Barbara concentrated on her cigarette. The smoke enveloped the woman before whisked away in the breeze. The snowfall had less of a slant since they stopped. Falling vertical, it was heavier and denser.
She heard the snowmobile louder. The headlamp broke through the brush that covered the switchback shoreline a few meters ahead of them. The single light flashed and danced over the countryside. By the time Megan picked up the helmet again, the snowmobile had pulled alongside Lester.
There were two people on the machine, pulling a long black cargo sled behind. They had a traditional greeting. Lester spoke to the man who wore a thick beaver ushanka. He had goggles and frozen snot coating his scraggy mustache and wispy beard. Hearing the Iñupiaq language fluently between the adult men made Meghan realize there was a lot more of Alaska that she knew nothing about, including the languages.
She listened and waited while Eric stepped closer to her. “He says the way to the village is clear,” Eric translated.
Meghan saw the stranger make big motion gestures in the direction they traveled. The passenger sat small and quiet, a woman in a heavy kuspuk with a hood and collar of mottled brown fur. The lower half of her face hid behind the protective layer of fur and fabric. Her eyes peered through the thick black strands of hair that fell from the hood.
“He says there’s a herd of caribou a few miles ahead of us. They broke up some of the ice to drink from the river.
Meghan appreciated the experience and explanation.
“He says they’re low on supplies. They’re trying to get to town and back before the big snow.”
“Do they have enough gas?” Meghan asked. Their group brought extra cans, strapped to the end of each saddle.
“That’s a good question.” Eric stepped forward. “Hey, Chief Sheppard wants to know if you have enough gas to get to town?” Eric asked in perfect clean English.
The traveler lifted his mitten in greeting and nodded.
“I could have done that,” Meghan mumbled.
Barbara finished her second cigarette. She put on the helmet. She started the Ski-Doo and took off without waiting for the rest of the group.
Eric looked at Meghan. “He said there was a fire inside Hilma Fisher’s house. I don’t think Barbara’s waiting any longer.”
The fellow travelers departed, headed toward Kinguyakkii. Meghan climbed on the Yamaha. By the time she put on the helmet, Lester had squeezed the throttle. They raced to catch up to the dead woman’s daughter.
Chapter Eight
Noorvik, Alaska, had similarities to where Meghan called home now. With a population base around seven hundred people and a rustic appeal, the town had a haphazard layout. Similar buildings popped up from snowy berms as if molded toy houses from a children’s board game scattered across the area.
From a distance, even in the dark, the focal point happened with the most significant and newest structures in the village. The school district made several additions as well as housing K thru 12 grade levels. The large auditorium had multifunctional uses. Much like Kinguyakkii, the school district made concessions available for public and personal use. As long as individuals or the city paid, the doors opened to various functions.
The red metal roofs had flashing peak lights that helped locate the area at a distance. The reflection amplified by the snowfall looked as if the high peaks glowed red-orange. The lighted tower on the east end of the diminutive city was a microwave relay radio communications tower at the end of the gravel airstrip. The tower lights and peak lights were the first traces of civilization Meghan saw flashing in the dark and blowing snow. All the other buildings in town, business and residential, spiraled out away from the oversized school facilities. The settlement rested on a geographical land spur that put the majority of the city well above the flood zone on a shelf.
The school had the highest elevation in town with drainage that diverted floodwaters if it happened.
It was an hour since they had stopped. It took another two hours to reach the edge of town. The snowstorm chased them from Kinguyakkii, billowing in from the Bering Sea, spreading inland, gaining momentum and strength. By the time they slowed near the delta, she saw other lights glowing through the snow from over doors and on a few available utility poles.
The area had a well-traveled path of a four-wheeler and snowmobile tracks that branched out of town in various directions across the sluice and interconnecting lakes, streams, and what likely amounted to an expansive floodplain below the elevated ground spur where the residents of Noorvik called home. There were no fences, no roads, or speed limits.
The worn and bullet hole riddled sign said, City Public Works. They pulled up in front of the warehouse with a single door and an overhead garage door.
Nearby was the enormous water holding tank for the city. Civilization revolved around water, hot and cold purified running water. Most of the time, hot water flowed through the underground pipes to keep water flowing without freezing.
Noorvik wastewater and water treatment plant at City Works used heat recovery to regulate the heating inside the facility, reducing the overhead cost significantly, saving residents from staggering water bills. After the installation, it dropped water bills by ninety percent. The rest of the homes and businesses around town still used fuel or stove oil to heat their homes. The outside residential storage tanks stood inches from each household with liquid lines wired into the houses. It was efficient, extremely less expensive
