That’s right, girl. Lead the herd to water. Maybe a proud father felt that way when he watched his kid score a goal.
Once the herd topped the ridge, going downhill was just as painstaking. Ruby took her time, selecting a path that must have looked passable to her eyes, although Luis wouldn’t have attempted a descent on foot without a rope. Another hill followed, just as steep, and then another.
By afternoon, the terrain had changed to sparse woodland and then to mature forest. At Brandon’s howl, Luis called a rest break at the next brook.
“Why did you pick this route?” Brandon complained. “Going up and down these cliffs is wasting energy and killing my backside. We should just follow one of the waterways. They may meander, but they’ll take us east with a lot less stress.”
“Because homesteaders always set up near water, that’s why. We’re close to the town of Cody, and I want to avoid running into anybody.”
“A town? I thought this was a wildlife refuge.”
“Cody predates the refuge. It was a supply post for gold miners back in the day. I think we can stay out of sight though, if we keep well upstream from the town.”
He watched with concern as Opal leaned against a tree and went into a doze. “Maybe we should camp here—Opal’s tired.” And little Jet had also flopped down without even stopping to eat.
“Fine with me.”
They unloaded the mammoths. While Brandon cleared enough space to lay out the groundcover, Luis checked the weather forecast.
“ . . . and by midday tomorrow, Fairbanks should expect heavy rain and damaging wind, gusting up to fifty miles per hour. Fueled by warm currents in the Pacific . . .”
Brandon peered over Luis’s shoulder. “Screw the warm currents in the Pacific. Did she say damaging winds?”
Luis shrugged. “Sounds like it.”
Brandon scrubbed a hand over his cheeks, where his beard was already stubbly. “This isn’t good, Luis. Rain, we can deal with, but wind is something else.”
Luis blew out a breath. Two days on the trail and Brandon was already griping about the weather. “What’s the problem? I thought you got us a top-of-the-line tent.”
“Look around you—this is old growth forest. Old, dry trees that haven’t seen a heavy wind in the last two or three years. The first strong gust, limbs will start to fall. Hell, in a forest like this, fifty-mile-per-hour winds could bring down whole trees. That tent is no protection at all.”
Luis shrugged. “So tomorrow night you can find us a sheltered spot away from trees.”
“The topo map shows forest like this for the next thirty miles. How close are we to that town?”
“Eight miles, about.” Luis frowned. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of going into town.”
“Why not?” Brandon’s face lightened. “Everyone else is taking a break, why not us? Tomorrow morning, before the storm comes, we can cache the supplies here and hike to this Cody place. Somebody will let us sleep on their floor—you know how generous these rural types are. Once the storm passes, we’ll hike back here to pick up the supplies, gather the herd, and we’ll be on our way. Simple.”
Luis shook his head. “That’s a day and a half wasted. I don’t want the herd so close to a town for that long. We’ll be better off moving out first thing in the morning. We’ll find some sheltered place farther along.”
“What shelter? Finding a handy cave out here is about as likely as finding Bigfoot.” Brandon’s jaw set. “I’ve had a lot more camping experience than you. I’m telling you, riding out fifty-mile-an-hour winds in a forest isn’t a good idea.” He nodded to the satphone. “Let’s call Anjou. I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to take any chances.”
That made Luis laugh. “Anjou doesn’t give a damn about us. All he cares about are the mammoths.”
“Ginger cares.” Brandon grabbed the satphone.
Luis waited while Brandon tried to reach Ginger, or Anjou, or anyone at base. After the third try, he said quietly, “Give it up, they won’t answer. They’re gone.”
Brandon dialed again. “Even on vacation, Ginger would pick up the phone.”
Luis laid a hand on Brandon’s arm. “They’re not on vacation. They’re gone. Shut down. Closed the operation. Bugged out.”
CHAPTER 9
Cease and desist
At the Project Hannibal research site eighty miles northwest of Fairbanks, Alaska State Wildlife Trooper Robbie Kanut stood atop the observation platform, peering at the peaceful surroundings. A flower-filled meadow bordered by spruce. Butterflies flitting about, birds swooping, catching insects. Half a mile away, near the pad where he’d landed the state troopers’ A-Star helicopter, were a couple of simple warehouse-like prefabs.
No outlaws, no rogue scientists, no one at all. And no animals bigger than a magpie.
Kanut slung his Browning rifle over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the army major who’d insisted on accompanying him. “Nice view from up here. What unit did you say you were from again?”
Major Butterick’s jaw tightened visibly. “Combat Capabilities Development Command. DevCom. It’s part of the US Army. You’ve heard of that, surely.”
“Uh huh. I did two rotations in ’Stan.” Brass had never much impressed Kanut, even when he was in the army—especially when he was in the army. And he’d already spent half the afternoon with this major, flying him out to the middle of nowhere to serve a court order. “You say you saw this fellow Anjou here?”
“I was here.” Butterick stabbed his finger toward the plywood deck. “My pilot landed there. Just last week, that building was full of equipment: computers, microscopes, gene editors. And Dr. Anjou and Dr. Kim were here, showing me around.”
“Oh, I believe you.” Kanut rubbed