cross one lake!”
“I did. But we don’t have the gas to detour around this one anymore.”
Barbour didn’t reply. She swallowed, licked her lips. Her mouth felt very dry.
“Don’t worry. Gunner Lake is broad, but it ain’t wide.”
She looked at him. “Why had you planned to go around it, then?”
Carradine hesitated briefly. “The lake’s only about forty feet deep. It’s littered with big rocks, glacial erratics, and the like. In these conditions, with the snow cover, sometimes they can be hard to see. If we hit one by mistake…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
She glanced out through the windshield. The lake was clearly visible just ahead. Carradine worked his way down the gears as they approached the shore.
“Aren’t you going to stop?” she said. “Test the ice depth with your power auger?”
“No time,” the trucker replied. “No gas.”
They crept out onto the ice. Once again, Barbour squeezed the stabilizer bar with all her might at the sensation of ice flexing under their weight; again, she felt the tension rise as the dreadful crackling began once more, spreading out from beneath the wheels in all directions. A few rocks were clearly visible, poking above the snow cover like fangs, their black tops shining in the morning sun. Others were hidden beneath drifts. The retreating wind had tucked and piled the snow into fantastic shapes: ridges and peaks and miniature buttes. Carradine made his way across the surface, threading the truck carefully between the rocks and snow formations. Barbour kept glancing from the GPS to the frozen lake and back again, willing the display to update, to show white once again.
Three minutes passed, then five. The crackling grew louder, fractures forking away before them in spastic lines. The engine hic-cupped; Carradine feathered it and the RPMs returned to normal. Barbour could guess what would happen if they ran out of gas while on the ice.
“Nearly there,” the trucker said, as if reading her thoughts.
A low ridge of snow appeared directly ahead, perhaps forty yards wide, scooped and scalloped by the wind until it resembled a cresting wave. “That’s got to be pure snow,” Carradine said. “Can’t risk veering around it, might spin out again. We’ll plow straight through, clear the path for the trailer. Hang on.”
Barbour was already hanging on with a grip that could not possibly be tightened. She held her breath as Carradine aimed the truck directly at the snow ridge. As it shuddered under the impact, Carradine goosed the throttle, maintaining speed.
Suddenly, the front of the truck kicked violently into the air. Barbour was thrown forward, her head almost impacting the dashboard despite the seat belt. “Christ!” Carradine said, turning the wheel to the left. “Must have been a boulder hidden under that ridge!”
There was a second impact as the rear right wheels of the cab went over the boulder. The truck rose, then fell heavily onto the ice. There was a sound like the retort of a cannon and the big vehicle suddenly slowed. Barbour felt herself pressed back against the seat.
“We’re going down in the rear!” the trucker yelled. “Get on the horn-tell everyone in the trailer to move forward, now!”
Barbour fumbled for the CB handset, dropped it, picked it up again. “Fortnum, we’ve broken through the ice. Get everybody to the front of the trailer. Hurry.”
She replaced the handset as Carradine frantically gunned the diesel. The truck strained forward, listing to the rear, splitting the frozen surface, the back end of the trailer literally forcing its way through the spreading ice. Barbour felt them tilt back still farther, the angle increasing. “No!” she heard herself crying out. “God, no!”
Carradine shifted gears and jammed the accelerator to the floor. There was another crack, almost as loud as the first, and with a shriek of effort the truck shook itself free of the hole in the ice and shot forward. Quickly, Carradine throttled back, careful not to lose control on the slick surface. Barbour slumped in her seat, almost overcome by relief.
“They don’t get any closer than that,” Carradine said. He glanced at the gasoline indicator. “Tank’s bone dry now. I can’t imagine what we’re running on.”
Barbour looked at the GPS indicator. And now at last she saw a white line of dry land a quarter mile directly ahead.
Clearing the last set of rocks, the truck roared up onto the shore and accelerated. Carradine fetched a huge, shuddering breath, plucking his floral shirt away from his skinny frame and fanning himself with it. Then he sat up, pointed ahead. “Look!”
Barbour peered through the windshield. In the distance, where the sky met the horizon, she made out a low cluster of black shapes, a blinking red light.
“Is that-” she began.
The trucker nodded, grinning hugely. “ Arctic Village.”
Quickly, she picked up the CB handset. “Barbour to Fortnum. We made it. Arctic Village is just ahead.”
And as she replaced the handset she thought she could hear-floating forward, over the grinding of the diesel- the sound of cheers.
EPILOGUE
The day was as clear and bright as crystal, as if the elements-ashamed of their ferocity-were eager to atone for the storm. The air was absolutely still, without a breath of wind, and if Marshall looked away from the base- toward the broad icepack and the perfect dome of sky above it-he could almost imagine that, in this remote and wild place, nature had a palette of only two colors: white and blue.
The morning had seen a steady procession of comings and goings: medevac and morgue choppers, a confusion of military helicopters, and one small plane full of men in dark suits that, for some reason, had made Marshall very uneasy. Now he stood with Faraday, Logan, and Ekberg on the apron before the base entrance. They had gathered to say their farewells to Usuguk, who was about to make the journey back to his empty village.
“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Marshall asked.
The Tunit shook his head. “My people have a saying: the journey is its own destination.”
“A Japanese poet wrote something very similar,” said Logan.
“Thank you again,” Marshall said. “For agreeing to come despite everything. For sharing your knowledge and your insight.” He put out his hand to shake, but instead of taking it Usuguk reached out and clasped Marshall ’s arms.
“May you find the peace which you seek,” he said. Then he nodded to the others, picked up the small duffel of water and supplies they had prepared for him, drew the fur-fringed hood around his face, and turned away.
They watched, not speaking, as the old man made his way north across the snow. Marshall wondered if the women would return to the village, or if Usuguk would live out the rest of his life alone, in monkish solitude. Somehow, he knew the man would accept either outcome with stoic philosophy.
“Are you searching for peace?” Ekberg asked him.
Marshall thought a moment. “Yes. I guess I am.”
“I suppose we all are,” she replied. She hesitated. “Well, I’d better get back. The Blackpool representative and insurance people will be here after lunch. I’ve got a lot to do before then.”
“I’ll look in on you later,” Marshall said.
She smiled. “You do that.” Then she turned and slipped through the doors into the staging area.
Logan glanced after her. “Is that a relationship you plan to pursue?”
“If I can find an excuse,” Marshall replied happily.
“There’s always an excuse.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Well, I guess I’m next to leave. My helicopter is due any minute.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Marshall said. “You could have waited a day, saved yourself some money.”
“I got a call from my office. Something’s come up.”
