1. April
April opened the door of her rented Jeep and stepped down onto the gravel parking area outside Polar Air. She turned up the collar on her jacket and gazed around her at the inauspicious surroundings.
Polar Air consisted of a small weatherbeaten hangar with a single airplane tied down outside, a smartly painted little red and white Cessna. Oil drums and crates of equipment stood next to the hangar's customer door, which had an OPEN sign hand-printed on a piece of cardboard and propped in the window. There were a couple of beat-up trucks in the parking lot.
Beyond the hangar, a few other small aviation businesses were strung out along the gravel runway. All of them were pretty similar—a little hangar and an equipment shed or two, a small bright-colored plane with its wings anchored down to keep the winds from flipping it over. And beyond that, there was nothing but the empty, treeless hills of the Canadian Arctic, rolling down to a gravel beach and the distant glimmer of the ocean.
She checked her watch—just after eight a.m. The slanting angle of the sun looked about the same as it had when she gave up trying to sleep and got up at five-thirty. At this time of year above the Arctic Circle, the sun stayed up twenty-four hours a day, barely seeming to move except to circle slowly in the sky. Last night, she'd blocked the window of her little room in the town's hotel with a piece of cardboard, for all the good it'd done.
As a wildlife biologist, she'd done field work in the Arctic before, but it had been so long she'd forgotten how badly it could throw her biorhythms off.
"Hello!" she called. "Anybody home?"
The only answer was the blowing wind and, somewhere, a high piping bird call that she idly identified as a northern yellowlegs. Yes, she was a wildlife nerd by anybody's standard; she'd long since gotten used to that.
Well, she'd been in enough small towns to know that people didn't necessarily get moving early. Those two other trucks in the parking lot let her know that someone was here, though. Yesterday she had spoken to the owner by phone—or at least someone she assumed was the owner, since she hadn't caught a name—and he'd told her to come by "in the morning". Big help. She'd tried calling ahead before leaving her hotel, but the phone just rang. She thought it couldn't hurt to drive out and get an early start, though.
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she crossed the gravel toward the hangar.
Before she got there, the door opened and a rangy young man came out. He had long dark hair halfway down his back; she could tell he was at least partly Inuit. He was carrying a large plastic cooler.
"Oh, hi there!" he said, seeing her. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"
April hurried to hold the door for him. From his voice, he was the person she'd talked to on the phone. "I'm April. I'm the wildlife biologist who's going out counting polar bears today."
He smiled at her. He wasn't her type, but he was cute, with dimples. Though, she reminded herself, she wasn't on the market right now. She'd given up on the dating scene. No one was interested in a girl who wasn't a size zero and preferred comfy jeans to the latest Saks Fifth Avenue fashions. Not to mention someone whose job took her to places like a tiny little town on the far north edge of the Canadian tundra.
"Oh, yeah, the bear lady! Just a sec. Hey, Nate!" he called over his shoulder into the depths of the hangar, holding the door open with his foot. "Customer!"
No answer from the mysterious Nate.
"What's in the cooler?" April asked curiously.
"Arctic char. It's a fish," he explained. "We flew some fishermen back from one of the local rivers yesterday. Stashed their catch at the hangar because we have a freezer here, and the guys are staying at a hotel in town. And now," he shrugged, "they want their fish."
"I guess that makes sense," April said with a laugh.
"Well, I've got a cooler full of Arctic char that I need to run into town before it sits
April opened the door of her rented Jeep and stepped down onto the gravel parking area outside Polar Air. She turned up the collar on her jacket and gazed around her at the inauspicious surroundings.
Polar Air consisted of a small weatherbeaten hangar with a single airplane tied down outside, a smartly painted little red and white Cessna. Oil drums and crates of equipment stood next to the hangar's customer door, which had an OPEN sign hand-printed on a piece of cardboard and propped in the window. There were a couple of beat-up trucks in the parking lot.
Beyond the hangar, a few other small aviation businesses were strung out along the gravel runway. All of them were pretty similar—a little hangar and an equipment shed or two, a small bright-colored plane with its wings anchored down to keep the winds from flipping it over. And beyond that, there was nothing but the empty, treeless hills of the Canadian Arctic, rolling down to a gravel beach and the distant glimmer of the ocean.
She checked her watch—just after eight a.m. The slanting angle of the sun looked about the same as it had when she gave up trying to sleep and got up at five-thirty. At this time of year above the Arctic Circle, the sun stayed up twenty-four hours a day, barely seeming to move except to circle slowly in the sky. Last night, she'd blocked the window of her little room in the town's hotel with a piece of cardboard, for all the good it'd done.
As a wildlife biologist, she'd done field work in the Arctic before, but it had been so long she'd forgotten how badly it could throw her biorhythms off.
"Hello!" she called. "Anybody home?"
The only answer was the blowing wind and, somewhere, a high piping bird call that she idly identified as a northern yellowlegs. Yes, she was a wildlife nerd by anybody's standard; she'd long since gotten used to that.
Well, she'd been in enough small towns to know that people didn't necessarily get moving early. Those two other trucks in the parking lot let her know that someone was here, though. Yesterday she had spoken to the owner by phone—or at least someone she assumed was the owner, since she hadn't caught a name—and he'd told her to come by "in the morning". Big help. She'd tried calling ahead before leaving her hotel, but the phone just rang. She thought it couldn't hurt to drive out and get an early start, though.
Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she crossed the gravel toward the hangar.
Before she got there, the door opened and a rangy young man came out. He had long dark hair halfway down his back; she could tell he was at least partly Inuit. He was carrying a large plastic cooler.
"Oh, hi there!" he said, seeing her. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"
April hurried to hold the door for him. From his voice, he was the person she'd talked to on the phone. "I'm April. I'm the wildlife biologist who's going out counting polar bears today."
He smiled at her. He wasn't her type, but he was cute, with dimples. Though, she reminded herself, she wasn't on the market right now. She'd given up on the dating scene. No one was interested in a girl who wasn't a size zero and preferred comfy jeans to the latest Saks Fifth Avenue fashions. Not to mention someone whose job took her to places like a tiny little town on the far north edge of the Canadian tundra.
"Oh, yeah, the bear lady! Just a sec. Hey, Nate!" he called over his shoulder into the depths of the hangar, holding the door open with his foot. "Customer!"
No answer from the mysterious Nate.
"What's in the cooler?" April asked curiously.
"Arctic char. It's a fish," he explained. "We flew some fishermen back from one of the local rivers yesterday. Stashed their catch at the hangar because we have a freezer here, and the guys are staying at a hotel in town. And now," he shrugged, "they want their fish."
"I guess that makes sense," April said with a laugh.
"Well, I've got a cooler full of Arctic char that I need to run into town before it sits
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