Chapter 7
7
A soft wind whispered through the ancient trees that clung to the shoreline of Smoky Lake. Tall spruce and hemlock, cottonwoods adding a lighter touch of green, the occasional slender birch tree, pale as a nymph playing in the forest. The echo of birds calling to each other across the lake added to the sense that this was a different world, one meant for wild creatures, not humans with all their noise and activity.
Smoky Lake extended from the Korch Glacier to a few miles from Firelight Ridge, a long meandering flow of glacial water that fed the local waterways. Near the glacier, hardly any vegetation grew along the lake, but farther south, woodlands had grown up along its shores.
That was where the Smoky Lake Research Institute was located, and where Gil was now steering a small ChrisCraft motorboat across the misty water. He stayed as close to the shore as he could manage, in the hopes that he wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention—though most likely, he was the only person out here. As far as he knew, only two structures still existed along the shores of Smoky Lake. It wasn’t the most sensible place to build a house, given that it was a glacial lake that froze in the winter and then flooded in the spring—j?kulhlaup.
Gil knew more about j?kulhlaup than he’d ever dreamed, thanks to his brother.
j?kulhlaup didn’t happen every year; it depended on the conditions. For instance, this past spring there had been no j?kulhlaup. For Lachlan, the non-occurrence of a j?kulhlaup was just as interesting. How did the wildlife adapt to the unpredictable nature of a j?kulhlaup? Or—even more interesting—did other lifeforms have a way to predict it? Did they sense temperature changes, snow accumulation, some chemical signal he hadn’t yet identified?
Gil steered around old steel posts sunk into the silt, peering through the murky water. They used to hold up a dock, but it had gotten destroyed over thirty years ago. A developer had wanted to take advantage of the pristine beauty of the setting, and had built the dock for unloading materials. Then an especially overwhelming j?kulhlaup had hit.
Some forces of nature were simply impossible for humans to do much about. When glacial flooding occurred, all you could do was get out of the way. Whatever had been built in its path was very likely to be destroyed. That was why the train trestles for the railroad that used to transport copper from the mine had to be rebuilt every spring, after the melt off.
And that was why no one had ever bothered to rebuild this dock. Gil couldn’t blame the developer for trying, but he was personally glad it hadn’t worked out. He liked Smoky Lake just the way it was—wreathed in fog in the summer, solid ice in the winter, and dancing with whimsical floating cottonwood seeds in the spring.
The Smoky Lake Research Institute owned one of the two houses that remained out here. It had been built on a rise a hundred yards off the shoreline, and that was just far enough away to keep it safe during the j?kulhlaup. The Institute allowed scientists with relevant research projects to stay there at no cost.
Lachlan had spent his first summer in Firelight Ridge at the Institute, before he fell in love with the area and bought his own place. Victor had been staying out here since early summer.
He’d been working on…well, Gil wasn’t exactly sure of the details. It involved a group of Ahtna elders—the Native Alaskan community in this area. Gil knew he was recording their stories, and he thought that Victor was focusing on indigenous medicinal uses for local plants. But that was a very general topic; it had to be more specific than that.
Whatever it was, Victor had been very cautious about sharing details.
A lot of people would be interested in this research , that was what he’d said.
Now Gil was wishing he’d pushed a little harder. Apparently state troopers, military personnel, and one beautiful woman were among the people interested.
He throttled down to an idle as he reached the Institute’s floating dock. The dock was one step from disposable; generally a new one was flown in every couple of years. But it was necessary, because the best way to access the Institute was by water. The terrain in this section of the lake was forbidding, the only trail too steep for supply deliveries. The Institute maintained this ChrisC-raft and several canoes and kayaks for visiting researchers to use.
At the dock, Gil tied up the boat and tilted the outboard engine out of the water. When he jumped onto the float, it dipped under his weight and a bit of icy water sloshed into his boots, but he ignored it, knowing his body heat would take care of it at these temperatures. He strapped on his backpack, then tackled the stairs, which were rust-proof aluminum steps set into the slope—what felt like a hundred of them.
If Victor had been sick, how had he managed all these stairs?
After that heart-pumping climb, he reached the facility, a simple one-level building made mostly of steel and glass. It had the feel of an observatory, as if its only purpose was to gaze out into the wilderness and figure things out.
Gil admired scientists, starting with his own twin brother. He and Lachlan were so different—study versus action, research versus adventure. But they shared a kind of intense curiosity about the world. Lachlan wanted to study it, Gil wanted to experience it.
He pushed open the door, wondering if Victor had left the interior in chaos. Standard protocol was to thoroughly clean before leaving, and make sure the cupboards and propane were fully stocked.
At first glance, all looked normal.
A long central work table filled most of the space, a propane heater sat in one corner, a small kitchenette in another. The only private spaces were two small bedrooms, one set up like a dorm room with bunk beds, the other with a double bed. No bathroom, just an outhouse in the woods out back, and a tiny shower stall with an electric pump and a showerhead. Water had to be hauled from a nearby stream that fed pure glacier water into the lake. The lake water itself contained too much sediment to make for comfortable drinking water.
Gil set his bag down in the bedroom, turned on the heat, and did a quick survey of the cupboards. Victor had done his duty and restocked all the dry goods and cans of beans and tomatoes and soup. He’d left the Berkey filtration system filled with water, and hauled several more jugs as backup. Even the propane had been refilled, which was no easy process. It required a boat ride, a trip to Firelight Ridge, then using a hoist to haul it up the hill.
There was no way a sick man could have managed all that.
Victor had also left a note on the work table.
To whoever reads this: The propane was changed out on July 13. There should be enough for the rest of the summer. I refilled the generator. Depending on your electricity usage, it might need more fuel before the summer ends. I planted some greens out back, here’s hoping someone’s around to enjoy them. Thank you for another wonderful stint at Smoky Lake.
Victor Canseco , PhD candidate in ethnobotany at the University of Fairbanks
Gil stared at the note. Did that sound like a message from someone struggling to breathe between coughs, rambling and feverish, the way Ani had described him? Not at all. It sounded like a run-of-the-mill transfer of information from someone in full possession of his faculties.
Not that he didn’t believe Ani. What reason would she have to lie? Had something happened to Victor somewhere between Smoky Lake and the Blackbear airport?
Ani’s dark eyes flashed through his mind. He wished she’d come with him. She would love this place; even though he barely knew her, he felt confident in saying that. The space was so airy and quiet, the view of cottonwoods and lake so serene. Right now the water was a deep charcoal gray, but sometimes it was sparkled green as an emerald. Other times the cloud cover turned it a muted shade of pistachio.
Whenever he came out here to hike or kayak, Gil liked to lose himself in the shifts of color and light while his mind mulled over whatever problem he was working on.
Right now, the only problem he wanted to work on was that of Victor’s research. He rummaged through all the filing cabinets under the work table, then went into the bunkroom to search the drawers.
Nothing. Not a damn thing.
A chill swept through him. Had someone searched the place before him?
With that thought, he scanned it with new eyes.
Yes, he realized. Someone had been here. There was a handprint on the glass pane. Victor would never have left that there; part of the departure protocol was to spritz the windows. The stools had been tucked under the edge of the table, which was correct. But they weren’t in an even line. Had they been pulled out, then pushed back in?
These were subtle things that only an experienced visitor to the Smoky Lake Research Institute would recognize.
Damn it.
Gil scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. His skin prickled. The idea that someone unauthorized had come in here didn’t sit right with him. This was a place of science and the pursuit of knowledge. Greed and spying and threats had no place here.
Had someone poisoned Victor?
That was the thought that he kept coming back to. What else would bring on such sudden symptoms? When he’d left here, he’d been healthy enough to fill all those water jugs and write this note. When he’d gotten off the plane in Blackbear, he’d been feverish and coughing.
Gil looked at the note again. I planted some greens out back.
What was the point of that? The moose would eat them, and if they didn’t, the snowshoe hares would. If not the hares, the voles or the ermine. Around here, you had to build a fence if you wanted a garden, and no one ever had the time for that.
It’s a message.
With his pulse picking up, he went back outside and stepped around to the back of the house. That was where the generator sat. He didn’t see a need to turn it on, since he had nothing that needed to be refrigerated and there was so much light this time of year. The house didn’t have a “backyard” per se. It was just a clearing filled with stinging nettle and wild raspberry bushes. Where would anyone even put a garden?
But sure enough, Victor had figured out a spot. He’d cleared away some nettles and set up a simple raised bed with short posts at each corner, and one-by-sixes along the sides. Kale and bok choy filled the bed with their lush summer growth.
So far, so ordinary. Gil frowned down at the curly leaves of the kale. Victor had decided to plant a garden. Good for him. There was no message here. What had he been thinking?
One of the kale plants caught his eye because it wasn’t thriving as much as the others. Maybe moose had munched that one, or slugs had attacked it. Or maybe something else had disturbed it.
Gil was just bending down to check it out when the drone of an engine caught his attention. He straightened up and hurried around to the front of the house where he could see what was happening.
A small floatplane was approaching the lake, skimming just above the treetops. The only floatplanes that he knew about operated out of Blackbear. If he’d been able to take one to get here, he would have. It would have been much quicker than hiking through the ravine to old Solomon’s place, borrowing his four-wheeler, camping out for the night, then riding to the head of the lake where the boat awaited. It had taken him half a day and night to get here.
The seaplane skidded gracefully across the surface of the lake, its floats stirring up twin plumes of spray. It rocked back and forth on its own wake as it turned toward the little dock where the Institute’s boat was tied up.
Was someone scheduled to arrive that Gil didn’t know about? The Institute often asked Gil to help shepherd newcomers out to the facility. From guarding diplomats to transporting scientists wasn’t a huge reach.
As far as he knew, no one was supposed to be here until the middle of August, when a mycologist who studied extremophiles was coming to work on his ice worm project.
The floatplane came to a standstill next to the dock. The pilot jumped lightly onto the pontoon, then onto the dock. Gil recognized him as Sam Coburn, a highly capable pilot and all-around good guy. He relaxed, feeling no threat from Sam’s direction.
Sam reached out his hand to help his passenger climb out of the plane. Gil squinted into the sun, noting flowing dark hair and the glint of gold bangles. Could it be? He shaded his eyes and focused on the woman stepping onto the dock.
Ani Devi.
Damn. He’d been struck by her beauty, obviously, but hadn’t picked up much about her character. This woman was resourceful and smart and determined. It would take all of those qualities to figure out exactly where he was, and then to get herself here.
But why exactly had she come?