Luis let Ruby choose her own path as long as she kept moving east. He was in no hurry, hoping on this first day only to get the mammoths away from the highway and used to trekking.
His goal was to take the herd east to map grid Hb27, the wide uninhabited plain on the south slope of the Brooks Range. Satellite measurements had shown the permafrost in that area was in retreat and patches of forest were moving in. Luis expected that a few years of grazing would demonstrate to the science community the difference that mammoths would make: the trees would be gone, and the ground temps would have stabilized at well below the freezing point.
In the first hour of riding, the terrain went steeply downhill. It took a bit of practice to maintain balance on his swaying mount, leaning back, his boots tucked into stirrups. The stirrups had been Brandon’s suggestion. The mahouts who rode work elephants in Asia never used them, but they were a useful addition for riders more used to horses. There were no reins to turn the mammoth’s head. Like a mahout, Luis guided Ruby by moving his feet on her neck.
Ruby powered through the scrubby brush without difficulty, breaking a trail for the others to follow. From time to time, she paused to snack on whatever browse was available—shrubs, ferns, young spruce, and aspen. As she walked, she rumbled the deep growling call that any elephant on the planet would recognize: follow.
The herd moseyed along behind her, keeping up a conversation in grumbles and whinnies, nudging one another, stopping to grab a mouthful of grass or twigs. Little Jet alternately rambled and ran, distracted by a butterfly one moment and rushing to catch up to his mother the next. Luis’s tablet showed Diamond forging a trail on a roughly parallel course. Luis wasn’t worried about him getting lost—Ruby’s low-frequency calls carried a long way, transmitted through the ground as well as the air, and picked up through the mammoths’ flat feet.
But heavily pregnant Opal did worry him. She brought up the rear, stopping frequently to rest. A mammoth’s year-long gestation was even less predictable than a human pregnancy—Luis knew exactly when Anjou had implanted her embryo, but that didn’t mean he knew when her calf would come.
By early evening, the herd had covered a leisurely twelve miles. The air temperature was warm enough for Luis to be sweating.
At a clearing close to a brook, Luis pushed his heels down Ruby’s side. “Halt. We’ll camp here tonight,” he called to Brandon. “Unload them quick, or we’ll be fishing our gear out of the stream.” He didn’t bother asking Ruby to kneel, he just slid off her side, landing with a thump.
Brandon stretched. “Thank God. I think my backside’s bruised.”
As soon as their harnesses were removed, the mammoths went straight to the water—drinking, splashing, even rolling in it. They trampled the creek bed into mud, throwing water over their shoulders to drench their thick fur. If any stray hunter wandered into this particular bit of wilderness, he’d get the shock of his life.
Mosquitos buzzed annoyingly, despite liberal application of insect repellant. The mammoths’ long fur helped protect them, but even they shook their heads and flapped their ears to rid themselves of the pests.
Making camp consisted of setting the ground cloth and staking out the pop-up tent. No need for a roaring campfire—fires were picturesque but inefficient. With a few dead twigs, the camp stove would boil enough water to rehydrate their freeze-dried dinner.
Brandon selected a tree with a high, sturdy branch for their food cache. Using a slingshot, he threw a rope over the branch and hoisted the saddlebags to a bear-safe height.
Luis set up the wind-powered generator, then went upstream of the herd to replenish the filter jugs. The water was clear and ice-melt cold, with tiny fish darting among the rocks.
Little Jet was already asleep after his exhausting day, stretched out on the bank like a five-hundred-pound puppy. Luis was pleased to see Opal browsing near Ruby. “That’s right, Opal. Stick with Ruby—she’s an old hand at this baby business.” With luck, the herd would be settled into their new home before Opal’s calf made an appearance.
By the time Luis returned to the tent, Brandon was scanning the news feed on the tablet, brow furrowed into a scowl.
“What’s wrong?”
Brandon pointed to the tablet. “Bad weather’s on the way. The west coast is getting hammered with a storm, and it’ll blow in here over the next two days.”
“So, we’ll get wet.”
Brandon ran a hand over his stubbled chin. “I hate camping in the rain. Everyone else from the project is enjoying their time off already. What do you think Anjou and Ginger are doing now?”
Luis busied himself with putting water on to boil. “You know Anjou. They’re probably sipping daiquiris by the pool somewhere.”
In a cabin somewhere south of Nome, Anjou grumpily viewed the accommodations. “Did you have to choose a place quite so rustic?” Rain drummed on the roof and obscured the view of the raging Pacific. “This near the sea, we’ll get the worst of the winds from Siberia and rain besides.”
“I think it’s charming.” Ginger circled his waist with her chubby arms. “Romantic. Remember the chalet in Switzerland?”
“Humph. The chalet had a jacuzzi. This place probably has fleas.” But he let her embrace linger for a few more moments.
Their temporary quarters was a rent-by-the-week cabin on Alaska’s perpetually cloudy west coast. Log walls chinked with concrete, a fireplace, hand-made wood furniture,
