to wait until Razor got back in three days.
"Where is that slacker?'' Jake asked, frustrated.His golden retriever, Molly, was the only one in the garage."He's late. Razor's never late."
Molly yawned and rolled over.She covered her eyes with her big brown paws and drifted off to sleep.One hour late turned into two hours. Two turned into five.Jake knew something was wrong. He phoned Razor but just got his voice mail.He tried Uncle Ted's cell. That didn't work, either.
Jake tried to keep himself busy.He carefully cleaned the mud and dirt from inside the Indian's cylinders.He drained whatever oil there was from the crankcase.As he worked, Jake listened to his dad's old radio, which was tucked on a shelf near some rusty paint cans.When the news came on, Jake heard that a storm with high winds and snow was barreling in.The weather in this part of Alaska was unpredictable in April.Jake thought for a moment. "Come on Molly, let's call Callahan."
Jake and Molly raced into the house, where Jake dialed Vince Callahan at Search and Rescue."Don't worry, Jake," Callahan said. "They're only five hours late.If they're not back by the time the storm blows through, we'll head up there."
As Callahan talked, Jake could hear the alarm go off in the Search and Rescue center."I gotta go, Jake," Callahan said hurriedly."A tour bus just overturned on the Park Road.Dozens of people are injured. We have to get up there fast."
"What about Razor?" Jake asked.
"Don't worry, son. We'll be up there soon enough. Right now I have to go."
Jake hung up. He looked out the window and saw the sky darken to a menacing gray.Jake couldn't wait for Callahan. He'd have to find Razor on his own. But how?