and hadn’t said a word since Cole boarded the plane at Anchorage. “What about you?”
“Extreme vacation,” Brad said.
More whoops from the back.
Cole nodded and put his back to the cheering section.
After sizing him up, Gerald shrugged and looked away. He didn’t seem to believe what he’d heard, but he wasn’t interested enough to dispute it. Crossing his arms over his folded knees, Gerald rested his forehead on them. Snores rumbled from the older man moments later.
The plane shook again. This time the motors sputtered and the sensation of dropping through empty air swept through Cole’s stomach like bad Mexican food on its return trip toward the top of his throat. Despite the fact that it was already close to freezing inside the plane, a cold sweat broke out beneath his gear.
“That’s normal,” Brad said in response to the question Cole didn’t need to ask. “We’re almost there.”
“Whether we land or crash, I’ll just be glad to get the hell off this thing.”
“Try closing your eyes for a few minutes and picture something else. That helped me the first few times I flew in a crate like this.”
Cole’s first instinct was to picture the most recent night he’d spent with Nora. That didn’t do him any good. Just the thought of being undressed made the cold seep that much deeper beneath his skin. A few seconds later he latched onto something that brought a faint smile to his face.
“What’d you come up with?” Brad asked. “Hawaii?”
“No.”
“A warm fire?”
“You know how, when someone travels in the movies, they show a red line going from one dot to another dot on a map?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all I got. At least there’s no turbulence on that line.”
Brad laughed and looked through the closest window. The portals were set at the height someone’s eyes would be if their backside were in a seat. In his current situation, however, Brad had to raise himself up and then try to find a spot where the glass wasn’t too cracked or iced over.
As the plane’s nose tilted toward the ground, the frat boys at the back of the cabin put on their best tough-guy faces.
The quiet man behind the pilot’s seat stared, his eyes burning holes through the fuselage.
Gerald kept snoring.
The red line in Cole’s head lost its appeal before too long, so he went back to his first thought. Mainly, he kept replaying the moment when Nora let her hair hang freely over her shoulders like she was posing for a photo shoot. Even after she’d stripped down that night, she left her glasses on. Cole didn’t know why she did that or why he’d gotten such a kick out of it, but it was one hell of a memory to ponder while trying not to think about the plane going down.
When the plane made its final approach, Cole didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t even glance out a window as the airborne bucket rose and dropped a few more times amid the constant groaning of the frame and wings. He couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like if the plane cracked open and dumped him onto the rocky, snow-covered ground below.
Finally, the wheels hit the landing strip, slamming him roughly against the steel beneath him. Before the plane could roll to a complete stop, the squat pilot waddled from the cockpit and scratched beneath the three grimy flannel layers covering his belly. He kicked open the door and then climbed out as if he was late for an appointment to crash another plane. Youthful enthusiasm brought the frat boys out next, and survival instinct forced Cole to follow.
Outside, it was cold enough to freeze the snot in his nose, but the crunch of actual earth beneath his feet brightened his spirits. After that, a waving attendant wrapped in a parka, along with a few well-placed signs, directed him to a bench where he sat with his duffel bag.
Cole steadied his breathing while staring at a rectangle of bright yellow paint marking the pavement in front of him. Beyond that, there wasn’t much. The airport had one landing strip and a pair of large shacks to one side. He thought he could see a road leading away from the smaller of the two shacks, but his eyeballs seemed to be freezing within his sockets and preventing him from studying anything too closely. All the other passengers were huddled nearby, some of whom looked out into the white nothingness at distant spots of more white. Cole tried to see what they were seeing but only got an ache behind his temples for his trouble.
The frat boys were loaded up with equipment that still smelled like the inside of a sporting goods store. Brad and Gerald carried bags that appeared to have been trampled by every form of transportation known to man. The quiet guy was last. He had the most stuff to haul, and wouldn’t allow anyone else touch it.
Still feeling the joy of being alive, Cole tapped Gerald’s shoulder and asked, “What’s that guy’s story?”
Gerald looked over to the quiet man and then back to Cole before shrugging. “How should I know?”
“You said you knew why he was here.”
“Hunting trip.”
“Oh. Did you talk to him?”
Gerald shook his head and fixed his eyes upon some of the quiet man’s gear.
Following the older man’s line of sight, Cole spotted the rifle stocks protruding from a black vinyl bag held shut by zippers and metal clamps. “Probably after moose or a polar bear or something like that, huh?”
“Sure after more than what you could drop with that popgun you’re packing,” Gerald replied.
Cole looked down at the rifle he’d packed and couldn’t help but feel more than a little inadequate.
Brad sipped from a flask he’d been carrying inside his jacket. Stepping up to Cole, he offered him the flask and said, “We’re a little too far south for polar bear. Are you sure you’re ready to be out here?”
“I’m not ready for it at all,” Cole said as he gratefully took the flask. Despite being completely unprepared for the harsh mix of whiskey and gasoline that Brad was drinking, he did his best to hold onto his last dignity and kept the liquor down. “That’s why there’s a perfectly qualified guide that’s supposed to be meeting me,” he croaked.
“Good. At least that way you should have a better than average chance of making it out of here alive.”
“Slightly better than average,” Gerald chuckled, before taking the flask from Brad’s hand.
“What brings you out here, Brad?” Cole asked. “I’m guessing you’re too smart to sign up for the same trip as me and the party boys over there.”
“He brought me out here,” Brad replied while nodding toward Gerald. “We’re meeting a friend who owns a cabin a ways out from here.”
Cole spotted a truck rolling toward the spot that had been cleared in front of the bench. Recognizing the name on the side of the canvas canopy as the one from his tickets, he stood up. “Maybe we’ll cross paths again,” he said to Brad and Gerald. “This is my ride.”
“Take a look around,” Gerald said. “It’s all of our rides.”
When he glanced from side to side, Cole saw everybody from the plane standing up and looking at the approaching truck. Sure enough, there were more than half a dozen emblems painted onto it, ranging from hotel logos to the gleaming “extreme” maple leaf on top of Cole’s ticket. The quiet man flipped up his jacket collar and heaved the largest of his bags over one shoulder. The frat boys nodded like toys stuck to a dashboard and slapped each other’s hands, which caused the ends of their jester style stocking caps to dance against their necks.
Before the truck came to a stop, the passenger door swung open and a burly man with a thick beard looked out and said, “Looks like all of ya are here. My name’s Sam and this is my chariot. Hop on in the back.”
Cole waited for the others to load their gear into the truck before climbing up after them. By now he barely even felt the weight of his duffel bag as he lugged it behind him. On the other hand, he couldn’t feel his toes either.
“Are you sure I’m in the right place?” he asked as he dug his ticket from inside his jacket and held it out for Sam to see.
Sam nodded without giving more than a passing glance. “Yep. This is the place.”
“I thought this was a bigger group.”
“The four of you will be meeting up with the rest of the group about sixty or seventy miles from here. From there, you’ll all head out together.”
