'Hike,' he screamed.
• • •
The weather had been good to them on the sea ice as the two drivers urged their dogs down the east coast of Nunavut, from Bibby Island. Sixty-year-old Aaju Peter glanced up at the rugged mountains that were on their right-hand side then squinted up to the small clouds that were forming above them. A blizzard is coming. They were still forty kilometres from the safety of their target.
He grunted to himself and chewed the inside of his lip with his few remaining teeth. With a peripheral glance to the side, he caught the shape of his nephew's sledge, and he smiled. The young man had done well.
'Gee!' he shouted to his faithful old lead dog that veered to the right, guiding them closer to the shoreline in a gentle arc. The blizzard would hit during the night so they would need some proper shelter. Aaju changed grip with his thick caribou gloves and raised his right hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun and glare from the sea-ice. He would buy new goggles from the money they would make with the cargo in the sledges.
The ragged coastline was still in its winter white, and he knew from experience that there was a nearby group of caves which they could shelter in. A few were even large enough to haul the dogs into, although they did prefer to stay out in the snow.
A few minutes later, the alcove came into view.
'Come gee!' The dog team turned sharply to the right and aimed towards the rocky coastline.
'Whoa!’ he shouted as they passed the alcove that hid the entrance to the large cave. Aaju jumped on the foot brake, and the dogs came to a halt. Whining and yelping ensued as they rolled around in the loose snow to cool themselves down from the day's heavy workload.
'Daniel, come here,' Aaju shouted to his nephew as he walked his claw anchor out from the sledge. The old man dropped it in the thick snow before stamping on it with his small frame. He looked across to his taller nephew who crunched through the snow towards him. The young man slid the black fur-lined hood off his head and slipped the ski goggles onto the top of his head.
'We spending the night here, Uncle?'
'Yes. The storm will be here in a few hours, and this cave will give us good cover. Bring my rifle and let’s make sure it’s empty.'
Daniel grabbed the black Ruger 6908 compact rifle out of its Caribou fur-lined rifle bag that was stuffed into the sledge. Walking over to his uncle, he slipped the bolt to chamber a round.
'Look, Uncle,' Daniel said, pointing to tracks in the snow at the entrance of the cave.
'Wolf,' Aaju said, rubbing the grey stubble on his face.
'Two of them?'
'I do not think they are inside,' Aaju said, and took a step forward to have a listen. 'Bring me Brutus.'
Daniel walked back to his dog team that were all lying down in the snow, some of the animals were already curled up and asleep. He uncoupled the black-and-white form of their biggest dog. Brutus walked, nose to the ground, as they made their way back to the cave. The big dog slowed as the hair on his neck and back started to rise. A low growl emanated from his broad chest, and his top lip curled back over his white canines. Daniel patted his head.
Aaju waved them on as he took the rifle from Daniel. 'Make sure they are not there. I will watch the sledges.'
Daniel smiled and nodded. 'Is this another test, Uncle?'
'You and Brutus have bonded well on this trip. Now is the time to reinforce that connection. If there is a danger in there, you must face it together. Be aware that a polar bear could have chased the wolves off. Always be prepared for the worst.'
'Yes, Uncle.' Daniel nodded. 'How long must I be tested before I can make these trips by myself?'
'You will be tested until you are a very old man,' Aaju said with a blank expression on his face and a wave of his hand.
Brutus strained on the tugline that was clipped to his blue harness, the smell of wolf exciting him. The long thin cave with glistening black walls was big enough to allow daylight to filter in, and Daniel could see all the way to the back. Apart from wolf scat, which had Brutus growling again, there were no other signs of predators. They would be safe for now.
• • •
Ghostlike shadow figures flickered up against the uneven interior of the black walls of the sea-cave as Daniel moved around the small blue gas lamp. It was placed on the floor between the two large fur skin blankets that covered their down sleeping bags.
'Bring the containers in from the sledges. They are too valuable to leave out there,' the old man said. 'Have you fed the dogs?'
'Yes, Uncle Aaju. They have eaten all the whale fat now, and we only have some caribou and seal meat left.'
The old man nodded as he stirred the caribou stew that was on a second gas stove, his black and grey fringe falling forward across his wrinkled face. 'Finish up outside and make sure the bear flares are set. They will smell the meat cooking.'
'Yes, Uncle,' he said and walked out again.
The ageing man stirred the thick pieces of frozen meat in the silver tin pot and grabbed a small pouch that contained salt, pepper and spices. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed, before pinching some of everything into the bubbling stew. He stirred it again.
'Uncle, what is so special about all this moss and tundra flowers that we have collected?' Daniel asked, carrying in two more plastic containers. 'Only caribou and musk ox eat them, so why do the American men want them so badly?'
'I do not know, Daniel. I only know that they are prepared to pay a year's wages for us to spend two months collecting them on Bibby Island. Who knows what drives men to want these crazy things. Now finish up so we can eat,' he said, chuckling as he tasted a spoonful of stew.
• • •
Two loud pop-explosions went off in the darkness, echoing through the cave. Daniel sat up with a start, looking up at the jagged shadows of the cave roof.
'Bear!' shouted Aaju and slipped out of his sleeping bag as fast as his young nephew. 'Bring the rifle!'
Brutus stood where he had been tethered at the mouth of the cave, head lowered, a loud growl rumbling through him. Daniel slipped the safety off and walked forward to his dog that hadn’t moved. A white beam from a LED torch pierced the darkness outside the cave as Daniel squinted to where the moving beam was directed. A female polar bear, with a small cub, was standing a hundred meters away from the snow-covered sledges. She raised her nose and sniffed at the air. Some of the dogs had stood up to the commotion and were blinking in the torchlight.
'She will not come closer now,' Aaju said. 'She is too worried about her cub.'
'HA!' Daniel shouted. The bear rose up onto her back feet and turned away, the cub sticking close to her flank as she wandered off.
'Go back to sleep, Uncle,' Daniel said. 'Brutus and I will take watch for a while. It will be light in a few hours.'
The old man nodded and walked off towards his sleeping bag. 'Good. And set more flares.'
'Yes, Uncle.'
• • •
The wind gusted across Aaju's sledge as the morning sun slipped above the horizon for the first time. 'Haw!' he called again, urging them left again.
It was easier sledging out on the sea ice than closer to the shore, but the dogs smelled home. The sledge launched into the air over a mound of ice and came down on the left runner, sending Aaju off balance. Using all his core strength, he twisted to his right and reached out with his arm to counterbalance the sledge that lingered on one runner for a few seconds before slowly self-righting. This type of ice was the most dangerous because it had repeatedly been broken up and re-frozen with jagged edges facing in all directions. A weak sledge could easily lose a runner.
Aaju touched on the foot brake to slow the eager dogs. He sniffed hard at the smell of coal fires which filled him with happiness. Five minutes later he saw black swirling plumes from several coal fires, rising against the blue morning sky. The small hamlet of Arviat came into view, the place of his birth.
Touching the brake again, he slowed the dogs' run as they splas
hed through puddles of melted seawater. The season was changing, and soon the sea ice would melt and be impassable.
The two teams made their way through the iced streets of the flooded town. The three-metre sea-level rise, brought on by a major climate change event, had frozen all the way into the town with only the rusting old frames of houses and buildings visible above the ice. The villagers had all gone back to a nomadic way of life and had relocated to above the tidal zone to live in large communal homesteads made from local driftwood, scavenged materials, and animal skins.
'Gee, gee!' he shouted as they veered right up the old main road towards the large red Pilatus Porter seaplane that was parked at the end of the makeshift ice airstrip.
The specially converted plane, with large skis under its wheels, brought supplies to the village shop on a monthly basis. Aaju anchored his sledge next to the empty plane and peeked into the sparse interior through the frosted windows. He walked beneath the long, broad wing then looked back towards the lone structure that had been constructed near the strip. The shop was a temporary one and could be broken up and moved in a single day. Shadowy movement was visible through one of the small windows and out of the small door of the wood-panelled shop walked stooped two men. They stood upright and walked across to the sledges. One of them stopped walking to light up a cigarette.
Dressed in matching black Jack Wolfskin parkas, with their fur-lined hoods flicked back, the tall men had thick unkempt hair and long beards, as was traditional with northern frontiersmen.
'One of you two, Aaju?'
'I am Aaju,' the old man said to the man who towered over him.
'You are late. Where have you been? We have been waiting here for three days.'
Aaju shrugged his shoulders and turned to the sledge. He unhitched some bungee cords and flicked back the furs to reveal the large see-through plastic cases.
'Twelve boxes. One thousand dollars each,' the old man said, wiping away some loose snow from his head as he pushed back the caribou hood.
'Can’t you get us more?' the large man asked.
Aaju shrugged again and called over to Daniel who rushed over and stuck out his hand.
'Hi, I am Daniel.'
The man shook his hand. 'I just asked the old man if this was all you could get. My employer will pay double if you can get us more.'
Daniel looked across at the side panel of the red plane to see a black logo with the words Styx Enterprises on the door.
'We can only get access to the island for two months each year, and that's the only time we can reach the mosses, lichens and flowers you require. Next year we will take two more teams from the village and get you double the amount.'
'I can't believe they are not available somewhere else along the coast of Canada.'
'They are not. The caribou or Arctic hare cannot reach the island in the summer to feed on the plants, so they grow more abundantly,' Daniel said. 'I believe that is twelve thousand dollars.'
The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a large white envelope with the same logo printed on it. 'That is six thousand old dollars cash and six thousand New American Government vouchers. As agreed.'
Daniel opened the envelope and pulled out a NAG voucher.
Chapter 3
Gateshead, Tyne-and-Wear, England, UK - 2033
The mangy black Labrador barked incessantly at the stranger as he walked onto the premises of the Borough Arms public house. The waist-high sandstone wall that ran along the side of the pub kept the aggressive mutt safely away from him. It was one of the feral fleabags that roamed the Floodlands. The stranger stared at the dog and stroked the trigger of the hidden sawn-off shotgun through the custom-made hole in the pocket of his fading black Armani overcoat.
An elderly man, dressed in a stained white vest and tattered brown trousers, came out of the brick house adjoining the pub. 'Sorry, mister. He gets a little nervous around strangers, and we haven't seen you around here before,' he said and walked towards the wall to grab the dog's frayed-rope collar.
The skinny stranger opened the right-hand side of the overcoat to reveal the sawn-off shotgun. It was suspended on a personalised leather strap that allowed the weapon to hang from his shoulder. Also visible was a 9mm Beretta tucked into his belt.
'Keep that mangy mutt quiet, or I will shoot the both of you,' he said with an Oxford accent. 'Is that clear?'
The old man picked up the dog and scowled. 'Just being friendly and civil here, mister. No need for any violence.'
The stranger stared back at him. A dark presence inside of him wanted blood and demanded to be satisfied. His finger twitched. The urge to slip the shotgun out from under the coat and kill the scavenger and his dog was overwhelming. An acidic taste stung the back of his throat as he swallowed hard.
Stepping back and holding the barking dog, the man retreated and disappeared through the house's front door. With the grip on the gun relaxing, the stranger in the coat turned towards the building.
The pub was a small brown double-storey building with six white windows in the front. Two small white doors were at either side of the building, with old chairs and benches strewn around the front concrete area that had once served as the car park from a time back when people could still afford vehicles. A small stone plaque above the door had a white, fading badge with 1930 on it. The stranger looked at two drunken scavengers, who were lying against one another on a bench, dirty, soiled clothing sending a toxic stench across on the wind. Flicking the safety on the back of the hand grip of the shotgun, he pushed the toe of his black boot against the wooden door to force it open. With a tightening in his chest, he clenched his teeth and walked in. A dark smoky interior kicked his adrenaline up a notch, and he pressed his back against the closing door, squinting to adjust to the dark interior.
Black beams criss-crossed the length of the pub's low ceiling. Not good for a tall person. The stranger shuffled in his stance. The once white walls were stained yellow with years of cooking grease and cigarette smoke. The wooden bar was straight across from him and built in the middle of the long brick wall, allowing for dark alcoves to either side of it. Dark places for doing deals away from prying eyes. Old framed pictures of the Gateshead surrounds hung on all the walls and hinted at the history from before the Second World War. A dark carpet, that once might have been red, covered the floor with three worn out sections in front of the bar from years of regular patronage. Two old drinkers were seated on mismatched wooden barstools, one of them patting the head of an Alsatian. More bloody dogs. The man rubbed both the triggers and trigger-guard of the hidden shotgun.
'Can I help you, squire?' a bulbous-headed barman asked, his reddened face smiling with signs of years of drinking with his patrons.
The stranger walked slowly to the left-hand alcove and looked in. It was empty. 'I'll have a bottle of whiskey, the decent stuff. None of that watered-down shit you sell to these fools.'
The two dishevelled men at the bar mumbled something into their pale ales, staring at the stranger’s missing left arm. In the Floodlands, a missing limb always meant a death sentence with the paltry medical facilities.
One of them leant forward. 'In these lands, only a wealthy man can survive with a missing arm, so I would expect better manners from you.'
'Mind your affairs, old man. Don't ever address me again.'
‘Bad manners cost you your arm did it, son?’
The stranger stared at the man for a few seconds then smiled. ‘Make sure you are both gone by the time I am finished drinking.’
The publican slammed the bottle of whiskey on the dirty bar counter then reached for a tumbler from the glass shelf behind him. 'Don't have any ice, mister. The machine is broken.'
'I don't need ice. '
'That will be twenty New European Government vouchers,' the man replied, wiping his hands on the greasy front of his white shirt.
The stranger glanced past the two regular drinkers to the alcove near the door at the far side of the pub. Three youn
g gang members were huddled together, whispering among themselves. Sly glances flicked up at him from below faded headscarves signifying allegiance to a local scavenger gang. The stranger ran his tongue over his teeth, and a small smile appeared.
Reaching into a top pocket of the jacket he pulled out a two-pound coin and slapped it on the counter 'Will this cover the cost of the bottle?'
'Bloody heck, sir. That will get you several bottles,' he said and rubbed the shiny coin between his dirty fingers. 'I don't have any change other than NEG vouchers, but I do have two ladies who work out of the rooms upstairs. They could work the debt off if you fancied.'
'I don't want any change,' he said, looking across to the gang members. 'I just ask that I be left alone.'
• • •
Lord Francis Butler grabbed the half empty bottle and tipped another two fingers' worth into the glass. Tapping his fingers on the rim, he glanced up at the door. Clenching down on the ill-fitting dentures that he was forced to wear, he reached into his black waistcoat and pulled out a gold fob watch, rubbing the cover with his thumb. Clicking the watch winder he flicked the engraved cover open and stared at the time, willing it to slow. Grabbing the tumbler, he downed the whiskey. The door on the other side of the pub slammed closed making Lord Butler jump, his hand dropping to the Beretta lying on his lap.
A short man dressed in a white work shirt looked around the pub and then tucked his hand into the large brass belt buckle that adorned the front of his dark blue jeans. The black-haired man strutted over, nodding to the men at the bar as he passed.
'Good day, Francis.'
‘You are late.'
Dan Garrett wiped his forehead, flattening back his receding black hair. 'The van I was travelling in had fusion problems, and I think the hydrogen cell may have been faulty, so I had to hike the last few miles. Trust it to be a bloody warm Newcastle day too.'
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