Chapter 6 #2
The four-wheeler sat where she'd left it, and she threw her leg over the seat with gratitude. The engine caught on the first try, and she headed back down the trail toward her cabin.
But those boot prints stayed with her. Someone knew where her cameras were.
Someone was actively working to hide whatever was happening upstream.
And now she'd moved the camera to a better position, which meant that when they came back and found it gone, they'd know she was on to them. That thought gave her pause, but she wasn’t about to move it again.
The ride back seemed longer than usual, every shadow holding potential threat. By the time her cabin came into view, she'd half-convinced herself she was being paranoid. Nobody had followed her. Nobody even knew she'd been up there.
As she parked the four-wheeler and pulled the tarp back over it, movement at the tree line caught her eye.
The red fox with the white-tipped tail emerged from the underbrush, his mate visible just behind him.
They paused, watching her, then continued across the clearing with the unhurried confidence of animals on familiar ground.
Janice stood still, not wanting to spook them. The pair moved past her at a distance of maybe thirty feet, close enough that she could see the details of their coats, the alert positioning of their ears, the way they moved in sync.
The male paused and looked directly at her, amber eyes meeting hers for a long moment. Then he turned and continued into the forest, his mate following, two wild creatures going about their lives. She smiled despite her anxiety about the boot prints and the tampered cameras.
Inside the cabin, she forced herself to eat a baloney sandwich assembled with shaking hands, washed down with cold water.
But before sitting down to eat, she moved to her laptop and pulled up yesterday's camera footage. She needed to see if the wolves had been captured on camera and whether they were spending time near the areas where the boot prints appeared.
She scrolled through hundreds of images, most of which showed the expected wildlife. Then, on camera twelve, she found what she was looking for.
The wolf pack, all seven members, moving through the frame in single file. The breeding pair led, with the subordinate adults following, bringing up the rear. They moved with purpose, heads up, alert, but not alarmed.
And there, in the background of one image, barely visible through the trees, were human figures. Too distant to identify, but clearly people, clearly in an area where they shouldn't be.
The wolves had passed within a hundred yards of those people. Had probably been aware of their presence and altered their route to avoid confrontation. Wolves were smart, adaptable, and generally cautious around humans.
But if those people were doing something that threatened the pack's territory, if they were disrupting the prey base or creating hazards…
Janice's hands curled into fists. She thought of the wolf pups she'd glimpsed in camera footage from early summer, tumbling over each other, learning to hunt from the adults. They'd be juveniles now, learning their place in the pack hierarchy, yet still dependent on the adults for survival.
But if something happened to the breeding pair, the pack's structure could collapse due to human interference.
She forced herself to take a breath, to step back from the emotional response. Her job was to document, not to intervene. To record what was happening and report it to the proper authorities.
But knowing that didn't make it easier. Didn't stop her from caring about the wildlife she'd worried about. Every animal she documented became real to her, became more than just data points and statistics.
Her phone buzzed, startling her out of her thoughts, and she read a text from her mother. How's my girl doing?
Janice typed back quickly. Good. Saw a fox pair this morning. Beautiful animals.
The response came almost immediately. That's my Janice. Your dad says the Hendersons' cat had kittens if you need a cuteness fix.
She smiled. Tell him I said the wild ones are pretty cute too.
Be safe up there, sweetie. Love you.
Love you too, Mom.
Janice set down her phone and returned to her sandwich, but her mind was already working through her next steps.
She needed to document the water contamination more thoroughly.
Needed to gather soil samples from the areas around the boot prints.
Needed to check all her cameras for evidence of human activity in places where humans shouldn't be.
And she needed to be careful. Whoever was tampering with her cameras and left those boot prints was doing something they wanted to keep hidden. And people with secrets could be dangerous when those secrets were threatened.
But she couldn't walk away. Couldn't ignore what was happening to this ecosystem, to the animals that depended on it. The animals all deserved an advocate. Someone willing to document the truth and fight for their protection.
Even if that someone was a wildlife veterinarian who'd come to Alaska to escape a suffocating relationship and ended up stumbling into something much more complicated than climate research.
She finished her sandwich and stood, moving to the window. The fox pair had reappeared at the tree line, lying together in a patch of afternoon sun. The male's head rested on his mate's flank, both of them relaxed and content.
Janice watched them, feeling that familiar ache in her chest… the one that came from loving wild things, from knowing they were vulnerable, from wanting to protect them even when protection wasn't always possible.
"I'll do what I can," she whispered to the foxes, to the wolves in the forest, to all the creatures whose lives intersected with her research. "I promise."
The foxes dozed on, unaware of her vow, unconcerned with human promises. As all wild things should be… free to live without needing human interference or protection.
But sometimes, she thought as she turned back to her laptop, sometimes the wild things needed someone to stand between them and the humans who would destroy their world for profit.
And right now, in this remote corner of Alaska, that someone was her.
Thinking of the rest of her day, she listened to her radio indicate the storm they had been following was nearing her area.
She flipped open her laptop to watch the weather forecast, which showed a serious system moving in from the Gulf of Alaska.
Two days of heavy snow, maybe more. If she was going to make a supply run to Cantwell, it needed to be now.
And maybe, while she was in town, she could ask a few casual questions about Northern Summit Resources. See what the locals knew about their operations.
She loaded her backpack with items to return to the cabin later and grabbed her truck keys.
The drive to Cantwell took forty minutes along gravel and then paved roads, her old truck humming the whole way.
Halfway there, she passed a car coming from the opposite direction.
Northern Summit Resources was painted in bold letters on the door panel.
The driver didn't acknowledge her, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Cantwell rose from the landscape like a mirage, a collection of buildings huddled against the vastness of the Alaskan interior.
The population was around 200, depending on the season and who was counting.
The general store anchored the town's small commercial district, with the post office sharing space in the back and a couple of other businesses nearby.
Janice parked and headed inside, the bell over the door jingling at her arrival. Warm air hit her face, along with the mingled scents of coffee, heating oil, and the indefinable smell of a place that sold everything from groceries to hardware to hunting licenses.
"Janice!" Douglas, the owner, looked up from behind the counter where he was sorting mail. "Wondered when we'd see you. Storm's coming."
"I know. Figured I'd stock up." She grabbed a cart and started down the narrow aisles, loading supplies. Coffee, canned goods, fresh vegetables that wouldn't last long but would be a treat while they did. Meat and paper products. Propane canisters. Batteries. The essentials of remote living.
At the counter, while Douglas rang up her purchases, she kept her voice casual. "Saw one of those Northern Summit trucks on the road. Are they doing a lot of work around here?"
His weathered face creased in a frown. "More than some folks like. Set up about two months ago. Big operation from what I hear."
"What are they mining for?"
"Rare earth minerals, they say. Whatever those are." He bagged her groceries with practiced efficiency. "Brought in a bunch of workers from outside. Keeping to themselves mostly, but they spend money in town, so that's something."
An older woman at the end of the counter snorted. "Money's not everything, Douglas. My well water tastes funny since they started up."
"Now, Agnes, you don't know that's related."
"I know what I know." Agnes gathered her own purchases, shaking her head. "Used to be a person could drink right from the creek. Not anymore."
Janice's fingers tightened on her wallet. "The creeks are contaminated?"
"Something's wrong with the water," Agnes said firmly. "Fish don't taste right either. My grandson won't even eat ’em anymore, and that boy loves to fish."
A younger man in work clothes spoke up from where he'd been browsing the hardware section. "Company says they're following all the regulations. EPA signed off on everything."
"The EPA's not drinking our well water," Agnes shot back.
Douglas cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He gave the total to Janice, and she pulled out her credit card. The university paid for everything up front, and she just had to keep receipts for the final accounting when she went back to Seattle.