In the Barren Ground Page 4

  “Did you know the victims?” Tana said. “Anything you can tell me about them?”

  “Selena Apodaca and Raj Sanjit. Both early twenties. Working on the grizzly bear DNA study for EnviroTech, part of the environmental assessment study required of us before the territorial government will sanction construction of a full-scale mining operation here. Regs have gotten tighter since the big Ekati and Diavik finds. We’ll have to drain most of Ice Lake for the open pit, see? Best way to get at those kimberlite pipes. They’re wide pipes, open pit is the way to go with those. Could affect habitat, wildlife movement through the Headless Man corridor. Selena and Raj were flown out Friday morning by Heather—that’s her waiting just up there by the four-wheeler—with a K9 team doing a wolverine study. Elusive things those wolverine. Legendary creatures of the boreal forests. Like ghosts—you know they’re out there. You see evidence. Hardly ever see them, though. A vicious predator and scavenger belonging to the weasel family. Known for physical power and quick temper. This is the last place in North America you find them, up here. The Barrens. Extinguished everywhere else farther south. Incapable of adapting to habitat loss, see?”

  “You mean, these environmental teams could be finding evidence of rare wolverines, grizzly habitat, which would impact your application?”

  “Something like that. Everyone either wants their chunk of a new and potentially massive diamond op, or they want to stop it, so no one else can have anything. Bastard business this. Funny people, humans. Now it’s the natives, the aboriginals; they’re saying there’s old burial sites out there somewhere, bones of cultural significance, but you know what? They won’t say where the goddamn sites are. Claim they are family secrets to be held close to family chests. How are we to protect secret sites, eh? Just take their word for it that they’re there? Back in the dark ages, when an Indian on the trail of a caribou herd got sick, they just left the poor bugger to die. He could try to catch up, of course, otherwise he kicked the bucket, and the wolverines ate him. Nature’s recyclers—eaters of the dead is what they’re called in the indigenous languages of this area. Bones. Christ almighty. Probably bones all over the goddamn Barrens.”

  Tana winced inwardly. PC was something Harry Blundt had apparently never been accused of.

  “This is Heather MacAllistair,” Blundt said as they reached the woman and ATV. The burly guy was now inside the hangar using a jerry can to gas up a second quad. He glanced up, met Tana’s eyes, but gave no nod of greeting.

  “You must be the new cop,” MacAllistair said, dropping her cigarette butt to the snow. She ground it out with her boot and reached forward to shake Tana’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about the circumstances.”

  Heather was tall and striking. Thick blonde hair. Wide-set blue eyes, wide mouth, chiseled cheekbones. The kind of features cameras made love to. But she was also visibly shaken, her complexion sheet white. Her hand was dry, cold. Strong grip.

  “You’re the one who found them?” Tana said.

  She nodded and tucked her bare hands one under each armpit of her down jacket, shivering slightly. “The teams were forced to overnight both Friday and Saturday. I couldn’t get in for the scheduled pickup Friday afternoon. Heavy fog. Zero visibility. It’s a tricky area with the cliffs if you can’t see where you’re going.” She cleared her throat, her blue eyes watering in the sharp air. Tana noticed they were bloodshot. Her breath smelled of booze. “Selena and Raj were good to hunker down and wait out the weather—had gear. It’s EnviroTech protocol, and the teams had done it several times before.” She cleared her throat again. “The first weather gap, a tiny one, came around noon today, and I took it. I managed to get in and collect the K9 team first—Veronique and Dean and their two dogs. We then flew to the lake site, but Selena and Raj weren’t there. I tried to raise them via two-way radio. No answer. No response from their satellite two-way text system, either. So we went in low, looking—” Her voice caught. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Tana noticed they were work hands. Calloused and chapped from the cold. Something about those hands made her like this woman. “That’s when we found them.”

  “What time was that?” Tana asked.

  “Before 1:00 p.m.”

  “And what did you see?” Tana said, guiding her forward.

  “They … blood all over the snow. Entrails, body parts, ripped clothing. A pack of four wolves was feeding on them. I tried to buzz the animals off. They retreated, but returned right away.”

  “And you didn’t land?”

  “No,” she said. “There was nothing we could do for them at that point, anyway. And the weather window was closing rapidly, fog coming in dense again.” She looked down at her boots, taking a moment, then her gaze met Tana’s and held. “I feel terrible. If I’d landed, yes, we might have been able to kill the animals, but we’d also have been stuck out there, until who knows when. And without contact. Our radios are two-way—range is minimal. So, I thought it best to fly straight here with the K9 crew. Get them warmed up. And I knew Harry had satcom equipment that could reach you guys so we could report it. We couldn’t get a signal right away because of the weather, so Markus and Teevak went out there themselves. Markus managed to get a call through after they returned—the very dense, low cover had lifted a bit by then.” She rubbed her hand hard over her mouth. “They were two of the nicest kids.”

  “And there was absolutely no chance there was a survivor when you first reached the attack site?”

  “Shit, no. No fucking way. Those kids were ripped apart, gutted, disemboweled. The head was off the … Selena’s head had been ripped right off. I …” Her eyes gleamed. “Sorry.” She swiped hard at her eyes with the base of her wrist. “I’ve seen action, horrible death in Iraq, Afghanistan. Libya. Men and women blown apart after stepping on an IED. I’ve transported them out of the heat of battle. But this … something about wild animals tearing you apart like that. Just meat. Eaten while still alive. Bears will do that—start eating you before you’re dead. Wolves, too, while you’re still conscious of the fact.”

  A chill snaked down Tana’s spine at the thought. “You’re ex military?”

  “US Army. Medic. Got my pilot’s license there. Flew several tours. Afghanistan, Iraq. Libya. Quit and came north about seven years ago.”

  PTSD, Tana wondered. She was constantly looking for signs of it, since Jim.

  “Has their employer, EnviroTech, been notified?” she said.

  “Yeah,” Blundt interjected. “I managed to get hold of their project manager about an hour ago.”

  “And the K9 team—where are they now?”

  “They flew back to Twin Rivers already. I had a supply plane leaving, so we put them on it. It was their last week on the job.”

  “Have you got a way to contact them for me while I head out?” Tana said to Blundt. “Ask them to remain in town until I can get a statement from them?”

  Blundt and MacAllistair exchanged a glance. “Sure. No worries,” he said.

  “And which WestMin employee went with Markus Van Bleek to check out the site—who shot the wolves?”

  “Teevak Kino,” Blundt said.

  “And where is Kino now?”

  “Flew out with the rest of my crew about thirty minutes ago,” Blundt said. “Whole bloody lot has gone, apart from our camp cook, and Markus, and me. One of my guys is getting married, see? So I let them all have a few days to go blow off some steam in Yellowknife. We’d already downscaled the camp for winter mode, and we’re all basically in a holding pattern until the new ice road punches through in January. Then we kick into full gear and can start hauling in major equipment, vehicles, supplies we’ll need come spring.”

  The quad inside the Quonset hangar grumbled to life. Markus revved the engine, and drove it over. “Constable,” he said, dismounting. His eyes were dark, unreadable. He possessed a watchful, animal stillness, a guardedness that Tana found slightly unnerving.

  “You’re the one I spoke to on the phone?” she sai
d.

  “Ja. Markus Van Bleek.” He did not offer his hand. “I’ll be taking you in.” He reached for her pack. She hesitated, then handed it to him. He dumped it onto the carry rack of the quad he’d brought over, then reached for the bag of electric fencing that Blundt was holding. He began to secure it all to the rack with straps.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t got anyone else to go with you right now,” Blundt said, watching Van Bleek. “You sure you don’t want to wait for daylight?”

  “The bodies of two kids are being scavenged as we speak,” Tana said crisply. “I need to preserve what remains of them until the coroner can get in.”

  The trio exchanged glances, and Tana felt distinctly unwelcome.

  “I’ll come with you,” MacAllistair offered suddenly. But Tana took her arm and drew her quietly aside.

  “You been drinking, Heather?” She spoke low.

  “Jesus, just a few whiskies. Who wouldn’t after seeing that shit? Like I said, military is one thing, but those kids—”

  “Get some rest, okay?” Tana said. Civilian safety was her priority, and although MacAllistair seemed stable on her feet, she definitely smelled like she’d had one too many. Eyes showed it, too. “I’ll need an official statement from you, too. Please remain at the camp until I return. If the forecast holds, the coroner should be able to get in by daybreak—”

  “Forecast is irrelevant.” Irritation laced her tone now. “Headless Man has its own weather. It’s the topography, the cold lake, the warmth from the muskeg swamps, the cliffs—it can make for dense fog where the skies are clear everywhere else.”

  “We’ll hope for the best, then.”

  MacAllistair eyed her, a wariness showing in her features, a subtle hostility in her eyes at being challenged. Tana got this a lot. She was a very young, female cop in a vast wilderness that rewarded independence, freedom of spirit, that attracted a rough breed of cowboy—women as well as men—strong people who tended to eschew bureaucracy, including the arm of the law. Civic trappings like running water, sewer, electricity, grocery stores, and the security of calling 9-1-1 for help were not high on a true northerner’s radar.

  “Fine,” MacAllistair said quietly. “I’ll wait. But if you’re trapped out there for any length of time … I got work to do. I fly for Boreal Air, and there’s a last rush on before the serious meteorological stuff hits in a few days and we’ll be socked in for God knows how long. My base is in Twin Rivers. I rent a place from Crow TwoDove. You can find me there.”

  As MacAllistair spoke, O’Halloran approached them with the last of Tana’s gear, snowflakes settling on his World War II jacket.

  “Thanks,” Tana said, taking her bag from him. “You can clear out if you want. I might be a while.”

  “Gee, thank you, officer.”

  “I need your number, though. To call for a return flight. Otherwise, I might be able to catch a ride with the coroner’s crew.”

  He inhaled deeply, stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away for a moment, as if debating something, then said, “Look, I don’t fly for the Mounties. I got my own living to make.”

  “This’ll pay.”

  “I don’t need your pay.”

  Damn him. He was going to make her beg. “Could be a long-term contract,” she lied. She doubted he’d even clear the criminal record check required for him to become a contracted civilian to the RCMP. But she sure as hell could use him until they did send someone up here to replace Jankoski.

  “Told you, don’t want it.”

  Their gazes locked. Wind, snow gusted. She needed to get going. She could hear Markus firing up his quad. Seconds were ticking. “Send me your invoice for tonight, then.” She turned and walked toward the waiting ATVs. As she did, she heard MacAllistair say to O’Halloran, “I saw you out there Friday, Crash. Saw your bird parked just on the other side of the cliff from where those kids were working. Around lunchtime when I was flying another crew.”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  Tana slowed, her interest suddenly piqued.

  “An AeroStar 380E—bright red? How many of those around?”

  “I said, it wasn’t me.”

  “Had to be. I tried to raise you on the radio.”

  Tana set her bag down, lowered herself into a crouch. She began to retie her bootlaces, straining to catch the rest of their conversation.

  “Like I said, must’ve been someone else, maybe hunting, prospecting. An AeroStar is one of the most economical ways of getting around.”

  “I know. I bought a kit myself, secondhand off a guy up in Inuvik. Untouched. I’m pretty much done building the thing, but I’m having issues with the sprag clutch. I was hoping to bounce some ideas off you.”

  Tana moved on to her other bootlace. Van Bleek was revving his engine, getting impatient. Urgency crackled through her.

  “Well, give me a shout when you’re back in town,” O’Halloran said. “We’re probably going to be grounded in a few days. I’ll come out, take a look then.”

  “We ready to roll, Constable?” Van Bleek yelled.

  Snow was coming down heavier now. Swirling fat flakes, dense mist creeping up from the lake, strangling lights with ghostly halos.

  She gave a thumbs-up sign, got to her feet, hurried over. Strapping her last bag onto the quad, she removed her muskrat hat, tucked it down the front of her jacket, and donned the helmet and goggles Van Bleek had left on her seat. He’d also left the engine warming for her.

  He pulled out ahead of her quad, his headlights bouncing off fog. “Stay right up my ass,” he yelled. “Some tricky navigational shit ahead.”

  They trundled toward the black lake, mist swallowing them. Something made Tana glance back over her shoulder.

  O’Halloran was standing like a ghostly silhouette against the brightly lit maw of the hangar. Hands in pockets. Just watching her.

  Unease feathered into her chest.

  Crash watched the young Constable Tana Larsson disappearing into the fog with Van Bleek and a dark, inky feeling sank through him. With it came tension. Resentment. A strange sense of time running out.

  Van Bleek was dangerous, depending on who was asking, and who was paying. But so far as Crash knew, if his information was correct, the cop should be safe alone with him in the wilderness, at least for tonight. And as long as she wasn’t stepping into Van Bleek’s scummy pond.

  He swore, spun around, and marched back to his plane. Last thing he wanted—needed—was to worry about some rookie cop’s little ass.

  He was long done worrying about people.

  Besides, she was a law enforcement officer. It was her choice. She needed to handle the work that came with the territory. And yeah, sometimes cops lost. And got killed.

  Part of the job.

  Not his problem.

  CHAPTER 5

  Tana picked her way carefully up the slick incline that led to the esker’s south ridge. Her breath rasped in her chest and it billowed like smoke in the glow of her headlamp. Temperatures had been falling steadily as she’d followed Van Bleek’s ATV into the silent maw of Headless Man Valley. And they continued to drop as she stepped gingerly into the boot prints left by Van Bleek as he hiked ahead of her through the snow-covered boulders like a silent Cyclopean monster with his head-mounted spotlight leading the way.

  A cliff loomed somewhere in the fog to her right. She couldn’t see it, but felt its skulking presence.

  Despite the cold, sweat pearled and trickled between her breasts. Her pack was heavy. Her regulation flak vest underneath her down jacket, secured tightly with Velcro strips, did not offer good breathability. It had a dense, claylike consistency, and with each step up the hill it pinched the flesh between the bottom edge of the jacket and her gun belt where her stomach was growing chunky. The vest alone added an extra five to ten pounds to the overall weight she was lugging. She’d been fatigued and feeling off-color to start with.

  They’d abandoned the quads down along the shoreline when the trail had narrowed and
grown too steep to negotiate with wheels. According to her Garmin, they should be reaching the top of the esker ridge any moment now. From there they should be able to see down into a valley that lay at the base of a cliff where the bodies had been found.

  She stilled suddenly as her hairs prickled up the back of her neck.

  Something was off.

  Then she heard it. A faint, rising howl. Distant. She listened as it rose into the primordial darkness. It was joined by others, escalating in a crescendo. A sound so wild, so haunting, it never failed to ripple chills over Tana’s skin. Especially now, thinking of what they were eating out there. Her pulse quickened as the howls were answered by several yips, then a long, drawn-out moan from the opposite direction. She felt as if they were surrounded by wolves out there in the dark somewhere.

  Van Bleek, up ahead, also stilled to listen.

  “Must be another pack or two, coming in for the kill,” he called down to her.

  Tana turned in a slow circle, her headlight making shadows leap and snowflakes attack out of the dark. There was something else giving her the chills, not just the howls. She could feel it—something right here. Watching them from the fog. Something heavy and silent and malicious.

  She swallowed.

  Van Bleek resumed his hike up the trail. Tana studied his hulking silhouette as he moved into the distance, trying to catch her breath, to recapture her calm, her control. The man moved with the quiet, coiled, watchful efficiency of a hunter, she thought. A predator himself—as if completely unafraid and in tune with this wild terrain. Tana didn’t trust people who had no fear. Fear was normal, a survival tool. She knew the wilderness, too. She could hunt with the best—had learned from her dad, on those occasions that he’d saved her from her mother and taken her with him, before vanishing for months again, years even. Tana knew fear. Of many kinds. And out here, she was keenly aware that she was a fragile human, with limited night vision, vulnerable against a pack of wolves working in concert from the fringes of darkness. Or any other animal that could see in the night.