Chapter 5
It was already dark, and Janice moved about the cabin with its familiar creaks and the scent of wood smoke still clinging to the walls from this morning's fire. Her pack hung on the hook by the door, next to her outer layers she’d stripped off, leaving them to air out before tomorrow's trek.
The propane heater hummed in the corner, taking the edge off the chill.
Her laptop sat waiting on the small table, the screen saver cycling through images from the last few days’ camera haul.
From across the small room, she could see photographs of a bull moose, three wolves moving like shadows through dawn light, and a lynx with two kits.
She settled into the worn chair and pulled the memory cards from her belt pouch.
The ritual soothed her. She would download, catalog, analyze. She worked methodically through the files, noting timestamps and behaviors, building the database that would reveal patterns invisible to the casual observer.
An hour passed before she leaned back and rubbed her eyes.
The numbers from today's water quality tests sat in her field notebook, waiting to be entered.
She flipped it open, squinting at her handwriting.
The creek readings bothered her. Not catastrophically high, but elevated enough to warrant attention.
She pulled up the spreadsheet where she'd been tracking water chemistry for the past four months.
The graph told the story clearly. Nitrogen levels were creeping up.
Phosphates were higher than they should be.
Nothing that would kill the fish outright, but enough to stress the ecosystem if it continued.
Enough to harm the delicate balance that kept everything functioning.
Janice chewed her thumbnail, a habit she'd never quite broken despite her mother's gentle nagging.
Where was it coming from? The creek ran clean from its headwaters in the high country, fed by snowmelt and springs that had sustained this watershed for thousands of years.
But something upstream was changing the chemistry.
Something recent, given that the previous researcher's data showed nothing abnormal.
She closed the laptop and moved to the kitchen corner, her stomach reminding her she'd skipped lunch. The cupboard yielded a can of tomato soup, and she set it on the stove to warm while she assembled a grilled cheese sandwich in the cast-iron skillet. On her last trip to Cantwell, she’d bought potato chips and pickles, and she decided they would go perfectly with her sandwich.
Simple food, but it filled the hollow space and gave her hands something to do while her mind churned.
As she ate, she pondered the changes in the water's chemistry.
What would cause such a change? She had a doctorate in veterinary science, a bachelor's degree in biology, and a minor in chemistry. She could recognize and analyze the chemicals, but couldn’t imagine what was causing the phenomenon that could potentially kill some of the wildlife.
She remembered Cantwell's general store owner had mentioned a mining company setting up some kind of operation, though he'd been vague on the details. "Exploration. Looking for minerals or some such. It’ll be good for business,” he’d added.
A mining company. Janice hadn’t seen any evidence of mining nearby, but knew that didn’t mean there wasn’t a correlation.
She finished eating and washed her dishes in the basin, heating water on the stove since the cabin's plumbing consisted of a hand pump at the sink and a chemical toilet in the tiny bathroom.
The hot water felt good on her cold hands.
She'd grown used to the primitive conditions and found a certain satisfaction in the simplicity of this life…
for a limited time. Heat from wood or propane.
Water carried and heated. Waste managed responsibly.
It stripped life down to its essentials.
The bathroom's chemical toilet and sink served their purpose, though she'd learned to time her showers carefully.
The small water heater could manage about fifteen minutes of lukewarm spray if she were lucky, less if the temperature outside dropped too far.
Tonight felt like a good night for it. She sparingly washed her hair and was desperate to get clean.
She lit the pilot light and waited for the heater to work its magic, then stripped down and stepped under the spray.
The water sputtered at first, then found its rhythm.
Not quite hot enough to steam up the tiny space, but warm enough to be tolerable.
She washed quickly, knowing the heat wouldn't last.
Wrapped in her heavy robe over her flannel pajamas, she combed her wet hair in the main room where the wood stove glowed with banked coals.
She fed it two more logs and settled onto the sofa with her laptop balanced on her knees.
The camera footage from station twelve loaded slowly, each image materializing line by line as the temperamental internet connection struggled.
Since it could continue to take images at night, she was always enthralled by the wildlife being captured unsuspectingly.
A bear. Two ravens. A red fox trotting past with something in its mouth.
Then something that made her pause. Men.
Three of them, caught at the edge of the frame just after sunset two days ago.
They wore work clothes and carried what looked like surveying equipment.
The timestamp showed 2:30 in the morning.
Who surveyed in the middle of the night?
She scrolled through more images. The same men appeared again the next night, closer to the camera this time.
One of them looked directly at the lens, as though he'd spotted it.
The next several frames showed nothing but empty forest, then the camera captured one of them reaching toward it before the angle shifted to the side, showing only tree trunks and moss.
They'd moved her camera. Deliberately repositioned it to point away from whatever they were doing upstream.
She grimaced, anger flooding her veins. Hunters? Why would a hunter not want to be seen? Poachers? Leaning closer, she was disappointed not to be able to see their faces, with the balaclava hiding all but their lips and eyes.
Janice sat back, her heart beating faster, her mind moving to other possibilities. The elevated chemical readings. The midnight surveys. I wonder…
She pulled up her email and typed quickly, fingers flying over the keys before she could second-guess herself.
Marcus—
Do you know what mining operations are permitted in this area? Specifically, upstream from my research grid? I'm seeing some unusual activity and water quality changes that don't make sense. Might be nothing, but wanted to flag it.
Janice
She sent the message before she could overthink it. He probably wouldn't read it until morning, since he was home by now, ready to safely tuck himself into his bed. She glanced at the other side of the room, where her double bed was pushed into a corner.
Tomorrow she'd hike upstream. Check the cameras instead of waiting for her scheduled rotation.
Document whatever was happening before the evidence disappeared.
It was probably nothing. Some legitimate operation with proper permits and environmental oversight.
But the scientist in her demanded answers.
The water didn't lie, and those chemical readings meant something was leaching into the creek.
The wood stove popped, sending sparks against the screen. She moved over to the stove, relishing the heat, and banked the fire for the night.
She brushed her teeth at the tiny bathroom sink, careful not to waste water as she rinsed.
Her toothbrush and paste sat in a ceramic cup next to the basin, alongside her small collection of essentials.
Moisturizer. Her hairbrush. A lip balm that smelled faintly of mint.
She'd pared down her routine to the bare necessities, and there was a certain satisfaction in that simplicity.
Still, as she smoothed moisturizer over her wind-chapped cheeks and forehead, she couldn't help but think about the long, hot bath waiting for her back in Seattle.
The deep, soaker tub in her apartment that she could fill to the brim with water so hot it turned her skin pink.
Bath salts, a good book, and the luxury of soaking until the water cooled.
Two more months. She could make it here for two more months.
She loved this work, loved the isolation and the purpose.
But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss some comforts.
Real showers that lasted longer than fifteen minutes.
Water pressure that didn't sputter and die halfway through the shampoo rinse.
The ability to stand under hot spray until every muscle melted into relaxation.
Janice caught her reflection in the small mirror above the sink and grinned at herself. "Sixty days," she told her reflection. "Then you can be soft again."
For now, she had her essential toiletries in their tidy row, her warm bed waiting, and work that mattered.
Once the cabin was secure, she dropped her robe over her blankets for added warmth and crawled into bed, pulling the heavy quilts up to her chin. The double bed was comfortable, with a down comforter her mother had insisted on buying before she left Seattle.
Through the window, stars scattered across the black sky like someone had flung diamonds against velvet.
The aurora borealis shimmered green and purple along the northern horizon, dancing to music only it could hear.
She watched until her eyes grew heavy, the ancient light show better than any television.
Her last thought before sleep claimed her was of those men at two thirty in the morning, deliberately moving her camera. People with nothing to hide didn't work in the dark. And they certainly didn't tamper with research equipment in a protected watershed.
The questions could wait until morning. Right now, warm under her quilts with the stove glowing softly across the room, she let herself sink into the kind of deep sleep that only came from physical exhaustion.
Outside, the aurora danced on.