to actually
“And the island is only thirty-eight miles from Siberia.”
She was full of useless information about St. Lawrence, things Seth had shared with her off the Internet before she’d left Chicago. Harper had compiled a file of tidbits that she’d read on the plane as a distraction when she couldn’t sleep. And she’d picked out a couple of choice ones to bestow upon her travel companion, but Payton only smiled politely, looking preoccupied and tired.
During the flight, he’d taken a drink, but she noticed he stopped at one, something she imagined didn’t happen often. She suspected he walked a tightrope with his sobriety, and most days it probably didn’t take much to topple him. But the situation with his niece had tested him. All things considered, she thought he’d shown remarkable restraint, but Payton had a problem he had yet to deal with. And she knew what “coping in denial” was all about.
Nikki weighed heavy on his mind, and it showed. He’d spent time on the phone with his friend, Joe Tanu, arranging for someone to meet their plane when it landed. And Joe had updated him on his sister’s condition. Waiting for word on Nikki had spiraled Susannah headlong into a nightmare that only another parent could fully appreciate—or an uncle who loved his niece like a daughter. For his own reasons, he hadn’t told Susannah about his rush trip to St. Lawrence Island. He probably figured another dead end would be too much for her.
Payton had to feel powerless to help his sister. And Jess had been connected to his family’s plight long enough to feel his pain.
“How’s your—”
Jess stopped talking when the aircraft made its final turn, and looked out the window to watch the landing, a glutton for punishment. The plane swung in almost sideways when a strong gust of wind buffeted the fuselage. She gripped her armrest and refrained from comment until the charter landed with a series of bumps that jarred her teeth.
“Smooth.” She let go of the armrests. “Real smooth.”
“The landing’s over and no longer a problem.” He cocked his head. “And complaining isn’t allowed.”
“Who’s complaining? My compliments to the pilot, for cryin’ out loud.” She furrowed her brow. “He didn’t kill us. I’d call that a good flight.”
The airport terminal was nothing more than a metal Quonset hut that she would have mistaken for a warehouse if not for the wind sock on a flag pole, thrashing in the gusts. A smattering of small planes were tied down outside, with wooden blocks at their wheels, and signs were posted for Frontier Flying Service and a couple of other carriers.
While Payton took care of offloading the plane and their belongings, she contended with the steady wind and gazed over the horizon, assessing her surroundings. The terrain was mostly flat and boggy, not much more than a wind-battered finger of land surrounded by a turbulent sea.
And as far as her eye could see, the beachfront was made up of peculiar gravel, stones that looked like large marbles under her boots. She was thankful Payton had insisted she wear sturdy hiking boots, but this type of turf would be difficult to walk for any distance. Her feet sank into the stones and shifted under her weight, making each step a little unstable.
“Good call on the footwear, Archer,” she muttered, zipping up her jacket against the wind that caused her eyes to water. “So this is the last frontier.”
Natives of the island had come to check out the newcomers, mostly curious dark-haired children with dimpled round faces and narrow squinting eyes. They had on bright print clothes and colorful smocks under their jackets, and some wore rubber boots to walk the shoreline. The seasoned faces of older Native men and women stared blankly from a distance, their eyes hard to read.
She felt out of her element as she took a quick look around. No big city noise. No traffic. Nothing familiar. And an odd stillness closed in on her, prickling her skin with a chill—aided by the realization that she’d entered a world so radically different from any she had experienced.
Even the air had its uniqueness. It carried a salty mist that covered her skin with grit, but the seabirds thrived in it. They shrieked and drifted overhead, suspended in place by the stiff breeze, scavenging the beach and a nearby dump.
But on the wind, the normal odor from the ocean carried another smell. She tried to identify the stench, focusing on the refuse dump that was filled with an assortment of debris from rusted metal barrels to what looked like massive and decaying driftwood blanching to a dull gray in the sun. In the dying hours of the day, a swell of seabirds hovered over the discarded heap and dive-bombed the rubble, foraging for food in near frenzy.
What was the attraction?
“That smell. Is it coming from the dump over there?” she asked Payton when he got within earshot. He shifted his gaze to where she pointed.
“That’s not your standard dump, exactly,” he said. “Most of that is whale carcasses.”
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day on Michigan Avenue.”
“And the smell is rotting blubber left on the bones,” he added. When she winced, he said, “Don’t worry. The wind will shift and make the odor more tolerable. After a while you won’t even notice it.”
She stared at the garbage heap again, trying to picture Moby Dick, but gave up. “I’ll never eat sushi again. I swear to God.”
“Well, you gotta remember these people subsistence hunt off the sea like their ancestors have done for two thousand years. They probably have access to a small grocery, but most of their meat comes without plastic wrap.” He brushed back a strand of her hair that had blown across her cheek. “Since they don’t get much sunlight in the winter, they cache or stockpile their food during the summer, when they have longer hours to hunt and no ice to contend with.”
“What do they eat—exactly?” she asked. He’d piqued her interest.
“Berries, roots, and greens from the land, but mostly they fish and hunt for walrus, seal, whale…maybe the occasional reindeer or game bird.”
A couple of Native kids zipped by them riding an all-terrain vehicle. The ATV was throttled on high and the wheels kicked up a rooster’s tail of gravel as they barreled down a worn path.
“That looks like fun.” She grinned and watched them drive away.
“ATVs in summer, snowmobiles in winter. And yeah, they’re fun, but around here they’re a necessity.”
“Do you know the population of the island?”
“Not exactly, but I would guess around fifteen hundred people. Mostly Yup’ik, from what I understand.” He took her hand and led her toward the makeshift airplane terminal. “Come on. We’ve got a guy to meet in the office here. Joe set it up.”
Following him, Jess realized she’d asked her questions for a reason.
The more she understood about the people who inhabited St. Lawrence, and as she got a better look at the island, the more she wondered if they’d made the right choice to come here. If Globe Harvest steered clear of isolation to better cover their tracks and mask their operational needs, St. Lawrence Island would be the last place on earth they’d want to be.
She wondered if Payton would eventually come to the same conclusion. And she knew if he did, it would break his heart.
Although she steeled herself for what might happen, she was suddenly glad to be with him…as his friend. If the search for Nikki ended here, they might never pick up another trail to follow. Even if Alexa suddenly sprouted a heart and called with good news that Globe Harvest had been shut down in some areas of the world, that didn’t mean those bastards would be out of commission for good—or that Nikki’s whereabouts could be traced at all.
Conceivably, they might never find her—or her body.
And that would mean no closure for Payton and his sister. They’d be devastated. Before this moment, she hadn’t realized what the trip to St. Lawrence Island meant to him. But now, she had no doubt in her heart that he did.
Payton knew exactly what this trip meant—and what was at stake for Nikki.
CHAPTER 28
