by Alan Russell
But three months of preparation still wasn’t enough. She wondered whether a lifetime would be enough.
“Last chance for you to bow out,” Baer said, checking his emergency pack. That was his routine every day. Baer was methodical in his preparations. He was even more cautious than the animals he hunted. “It’s so cold we’re going to have to put booties on the dogs’ footpads.”
Nina nodded. On two previous occasions, they’d put what looked like miniature mukluks around the paws of the dogs. Without those coverings the cold and icy conditions would have torn their pads.
She took a step outside. Despite being dressed for winter, for a moment she felt like she’d jumped into cold water. Her mouth involuntarily opened, and her intake of breath almost felt like brain freeze. The cold came at her with its long knives; a thousand cuts penetrated her fur armor.
The only solution was to move. Nina followed Baer over to the doghouses. To help deflect the cold, the metal drums had been stuffed full of insulation and elevated half a foot off the ground, with a padded pallet beneath them. The opening into each barrel was just big enough for the dogs to squeeze in and out, which shielded them from the wind. Once inside their barrels, they curled up into a ball, and you could just make out their eyes.
The dogs were slower than usual in exiting from their houses. Although they wagged their tails and appeared to be in good spirits, Nina thought their enthusiasm was muted. Given a choice, she was sure, they’d stay put for the day.
Baer bent down and began putting booties around the dogs’ paws and unchaining them. He’d just finished with the third dog when he straightened up and scanned the sky.
“Hear that?” he asked.
Nina strained to hear. No matter how many layers of clothing Baer wore, his hearing was animal-acute. Nina heard a faint buzzing sound that might have been a mosquito, but she knew that Alaska’s unofficial state bird could not survive the winter.
“It’s some kind of aircraft,” Baer said. “It’s a long ways off, but of late there’s been a lot more air traffic than usual.”
Nina kept her head lowered. She didn’t want him to see the excitement in her eyes.
“It could be they’re looking for our dearly departed pilot,” he said. “It’s possible his plane was discovered in that lake, even though by this time it must be buried under four feet of ice. I wouldn’t have thought they’d be able to find it.”
Baer turned his black gaze on her.
“I wouldn’t get your spirits up about the possibility of anyone spotting you,” he said. “Even the best eyes in the sky would have trouble seeing us. You see, I picked out this spot not only because there are no people around, but because it’s a mite inhospitable. No one would think to settle here because it’s too hilly and there are too many trees to be able to use a snow machine. But it’s those same trees and hills that make us almost invisible.”
He bent down to put a boot on the next dog. “And even if they did find the crashed plane, they’d never guess how far away we are from it. Where we’re sitting is far from their search zone. And if they get closer, that only means one thing: time to vamoose.”
Or time to escape, thought Nina.
“Gee!” yelled Baer, and the dogs turned to the right.
Nina stepped on and off the sled as conditions dictated. She and Baer rode when there was a straightaway, but most of the time they walked, or at least that’s how it felt. The wind whipped at them; even through her layers of clothes, Nina felt its lash. It was a cold that burned. Baer, as usual, acted impervious to the elements. To the accompaniment of wind, he took up his favorite dirge:
“Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that ‘he’d sooner live in hell.’”
“Don’t you know a holiday song or poem?” Nina shouted, trying to be heard over the wind and doing her best to derail his rendition.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “Apparently you haven’t been listening as closely as you should.” And he started in on the third verse.
“On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.”
Nina tightened the covering of her head to try to keep from hearing.
Baer’s mood worsened as the day went on. His traps and snares had come up empty, and he didn’t even have his she-bitch to blame. The trapline was roughly in the form of a cloverleaf that bridged two bodies of water. Usually they were able to travel along half the cloverleaf one day, and the other half the next.
“This goddamn cold spell caused a goddamn cold spell on our trapline,” he grumbled.
It was difficult to make out his words; his facial hair had iced up, and his nasal drip had resulted in long icicles that resembled a walrus’s tusks. Baer slapped at his face, but the ice resisted his blow.
Nina thought of one of Elese’s last entries in her book. It was easy to imagine Baer as being something less than human and being something more than human.
“I hate being skunked,” he said, making it sound as if the animals hadn’t come to his traps just to spite him. And then he added, “Lately the pickings have been getting all too slim around here.”
Nina didn’t like the sound of that, especially with his earlier threat to “vamoose.” Was he already considering a move to the winter game camp? Elese had warned her how much harder it would be to escape from there.
“It’s just one bad day,” she said. “The animals had the good sense not to venture out when it was so cold.”
“But the sun will come out tomorrow, right? Isn’t that what Annie says?”
What Baer knew, and didn’t know, always surprised Nina. She would never have imagined he knew who Little Orphan Annie was.
“I hope so,” said Nina.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The next morning Nina awakened to an already dressed Baer.
“I’m going out solo this morning,” he said. “You have five minutes to powder your nose.”
“Are you taking the dogs?”
“They’ve got the day off just like you.”
“Are you hunting?”
“Yeah, I’m hunting down information. You have four minutes now.”
Nina wrapped herself in a parka. It was clear no more answers would be forthcoming. Baer enjoyed his secrets.
She hurried down the path to the outhouse. These days her favorite fantasy involved a luxurious bathroom. She dreamed of a hot bath, but right now she’d even settle for toilet paper. The outhouse TP had run out a month ago.
Nina knew not to delay. By complying with Baer’s demands, she’d gotten more time outside her pen. Baer was standing at the door when she returned. He wasn’t carrying any snares or traps. Whatever he was going to do didn’t involve trapping. She moved by him and went to the pen. Inside she could see he’d placed a plate of food with some grayish-looking meat that appeared to be more frozen than not.
She crawled inside her cell, and he locked it behind her. Baer checked the door to make sure it was secure, and then went out the cabin door and off to his business, whatever that was.
Nina burrowed under the furs and comforters. As weighty as they were, these days there never seemed to be enough. It felt as cold inside as it did outside. But she had to plan for when she wouldn’t have a roof over her head or as many furs covering her body.
She spent the morning doing a mental inventory of what provisions she had and what she would need. Lately she’d been spending extra time outside tending to the dogs. Keeping
their metal-drum houses cleaned was more work than anyone would have guessed. And she usually brought them their heated-up meat broth at least twice a day to make sure they were getting enough water. She also checked on them at night after her trip to the outhouse. Her visits weren’t only social time. She wanted Baer to become used to her spending a few minutes with the dogs.
But she hadn’t spent all her time with the dogs or doing chores. She’d also been readying for her getaway. Putting together an escape pack put her in danger. At any moment Baer might notice something was missing. He missed very little. And although Nina had chosen discards, including tarps, plastic bags, some rope, and an old pot, she was still afraid of being found out. She didn’t even want to think of what he might do if he discovered what she was up to.
While there was still light, Nina decided to study from Elese’s book. By now the maps were burned into her mind. But forgetting anything could mean death.
“I think you’ve prepared me as best you can, Sister,” she said.
Elese’s booklet had been pulled out and put away so many times that its cardboard backing was fraying. Nina’s intent was to pore over the maps, but instead she found herself turning to the book’s last page.
“I wish you had written a different ending to your book. I guess I wanted the fairy tale ending.” She ran a finger over the page. “Did you know this would be your final entry? Or did an opportunity to escape arise and not give you the chance to write anymore? It seems too abrupt to me, but I suppose any last page would have been. It means the end of hearing of your voice. Your good-bye came too soon for me.”
Elese had titled her last entry. At the top of the page, she had underlined the words The Winter Bear.
On the day before we put into dock in Seward, Greg and I went to a lecture given by the cruise ship’s anthropologist. She spoke about Alaskan legends and told us about a beast the native people feared more than any other: the Winter Bear.
According to legends, this Winter Bear refuses to hibernate. He wanders the frozen landscapes, ever hungry, ever in search of food. But his appetite isn’t what makes this creature so scary. The truly frightening thing about the Winter Bear is its pelt. At the advent of winter, this beast seeks out flowing water, and when it emerges from its swim, it becomes transformed into a creature of ice. Hoarfrost covers the bear in a coating like plate armor.
No arrow can penetrate the Winter Bear’s icy shield; even bullets are no match for it. The Winter Bear knows this. It walks through villages with impunity, taking what it wants and leaving behind a trail of death. Few who have seen the Winter Bear have survived.
I remember during the anthropologist’s talk, I began to shiver. Greg did not know the cause of my chill, but he put his arm around me. I pretended to be comforted, but I was unable to put the story out of my mind, even when the anthropologist began talking of other legends. And that last night before I was taken, I had a terrible nightmare. The Winter Bear with his icy sheen came to me like a haunting ghost. I could see all too clearly that its icy transformation had made the creature something no longer flesh and blood.
The next day Baer abducted me. That is an accurate description of what happened, but it’s so incomplete. The monster murdered what was. He took my old life from me and stole me away to hell.
In the time since, I have wondered if my hearing the story of the Winter Bear was a portent. Is Baer my Winter Bear? Am I one of those victims who saw the Winter Bear and did not survive?
The Baer who stole me away wanders the cold. He is ever hungry. And like the Winter Bear, I am afraid he is not quite human.
I must find a way to kill the Winter Baer. I must find a way to shatter his icy armor.
Nina felt the stub of her ring finger. All she had to do was rub it, and her hate was ignited. So that’s what she did.
“You have found a way to shatter his armor,” she said, “and that’s through me. I will kill the Winter Baer.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“They think they’ve found the plane,” said Hamilton.
“Think?”
“Sergeant Wood got the Pentagon to release a few of their latest toys, including special salvage drones. One of them picked up what was described as a ‘metal signature.’ That’s where AST got involved. They sent out a plane and got visual confirmation of a downed bird.”
“So you’re saying they confirmed it was Tomcat’s plane?”
“I wish I was saying that. The downed plane is buried under four to five feet of solid ice.”
“When are they going to dig it out?”
“That’s not going to happen, at least anytime soon.”
“Why not? It’s only ice.”
“That was my reaction. Apparently both of us don’t have any idea of how much work that kind of salvage operation would entail.”
Martin wasn’t accepting that. “They cut down a lot of wood, and then they start a big fire atop the ice. It can’t be that hard.”
“I’m just the messenger. AST and NTSB are both willing to wait. The way they see it, more than three months have passed since the crash. The best-case scenario is that there were crash survivors, but since no one has come forward, that seems unlikely.”
“Donnelly is accepting that?”
“He’s making sure every inch within a twenty-five-mile radius gets combed over.”
“I wish I had the data they did. Any chance I can get it?”
“So far it’s been what’s ours is theirs and what’s theirs is theirs. What data do you want?”
“I want to know the exact location of the plane. I could enter that information and make a topographic map.”
“What good would that do you?”
“I’m not sure. Geologists love their maps.”
“I’m sure I can get you the exact location of where the plane is,” said Hamilton.
“I appreciate it.”
“You should know I’m still holding back one piece of information from their investigation.”
“And what’s that?”
“I haven’t told them what Jack told me. They don’t know about Grizzly’s drop-off spot.”
“So they know where the plane is, and we know where Tomcat wanted to go.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Care to guess how far the two lakes are from each other?”
“I’m thinking it’s about twenty miles.”
“Are you up for another outing?”
“Afraid you’ll have to go without me. I’m tied up for the next few days.”
Hamilton wasn’t lying about his commitments. But the truth was he’d had more than enough of flying. He didn’t want to tempt the fates. Unfortunately for him, Martin did.
“It’s going to take me that long to get ready anyway. I have my own work. I’ll also need to study some maps and route our course.”
Hamilton sighed and said, “Wonderful.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
After a long day of working the traplines, there was little to show for their efforts. Baer had said next to nothing during their disappointing outing. Nina found his silence scarier than his raging, as she had no idea what he was thinking. As they neared the cabin, the dogs began moving with renewed vigor. The end of the day was in sight.
Baer broke his long silence. “While I start dinner,” he told her, “you put the dogs away and get them settled in.”
She was glad for any time away from Baer. She led the dogs to their houses and unhitched them from their harnesses. Nina had given each a private name instead of a number, something Baer didn’t know, and while attaching them to their individual ten-foot steel chains, she affectionately whispered their names. Moondoggy, Oscar, Bandit, and Romeo happily entered their insulated homes.
There were two unoccupied metal drums. In past years Baer had run larger strings of dogs. The extra drums were now being used as storage, housing the dogsled and equipment. Into them Nina stowed the sled, harnesses, gang lines, ropes, holsters, snow ho
oks, and bags.
A rising moon offered her just enough illumination to be able to see. The eyes of the dogs reflected back at her; eight circles of greenish glowing followed her movements. The dogs knew it was dinnertime. The intensity of their eyes seemed to increase as she walked over to the meat shack that Baer referred to as the wanigan. She removed the spiked doormats from in front of the wanigan and opened the latched door.
The cupboard wasn’t bare; half a dozen slabs of smoked meat still hung from the ceiling, along with racks of jerked meat, but the larder was significantly reduced. With all the open space, it now looked as if there’d been a fire sale on meat. It surprised Nina how much food two humans and four dogs had gone through over the last three months. Nina thought it likely that she’d eaten even more than Baer. Even though she’d been sick half the time, the other half of the time she’d been ravenous, eating everything and anything.
The chum salmon, which had been a fall staple for the dogs, were all gone. Now they were getting varieties of meats at which Nina could only guess—among them beaver, muskrat, and rabbit. Baer had used an ax to precut some smaller cuts of meat for the dogs. They gnawed on the meat for hours; it always sounded as if they were chewing bones, which wasn’t surprising, as the meat was frozen solid and every bit as hard as a bone.
As usual Nina slipped the dogs a little more meat than Baer would have.
“Soup!” yelled Baer, and Nina hurried up the path to the cabin, where she retrieved the still-steaming twelve-quart stockpot.
What Baer called soup was a mixture of mush, offal, meat, and water. Getting liquid to the dogs was as important as getting them food. Part of the difficulty of sledding on such cold days was making sure the dogs—and humans—were properly hydrated.
