by Kathryn Hoff
The trooper nodded. “I was there three days ago. Nobody there. The buildings are empty, not even a coffeemaker left.”
Luis frowned. “Well, shit. I wonder where . . . ? Wait, why were you there?”
“State Wildlife got a report that Anjou was breeding dangerous animals up there. ‘Small, hairy elephants.’” He nodded toward the path where the beasts had run off. “Turns out the reports were true.”
“They’re mammoths,” Luis said, unable to stifle his pride. “Resurrected by Anjou’s genetic research. And they’re not dangerous, not really. At least no more than a bear. A lot less dangerous than a moose.”
“Moose hurt more people each year than bears do.”
“Exactly!” Luis grinned as if they’d found a point of agreement. “Because people don’t treat moose with the proper respect. The same with the mammoths. Once I get them away from the settlements, they won’t bother anybody. Look, I’m sorry for all the fuss, people getting scared and all. My partner and I were just herding them away when the storm struck, and that delayed us. But if you’ll help me load up my supplies, I’ll lead them out of here right away. Tonight.”
“Lead them where? You got a mammoth farm somewhere out here?”
“I’m taking them out on the tundra.”
Kanut shook his head. “This is part of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. You can’t just dump strange animals anywhere you want. You got some kind of permit to release these so-called mammoths onto federal lands?”
“Absolutely.” Luis dropped his voice. “This is supposed to be confidential, but since you’re a law enforcement officer . . . the whole Hannibal project is federal, funded by the US Army.”
“Would that be DevCom?”
Luis’s stomach dropped a little. “How did you know that?”
Kanut settled the rifle more comfortably in his arms. “Because those are the ones who want your mammoths dead.”
CHAPTER 21
Dark horizon
Luis felt the blood draining from his face. “Kill the mammoths? You can’t be serious.”
Kanut nodded. “I talked to the man myself, a Major Butterick. Ever meet him?”
The idiot from the observation blind who’d wanted to see the mammoths up close. Luis shook his head. “Not face to face. Dr. Anjou and Dr. Kim were the ones to deal with the sponsors. But the government poured millions into Project Hannibal. I can’t believe they’d want to kill the animals they spent years trying to produce.”
Actually, he believed it completely. Leave no evidence, wasn’t that the military mind at work? What really rankled was that Ginger and Anjou must have known about the kill order and kept it from him. That last instruction from Ginger to keep the herd out of sight suddenly made more sense. Damn them both.
The trooper smirked. “It looks like the army changed their minds. They claim these are mutants. Unwanted and dangerous. They want the creatures destroyed, and they’re very eager to talk to Henry—excuse me, On-ree—Anjou and Ginger Kim about theft of government property.”
Well, shit. No wonder Anjou and Ginger were anxious to go off-grid—leaving Luis holding the two-ton babies.
“Look, Officer,” he said, “if you really want to help the people around here, you’ll help me load up my animals so I can move them out of the area.”
“Or I could just shoot them.” Kanut patted his rifle. “That solves the community’s problems and makes the army happy.”
Luis’s stomach churned. “You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You don’t kill a grizzly just because he gets into someone’s garbage, do you? You’d relocate it. That’s what I want to do—relocate the animals to somewhere they won’t be a problem.”
“Bears are part of nature, they belong here. These ‘mammoths’ don’t. They’re unnatural. They’re nothing but big hairy, rifle-stealing monsters—and the army wants them dead.”
Luis narrowed his eyes at the trooper. “You don’t work for the army—your job is to protect wildlife.”
“I don’t think ‘wildlife’ includes genetic experiments gone bad.”
Time for a different tack. “Listen, Officer. Do you want to be the man who slaughtered the last living mammoth?” Luis asked. “Do you want to be the man who drove them to extinction again?”
Indecision flooded the trooper’s face, sparking in Luis a glimmer of hope. He relaxed against a tree trunk. Time was on his side. Kanut might be a good hunter—he was some kind of Native Alaskan and probably grew up hunting. But without Luis’s help, he’d have a hard time getting close enough to get a clean shot at a mammoth. Besides, it was getting late. Luis figured Kanut would rather get back to Cody than spend the night in the woods without any camping gear. And by the time Kanut woke up in the morning, Luis could have the herd miles away.
“What about this fellow Anjou?” Kanut asked. “If he bred these mammoths, I figure he must be somewhere close by, keeping an eye on them.”
That made Luis grin. “You’ve obviously never met him. Anjou’s a lab man. Good with a microscope, lousy with a flesh-and-blood creature, whether mammoth or human. Wherever he is, it’s likely to be someplace with a comfortable bed.”
“And you wouldn’t know where.”
“I told you—if Anjou’s not at his lab, then I don’t know where he is.”
Kanut sighed. “Well, I may not have him, but I have you. Get up, we’re going back to Cody. You can fly back to Fairbanks with me and answer the army’s questions there.”
Luis stayed where he was. “I don’t think so. You’ve got no cause to arrest me. And unless you’re planning on carrying me the whole way to Cody, I don’t see how you can force me.” He extended a hand, palm up, the gesture of a man being reasonable. “If you want to go back to Fairbanks, nobody’s stopping you. Better hurry, though—it looks like there’s another storm coming.”
Kanut squinted toward a dark cloud rising in the west. “There wasn’t any rain in the forecast.”
Luis gazed at the rising clouds. The trooper was right—Luis had checked the weather only two hours ago, and the night was supposed to be clear, with moderate winds.
From a distance came the haunting trumpet of a mammoth, one of Luis’s girls sensing something odd and seeking the comfort of the herd.
As the men watched, clouds covered the sun, turning the day to dusk even though sunset wasn’t due for another two months.
Kanut looked around nervously. “Maybe you better pitch that tent of yours.”
“Right.” Luis hauled the tent from his pack. The ground cover went down on the flattened place where he and Brandon had pitched the tent two nights before. Kanut lent a hand to pound in stakes. Luis spread the rainfly while Kanut tied guylines to the nearest trees. It took only minutes, but a heavy wind was already blowing in.
A wind that carried with it swirling white flakes.
Luis stared at the flakes in disbelief. “Snow? It’s nowhere near cold enough for snow.”
Kanut caught a flake and rubbed it to dust between his fingers. “Mother of mercy—that’s not snow. It’s ash. A volcano blew.”
Twenty minutes after taking off from Rainbow, Estelle noticed a band of dark clouds in the west.
What the hell is that? The forecast had been for clear skies, no rain expected for days.
She switched from the intercom to the radio and tried the nearest flight control tower. “Fort Yukon, this is Alaska Eagle Med 224, five-zero miles southwest of Rainbow, five thousand feet, requesting an enroute weather update.”
Chatter filled the radio band: “What the hell? Not rain . . . dark so sudden . . . ash, repeat ash . . .”
Ash? Smoke from some gigantic fire?
“All aircraft, Fort Yukon tower. We’re getting reports of volcanic ash in the region northwest of Fort Yukon.”
A volcano? Merde!
“Hazardous volcanic ash conditions over the eastern Brooks Range, blowing east. Any flights encountering ash are advised to land as soon as possible at any available landing site.”
Fog-li
ke clouds enveloped the plane. Tiny missiles peppered the windshield, as if she were flying through sleet. Estelle never flew through sleet. Not sleet, not fog, not even rain if she could help it.
Annie and Sera stirred in their seats, no doubt asking what was going on, but Estelle didn’t have time to switch back to the intercom. Heart thumping, she keyed the radio again. “Any station, Alaska Eagle Med 224. I’m encountering ash fifty miles southwest of Rainbow. I am transporting a heart patient and another passenger. Please advise closest airstrip.”
Cross talk covered any response. Had they even heard her?
“All flights north of Coldfoot and east of Route 11, you’re advised to get onto the ground as quickly and safely as possible. Ash cloud originating from the Brooks Range north of Yukon Flats, heading east.”
Alaska had more active volcanos than the rest of the US combined. Volcanic ash was something Estelle’s flight instructor had warned her about, but she’d hoped never to encounter.
The ash cloud seemed to be right in her path. She’d been flying in the valley, following the Rainbow River between the hills as it wound its way southwest toward the Yukon. If she turned northwest, that might take her to clearer air.
Something touched her shoulder—Sera leaning forward from the back seat, pointing to the headset mic.
Estelle switched to the intercom, breaking in on Sera’s stream of questions. “Volcano. Need to land. Seat belts tight.”
Sera shrank back into her seat. Annie folded her hands and began a whispery prayer in her home language.
Estelle veered northwest, peering into the murk to spot any other aircraft, any inconvenient peaks, anyplace that might be safe to land. She scanned the sky, hoping to see clear blue somewhere above. No good. If anything, the ash was thicker in the higher altitude. Ash that could choke the engine.
Grit pinged against the windshield. This is hopeless—I have to land.
The chatter of other planes in distress cut across one another, some issuing Mayday calls.
Her instructor’s lesson came back to her. First aviate, then navigate, then communicate. First priority was to keep the plane flying, second to know where she was and where she was going.
On second thought, keeping the plane flying wasn’t the problem: the problem was getting the plane to the ground in one piece.
Flying low under the dense cloud, she swerved to avoid peaks while scanning for a flat place. What did she know of the topography west of her usual flight path? The GPS showed her still over the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. No town closer than some hamlet called Cody, at least fifty miles away. No airfields, not even a road anywhere near, just mountains and gorges—sharp, craggy, unforgiving rock.
Wait, there was a road. Of course there was: Route 11, the Dalton Highway, the legendarily brutal road joining Fairbanks to the defunct oil terminals at Prudhoe Bay. That was somewhere west, but how far?
She turned west, one eye on the GPS and one eye on the ground, straining to spot a place flat enough to land. Unfortunately, west seemed to be taking her deeper into the ash cloud. The air grew hazy with swirling dust.
The GPS glitched as dense cloud blocked satellite access. The engine strained and sputtered as ash fouled the intakes. Jesus, if you’re out there, help me land this plane.
Through the haze, she glimpsed on the ground a wide, pale stripe cutting roughly north-south. Route 11? Had she flown so far west already? Thank you, Lord.
“Hang on,” she spoke into the intercom. “I think I see a place to land.” On the emergency channel, she transmitted, “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Alaska Eagle Med 224, attempting emergency landing on Route 11.” If anyone heard her, the response was lost in cross talk.
She dropped altitude, praying no determined trucker was barreling down the dilapidated highway.
CHAPTER 22
Mayday
The air was a fog of swirling ash. Estelle aligned the plane to the pale strip of road, heading southwest, more or less into the wind. The Cessna was a workhorse, known to be forgiving to bush pilots who often flew and landed in less-than-ideal conditions. She prayed it would forgive her this time, too.
In moments snatched from flying, she prayed for a lot of things. Slowing engine speed. Lord, please keep Sera safe. Flaps. I promised to see Annie home again, whether living or dead. The engine’s sputtering more—baby, don’t cut out yet, please. Check altitude. Lining up to the road. One more try on the radio while she still had some altitude. No response.
Please, God, get us down and let someone find us.
She was close enough to see the roadbed. Gray rubble—but was the Dalton Highway that wide? The swath was as broad as a ten-lane highway.
Wait, that was no road. Could it be a riverbed? Oh, sweet Jesus, a glacier!
No choice, she couldn’t fly through ash. She had to get the plane down.
Power back, ease down.
Touch. Bump, bump. Bouncing over gravel-strewn ice. Her feet worked the rudders, trying to steer away from the steep banks of moraine that lined the glacier.
Skidding, sliding. Down, down the hill of ice. Slipping sideways. Rudders no good now, nothing to do but trust to God and Cessna.
Bang. A bad bounce. The left wing dug into the gravel. The plane’s tail slewed forward. Screeching of tortured metal mixed with women’s screams.
Screech. A wheel strut collapsed, the plane canted sickeningly as the metal stub dug into ice.
Thumps and crunches, cracks and groans.
Skidding, skidding. Another bump.
Hard stop.
The plane was tilted but, thank the blessed saints, still right-side up.
Estelle switched off the engine and ripped off her headphones. The silence after the drone of the engine was dizzying.
Her heart was racing, but the sobs from the back seat reassured her that Sera, at least, had survived.
“Sera? Are you hurt?”
“I’m all right.” Her voice was shaky. “Are you okay?”
Estelle took a deep breath, wiggling digits. Chest sore from the shoulder belt and her head had banged on the side window, but her spine appeared to be intact and there was no obvious bleeding. “I’m good.”
She steeled herself to look at Annie.
Bright eyes blinked back from a pale, lined face.
Estelle gently removed Annie’s headphones. “Are you hurt?”
“Have I told you, dear?” Annie asked. “I really don’t care for flying.”
Luis hurried to shove his pack into the tent. A volcano? Damn it, could anything else go wrong? If Luis had believed in God, he’d think She was having some inscrutable joke on him.
“Don’t breathe that shit,” Kanut said as they ducked under the flaps. “It’s hell on your lungs.”
Luis hurriedly zipped, sealing the tent as much as he could. He hoped the mammoths’ long noses might provide some filtering for the air they breathed.
In the dimness, the two men stared at one another.
“You ever been near an eruption before?” Luis asked.
“Mount Spurr, when I was a kid. Rained ash on Anchorage for days.”
“Days?” Shit, holed up in a tent for days with a hostile cop? They’d be tearing each other to bits in no time. “How close is this volcano?” Luis hadn’t noticed anything on the topo maps warning Here be active volcanos.
Kanut shook his head. “None near here that I know of. Something new, maybe.” He tried his satphone.
“Forget it,” Luis said. “It’s no good under heavy cloud cover.” He unrolled his sleeping pad for a softer place to sit. “We might as well get comfortable.”
“Ah,” Kanut sighed as he eased onto the pad. “That’s better. I guess the government treats you good, eh? First-class equipment and all.”
“We do all right.” Luis rooted in his pack and fished out a couple of nutrition bars. “We’ve got food, of a sort.” There were freeze-dried packets in the food cache—plenty of them, now that Brandon was gone—but getting them
meant going outside the tent to fetch them and to boil water. “How much water do you have?”
Kanut shook his canteen. “Two cups, maybe.”
“I’ve got about the same. That’ll do us till morning, anyway.” Once the ash lightened up, he could filter more from the stream.
Kanut dug into the pockets of his body armor and turned on a penlight.
“Save your battery for when we need it,” Luis advised. The light flicked off.
In the dimness of the tent, they crunched the protein bars. Ash pattered like rain on the fly over their heads.
Kanut pulled a plastic bag from his backpack, extracted a swatch of oiled cloth, and began to clean his rifle. “Why’d you make that elephant attack me?”
“I didn’t.” Luis spoke through clenched teeth. “If you’ll recall, I stood in front of you and stopped her. And she’s a mammoth, not an elephant. Her name is Ruby.” God, how long was he going to be imprisoned with this bastard?
“Excuse me all to hell. Why did Ruby attack me?”
Luis shrugged. “I trained the mammoths to recognize danger. The biggest danger they’ll ever face is a rifle in the hands of some yahoo who wants to bag an ivory trophy.”
Kanut looked up. “You mean you actually trained those monsters to attack anyone with a weapon?”
“Of course not,” Luis snapped. “If she’d gone after you, there’d be nothing left but a bloody puddle. I trained them to attack the firearm. Specifically, rifles. It’s simple self-protection.”
Kanut stared. “You’re a madman. Why not just train them to run away?”
Luis clucked his tongue impatiently. “A running target is still a target—even a mammoth can’t outrun a bullet. Take out the rifle, and the danger is gone.”
“Mother Mary,” Kanut muttered. “The army’s right. Those animals are a menace.”
“Not if people leave them alone.”
The tent was beginning to sag under the weight of ash. Luis pushed up on the dome to clear it. Kanut did the same on his side, using the butt of his rifle.
“So, why mammoths?” Kanut asked. “Why’d the army want to bring them back?”
