by Kathryn Hoff
“Right.” Kanut looked around the vacant area with deliberation. “Yes, sir. We’ll definitely keep an eye out for Dr. Anjou and Dr. Kim, and for any dangerous animals. But I got to say, sir, it looks like they already cease-and-desisted.”
As Kanut flew the helo back to Fairbanks, Butterick fumed in silence. Just as well, Kanut was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Small, furry elephants—he couldn’t wait to tell the barracks about that one.
Brandon stared at Luis. “Anjou shut down the operation?”
“Temporarily. On hiatus.”
“You mean for the move to the new facility.”
Luis took a deep breath. “There is no new facility. The equipment isn’t being moved, it’s being stored until Anjou finds a new funding source.”
“But he’s already got a grant!”
“The army pulled out. Project Hannibal’s been terminated.”
Brandon ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “That doesn’t make sense. The government’s poured millions into making mammoths. Why would they stop now, when everything’s about to pay off?”
Luis turned back to erecting the tent. “Because politically, it’s not about to pay off. Population migration is getting a lot of attention in Washington. People are moving from Central America into North America, from the Southwest to the Northwest, from the Midwest into Canada. All those people look north and see great empty spaces here in Alaska. They figure, with the warming climate, maybe they can stand four months of night. The homesteaders have a lot of political clout, and a bunch of wild mammoths would just get in their way.”
“So Anjou . . . what? Abandoned us?”
“Not abandoned. Deployed early, before some blows-with-the-wind bureaucrat can tell him not to. Once the herd’s out on the tundra, Anjou will use the press to stir up some sympathy for the mammoths, try to get the funding restored. After that, it’ll be too late for anyone to round them up without a lot of controversy.”
Brandon grabbed Luis’s arm, making him stop fiddling with the tent. “Screw the herd. You’re telling me we’re out of a job.”
“Don’t worry.” Luis placed a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Ginger put six months’ salary in our accounts, I made sure of that. And the bush pilot who’s going to pick us up—I arranged that myself, just to be certain.”
Brandon jerked his shoulder away. “You bastard. You knew all this and you didn’t tell me?”
Luis sighed. This wasn’t going well. “Anjou swore me to secrecy until the herd was deployed. He needed to salvage his research and bug out before anyone realized he was leaving.”
“Leaving us hanging out to dry.”
“It may not be for long,” Luis said. “They’ve got Silver and Gold squirreled away somewhere, and all the equipment. As soon as the grant is straightened out, Anjou’s ready to begin a second herd. He’ll let us know when he’s back in business again.”
“Let you know, you mean. I’m nothing but collateral damage. I thought we were supposed to be partners. I thought we had a future together. But I guess I’m seeing the real you for the first time.”
Hell, the storm hadn’t even arrived yet, and it was shaping up to be a rough night.
CHAPTER 10
It’s all good
Estelle paused at the door to what had, up until a few days before, been her study. Some hasty shifting had moved Estelle’s desk and spare clothes to her bedroom, and her books had been boxed up to make space for Sera’s belongings.
Sera knelt on the carpet, sorting and refolding the clothes she’d brought from New Orleans. Cute little tops and skirts, shorts, and sandals went back into a suitcase to be stored—not much need for those in Alaska, even in June. Swimsuits, hardly bigger than a postage stamp: into the suitcase. Skimpy dress in purple and gold, just right for a Mardi Gras ball: into the suitcase, along with the matching high heels.
Sera’s mother had loved dressing up, too.
“You might keep out the dress and heels,” Estelle said. “There’ll be parties, I expect. School dances.”
Sera patted the dress into place. “I don’t feel like partying. I don’t know why I even bothered to bring this stuff.”
Estelle eyed the crumpled blanket and pillow on the futon. “Are you finding things to do while I’m at work? There are some programs in the park. Or you could catch the bus to the library . . .”
Sera shut the suitcase and slid it out of the way. “It’s all good, Aunt Estelle. I’m fine, really.”
Merde. She wasn’t fine. Estelle could see it in Sera’s shadowed eyes, in the quick flashes of anger that erupted whenever Estelle became too solicitous. Since they’d returned from their road trip and started living together for real, Sera was prickly as a porcupine one minute, withdrawing like a turtle the next. Sera claimed she spent the days reading and taking walks, but Estelle suspected she hadn’t left the apartment. Evenings, while Estelle watched television or caught up on record-keeping, Sera spent the time in her room with only her phone for company. It was like living with a ghost.
According to Estelle’s parents, Sera had been the same with them: sticking to her room, stirring out only for meals, answering in monosyllables. When Estelle told them Sera would stay with her in Alaska, their relief was palpable.
Depression. It was an illness Estelle often saw among her patients. Especially in the long winter months, she was always alert to the anxiety, the sleeplessness, the loss of appetite, and the emotional distancing that came with clinical depression.
Signs she’d failed to see in her own sister. Signs she was terrified to see in Sera.
As schoolgirls, Estelle and her sister had competed in academics, in basketball, and in attracting handsome young men. But while Estelle had eagerly left home for an Illinois university, Marie had stayed in New Orleans. Had the claustrophobic closeness to their dysfunctional family contributed to Marie’s chronic depression? Or was Marie’s clinging to the familiar just another symptom Estelle had failed to understand until it was too late?
“I’m worried about leaving you here,” Estelle said. “I have to go to Rainbow tomorrow—there’s nobody else who can tend the clinic this week—but three days and two nights is too long for you to stay here alone. I think you should come with me.”
Sera hugged her arms as if she were cold. “Stop fussing. I’ll be fine by myself for a few days. It’s not like I’m going to kill myself.”
“Jesus, girl!” Estelle forced her voice to a calmer register. “I’m declaring this a mental health issue: you’re coming with me. Besides, if you’re going to live in Alaska, you really should learn something about life in the indigenous villages.”
Sera sighed theatrically. “And what am I supposed to do in a village while you’re seeing patients?”
“Help Annie. We’ll be staying at her house. She’ll fly back to Fairbanks with us on Thursday afternoon so she can have a heart procedure, and she might need some help around the house before leaving. Consider it part payment of your rent.”
Early the next morning, Estelle led the way onto the civil aviation tarmac, pushing a luggage cart loaded with her and Sera’s overnight bags, her red med bag, a carton of supplies to restock the clinic, and a box of food staples for Annie.
Sera stopped short at the sight of the four-seat single-engine Cessna emblazoned with the Alaska Eagle Med logo. “That’s the plane?”
“That’s it, chérie. And if you’re looking for the pilot, she’s walking beside you.”
The look Sera gave Estelle wasn’t the admiration Estelle might have hoped for. More like alarm. Get used to it, kid. You’re not down home anymore.
“That’s even smaller than the plane we took to Wrangell. When you said fly, I thought you meant a real plane. Like with a flight attendant and snacks. And a toilet.”
“Go before you board.” Estelle loaded the luggage into the cargo hatch.
Zeke the mechanic was fiddling with something in the engine. “She’s all gassed up and ready
to go, Doc. I hope you’ve got your boots and rain gear—the forecast is for a blow tonight.”
“No worries, I got the briefing from Flight Service when I filed my flight plan. We’ll be on the ground in Rainbow before noon.”
While Estelle did her preflight inspection, Sera peeked into the cockpit. “I’m guessing there’s no in-flight entertainment.”
“Just the scenery. You’re my copilot today, chérie. Put your jacket on. It gets chilly in the air.”
A smooth take-off, and soon the little plane was speeding north into the blue. Estelle relaxed into the rhythm of powering through air—her jaunt to the Rainbow clinic every two weeks was one of the bonuses of her practice.
The ground passing beneath them quickly changed from Fairbanks’s sprawling urban development to dark conifer forests where wisps of smoke marked isolated dwellings. Soon, they’d left the forest behind, too, and were soaring over the low peaks of the White Mountains to the Yukon uplands.
“Doesn’t anybody live here?” Sera asked through the headset. She peered out the window at a landscape devoid of cities, towns, or even roads.
“Protected wilderness,” Estelle replied. “I told you—Alaska has more wild places than anywhere else in the US. This is what most of Alaska is like: lots of land, few people. The village we’re going to is on the south slope of the Brooks Mountain Range, tucked into a valley in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. That one refuge is as big as South Carolina.”
Mile after mile passed below: rolling hills of evergreens and grassy meadows, punctuated by lakes and bogs and meandering streams, all feeding into the winding Yukon River. Ahead loomed the sharp, rugged peaks of the Brooks Range.
“It may get choppy here,” Estelle warned. She banked eastward to follow the winding valley of the Rainbow River. Mountains rose higher around them.
She pointed out some white dots on a hillside of rocky crags. “Dall sheep. They almost went extinct. They’re coming back now, but who knows if they’ll survive if the climate continues to warm?” She glanced at Sera, hoping to see an appreciation for the natural wonders passing under their wings.
Instead, the girl’s eyes were shut tight, her hands gripping the armrest in a white-knuckled stranglehold.
“You all right, chérie?”
Sera replied through clenched teeth. “Fine.”
That word again. “Open your side vent a little—the fresh air will help. There’s a sick-up bag in the door pocket if you need it.”
“I’m fine.” But Sera opened the vent and gulped the cold air.
Gusts pushing between the mountain peaks buffeted the plane. On the western horizon, a line of dark clouds signaled a change in the weather.
“Almost there, chérie.”
The valley broadened where a long-ago glacier had scraped a path between mountains. Ahead, a little landing strip pointed to a collection of some thirty houses.
Estelle banked, circling over the town—her way of letting the close-knit community know an outsider was dropping in. Then she headed into the wind for landing.
Bump, bump. They bounced over the landing strip, an unpaved, grass-pocked scrape in the land.
Estelle taxied over to the mooring anchors and shut down the engines. It had been a lovely flight, showing off the extraordinary scenery. Flying to Rainbow in winter could be a nail-biter, but in the summer her visits always cheered her.
Sera jumped out of the plane, bent over, and threw up.
CHAPTER 11
Awkward
The term “two-man tent,” Luis thought, assumed the two men in question actually wanted to sleep next to one another. Brandon spent the night alternating between huffy silence and recounting every thoughtless thing Luis had ever done, saying that if it weren’t for the mosquitos, he would have preferred to sleep with the mammoths.
Awkward, but Luis wasn’t worried. With a little management, Brandon would come around to being more cooperative, at least long enough for them to reach grid Hb27. And after that? By then, Brandon would be as ready as Luis to bring their relationship to an end.
During Brandon’s silent stretches, Luis had the leisure to think about his future. Seven years he’d devoted to Project Hannibal. He believed in the project: bringing back mammoths was a worthy goal, and Anjou’s genetic expertise was undeniable. As always, it was the human factor that confounded Luis—he hadn’t foreseen the army’s choice of short-term political expediency over preventing a foreseeable environmental catastrophe.
It was a temporary aberration, Luis was sure. Once the herd was deployed, their value would become clear. Enviros would champion the goal of preserving the permafrost layer, the military would be eager to show how they were responding to the climate change crisis, and the general public would fall in love with the idea of mammoths roaming the Arctic again. Manufacturers of plush toys would cash in.
But in the meantime, unless Ginger quickly worked some magic over the Washington bureaucracy, Luis needed a fallback plan.
He loved working with elephants. After he’d gotten his degree in animal behavior, he’d worked in Asia, re-wilding work elephants. But the last time he’d checked, that organization was out of funds and letting staff go. Could he work at a zoo? He cringed at the idea of seeing beasts as magnificent as elephants confined to cages. Could he work in the elephant reserves in Asia and Africa, caring for injured and orphaned animals? Probably not. Those organizations were all focused on training the local people: ex-pat Americans need not apply.
If not elephants, what about other animals? He could train any creature, given enough time and resources. But the only trainers in demand were ones dealing with dogs and cats. After mammoths, training pets seemed trivial.
What about people? He imagined himself applying animal behavior techniques to a class of kindergartners. That was too depressing for words.
When they rose in the morning, the day was warming nicely, but Brandon’s attitude remained decidedly frosty.
“I already checked the weather,” Brandon said, in lieu of a good morning. “The forecast’s gotten even worse: rain and gale-force winds by late afternoon. If you want to stay in the tent, you’re staying alone. I’m heading for that town.”
Luis sighed. Time for a strategic retreat. He still needed Brandon, and a day’s delay, while irksome, was a small price to pay for domestic harmony. “You win. We’ll go together. We’ll take our backpacks, pretend we’re hikers.” And pretend they weren’t quarreling. “Somebody in Cody will lend us some floorspace.”
According to the mammoths’ blips on his tablet, the main herd was grouped half a mile away, no doubt finding plenty to eat. Diamond had wandered a little farther. A bad storm might scatter them, but they’d be safe enough.
The men filled their backpacks with essentials. Brandon lowered the food cache long enough to pull out some packets of the food he liked the least. “It’s always good to have something to barter.” Everything else went back up the tree, with extra guylines to survive the wind.
“I’ve got our GPS fix,” Luis said. “As long as the tablet stays charged, we can find our way back to the cache.”
“Amateur,” Brandon sneered. “A little old-fashioned trail marking is all we need.”
Shouldering his pack, Brandon led the way to the stream. He chopped a blaze in a couple of trees to mark the point, then headed downstream.
Luis slunk behind. He’ll settle down soon. Brandon wanted to be lead dog—all Luis had to do was show a little submissive behavior and he’d be happy, thinking he was in charge again.
After an hour of walking and wading along the streambank, they were still miles from the settlement of Cody when Brandon stopped and held up a fist. Over the gurgling of the stream, the sound of hammering was faint, but clear.
Luis nodded, hiding his amusement. Does he think we’re behind enemy lines?
They proceeded slowly, looking for the campsite—except it wasn’t a campsite, it was a plywood hut the size of a pickup truck. The roof sprouted
a narrow chimney pipe and a shortwave radio antenna. A large stack of firewood lined one side of the hut; a postage-stamp garden was visible up the slope.
Atop the roof, a man was nailing down a tarp.
“Oh, God,” Luis murmured. “Homesteaders. Be careful.” Alaskans valued their independence—and their firearms. Illegal squatters on public land could be particularly touchy.
Brandon stepped forward, hands raised, smile plastered on his face. “Hello there, brother!”
The man on the roof jerked around—and drew a pistol from an underarm holster.
Luis lifted his hands and grinned. “Easy, partner. We’re just passing by, didn’t want to startle you.”
“Come out where I can see you.”
Hands up, Brandon and Luis stepped a little closer.
“Jerry?” A woman’s voice came from the cabin.
“Stay inside,” the man ordered.
A tiny face peeped out the door at knee-height and was immediately drawn back.
Hell, a woman and kid, too.
“There’s a storm coming,” Brandon called. “We’re looking for someplace to wait it out. We’d be glad to lend you a hand in return.”
“Turn around.”
Hands in the air, they pivoted slowly, letting the man see their packs and their lack of weapons.
Rooftop Jerry holstered his pistol and slid to the ground. “Sorry about that, but you can’t be too careful, right? What are you two doing out here?”
“Hiking and camping,” Luis said. “Do you mind if we pitch our tent on the lee side of your house?” Although house was way too dignified for the shack. “We could help you nail down that tarp and tie down anything that might get blown.”
Jerry looked at the hut and then back at them.
Luis leaned forward and dropped his voice. “We wouldn’t bother your wife—me and Brandon, we’re a couple.”
“Hmph. Well, I could use a hand, that’s for sure. Help out, like you said, and you can pitch your tent.”
“No, they won’t. They’ll stay in the house with us.” The woman had come out of the cabin. She was a thin wisp wearing a man’s flannel shirt and grappling a two-year-old on her hip. The family had solved the potty-training issue in the most basic of ways, by leaving the little boy bare-assed.
