“You’ll do as I say,” Service said to the dog as he slid behind the wheel.
The dog woofed softly, taking him by surprise. “You don’t understand a damn word I say. That was coincidence.”
The animal woofed again and stared at him.
“This is my truck and I’ll do the talking.” Damn Kira.
Nantz’s truck was already there when Service pulled in. Her feet were sticking out the driver’s window. The sky was suggesting gray, morning twilight under way.
“Skeeters will make you their breakfast,” he said, tickling one of her bare feet.
Her feet recoiled slightly. “I’ve got a lot of testosterone,” she said. “It keeps skeeters and men away.”
He smiled. “I doubt that. Were you here all night?”
She sat up, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. “I kept dreaming my forest was burning. Needed to be here. This job is making me crazy.” She opened her door, put on her socks and boots, got out and stretched. She sniffed one of her armpits and made a face.
Her forest?
“I could use a bath,” she said spying the dog in his truck. “Who’s that?”
“Her name is Newf. I’m just watching her until she has a home. You interested?”
“No way.” Nantz opened his truck door. The mastiff jumped down and licked her hand and rolled on her back.
“She’s friendly. Soft.”
“Let’s go,” Service said. The dog immediately got up and trotted ahead, stopped and looked back to make sure they were following. When he nodded, the animal ran on, but constantly circled back to keep them in sight.
“How long have you had this dog?” Nantz asked.
“One day, and she’s not mine.”
“If you say so,” Nantz said.
It was going to be a hot, muggy day. Usually the humidity didn’t settle in until July. They cut over to the river above the log slide, crossed and followed the eastern bank north, looking for some sort of landmark with which to guide the light plane that would take the aerial photographs.
At 9 a.m. the dog began barking loudly and wouldn’t shut up or come when Service called. He went to her and found her perched on a granite outcrop more than six feet tall. The dog wagged her tail.
“Good girl,” Nantz said as she caught up. “There’s a row of cedars north of us. The pilot should be able to see this,” she pointed out. “We couldn’t have picked a better spot.”
“Pure luck,” he said. “That’s all.”
Nantz slid off her pack and looked around, wiping sweat off her forehead with a purple kerchief. “Just this one outcrop,” she said. “What’s it doing here?” The top of the granite was discolored, an off brown. The rock was similar to those where the fire had been, only this was a single outcrop and not a dozen.
“They’ll never see it from the air,” Service said.
“I’ve got smoke,” Nantz said. “I wonder how much more granite is around here?”
Service had never noticed granite anywhere in the area before the fires began.
The dog trotted down to the river, waded to a shallow gravel area beside a log near shore, and loudly began slurping water and pawing at it.
Service checked his watch and scanned the sky. “We have an hour to wait, give or take.”
Nantz nodded and followed the dog into the river.
What was it his old man used to say? The Tract has everything if a body learns how to see. Some father he was, rarely home and then spouting psychobabble and scientific terms and him with barely a high school diploma. Tiger Service he was called. He had served in the Pacific as a marine sharpshooter. In life, Grady had never been close to his father, though he realized later he had adored him. Now look. He was also a former marine and a combat vet and now a CO, not to mention the latest Service to be the self-appointed Tract keeper. Just like the old man. How had this happened?
Nantz peeled off her shirt and began splashing herself with river water. After a few splashes, she sat on the log, took off her pants, and lay them over the log.
Service looked away.
“It won’t be long till there’s a plane with a camera overhead,” he said.
She said, “They’ve never seen a girl in her skivvies?”
“Jesus, Nantz.”
“Okay, okay,” she said.
The dog was pawing in shallow water fifty feet downriver.
Nantz moved to a deadfall less than ten feet from Service and sat down. She had no modesty. He tried again to look away.
“Damn dog,” he said. “She’ll stink up my truck.”
“She’s just exploring. Leave her alone,” Nantz said. “You ought to appreciate adventuresome females.”
The dog splashed back upstream and dropped a mouthful of pebbles at Nantz’s feet.
“Thank you, girl,” Nantz said, rubbing the animal’s dripping snout. She reached into the water and grabbed a handful of the pea gravel and picked through the stones in her hand. “Nice,” she said. “We girls like pretties, right Newf?” The dog wagged her tail and ran off into the river to explore some more.
Service took two energy bars out of his pack and tossed one to her. She caught it with a flick of her wrist.
“Wow, a breakfast date.”
“This isn’t a date,” he said.
She held up the bar. “It says right here, Breakfast date bar.”
“Let’s talk about the search.”
“Yessir,” she said, waving a sloppy salute at him. “Whatever you say, Sir!”
She let him do the talking, nodding as she nibbled on her breakfast bar.
“How the hell do you know so much about the Mosquito?” he asked, surprised that the words had slipped out.
She eyed him before speaking. “I grew up in Cornell,” she said. Cornell was a farming village on the Escanaba River, a spot that had been made into a quality fishing area. “I got my B.S. in forestry at the University of Colorado and an M.S. in ecology from Oregon. Two summers as a hot shot out of Oregon, three as a smokejumper in Alaska. I did my master’s thesis on the Mosquito ecosystem. I spent a summer here and I think I walked every square foot a hundred times. I wasn’t searching, just looking. It’s amazing what you notice when that’s your only goal. I had a publisher in Eugene who wanted to publish the thesis, but I said no. The one conclusion I reached was that this area can’t stand a lot of human intervention and if I published I was afraid it might draw more people in than are already here. After the master’s, I got a job with FEMA. I was assigned to Denver, but they sent me all over the place. It seemed like I was always in on the cleanup. After three years, I decided I’d rather fight and contain, not mop up. I heard there were openings in Michigan not far from home, and here I am. Since I arrived this spring I’ve spent every spare minute out here, looking around, surveying the turf, getting reaquainted. I guess I’m sort of partial to it.”
Service wasn’t sure what to say. He found it unnerving, even offensive, to think that someone else might know the Tract better than he did—he, its self-appointed guardian.
Nantz was on her back on the log in the morning sun when the plane made its first pass. She didn’t hurry to get dressed, and pulled on her shirt as she talked to the plane on her radio.
“Air One, this is Nantz. You see us?”
“That’s a negative,” came the reply.
“Popping blue smoke,” Nantz said. She peeled the tab off the lid of an olive-green can, shook it to stimulate the chemical reaction, and placed it on the ground. Blue smoke began to pour out and drift almost directly upward.
The plane waggled its wings when it passed over.
“Got blue smoke,” the pilot called. “What’s the plan here?”
“Start a mile above us,” Nantz said, “fly down the river to three mil
es below where we are now. Can you get us a half-mile cut to the east of the east bank?
“That what we want?” she asked Service, who nodded.
“Roger that,” the pilot said on the radio. “Anything else?”
“Thanks, we’re gonna head out now.”
Service was staring at Nantz.
She said, “I like it when you look at me.”
“Not you,” he said. “The ground.”
“Oh, great,” she said.
“Look down,” he said.
“For what?”
“Come over here by me.”
She did as she was instructed and sat beside him on the ground.
“See where you were? Tell me what you see.”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Wait.”
“Jesus, Service. If we’re gonna play games, let’s pick one we both like. Want some of my ideas?”
“Just look,” he said.
She stuck her chin in her hand. Ten minutes passed. “Okay,” she said. “I give.”
“A sparkle,” he said. Then, “Follow me.” He told her to sit in one place and he moved a few feet farther on and stood there.
Almost immediately she said, “I see it.” She went to where the sparkle had shown, and bent down to pick up pebbles. “Dog rocks,” she said. “Newf brought these to me.” She reached for her shirt pocket and saw there was a hole in it. “God, I hate to sew,” she said. She retreated slowly, retrieving the small stones until she could see no more. She held them in her fist.
Service came over and looked at them. One stone was sort of clear and greasy, about the size of a large peppercorn, and rounded.
“It’s glass,” Nantz said dismissively. “The river rounds and polishes broken glass. Personally I prefer agates.”
“Glass,” he said. She gave him the stones. He absentmindedly deposited them in his shirt pocket, removing the compass that he kept in there. Then he saw it wasn’t working right. The needle was spinning slowly, not locking on north. Peculiar, he thought, but not unusual in the Upper Peninsula, where iron deposits sometimes played havoc with magnetic compasses. But there wasn’t any iron ore near here. He didn’t need the compass and put it in his pack.
After the long trek back to the trucks, Nantz said, “I’ll get the aerials to you just as soon as they arrive.”
“See you then,” he said. Newf jumped into the front seat beside him. She was wet and smelly. “You travel with me, you gotta keep your yap shut,” he said. “What goes on the road, stays on the road. Got it?”
The dog tilted her head and panted, then woofed and her ears drooped.
Service said, “Okay, deal. You wanna stick your head out the window?” He reached over and rolled the window down partway. The dog rested her nose on the glass.
Service drove to Hathoot’s office, which was not that far away. The superintendent was sitting in his receptionist’s chair, talking on the phone.
“How was TC?” Service asked after the man hung up.
Doke Hathoot shrugged and led him into his office. A folded map was stretched out on a round conference table.
“The leases are in blue,” Hathoot said. “You can see we’ve whited out those that have expired and control passed back to us.”
Service studied the map. There was a blue parcel half a mile east of the fire and another one about a quarter mile east of the outcrop he and Nantz had found this morning. Curious.
“You got names for me?”
Hathoot went over to his desk, got an envelope, and handed it over.
Service opened it and read. The parcels had originally been granted to Cyril Knipe. They were near the river and both now leased to a man named Seton Knipe, his address listed as Pelkie. There was no way to tell how old the man was, and there was no address or phone number. The lease would expire in 2007.
Service wrote down the coordinates of all the leases and all the information he could find on the lessees. There were only five left, and three of the parcels were on the eastern boundary, next to a perimeter road.
“If there’s a ninety-nine year lease and the lessee dies, rights pass to the survivors, right?”
“Right. We talked about that. The families get control of the property for the duration.”
“Could they sue to retrieve the right to use the land, build a building, whatever?”
Hathoot looked puzzled. “People can sue for anything, but guess I’d better check with our legal beagles on that one. Why?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m just trying to learn all I can. You heard about the new fire?”
“New fire?” Hathoot’s eyebrows popped up and he looked surprised.
“Five acres at the log slide. Intentionally set. We found a body.”
“Holy shit.”
“The victim had been shot.”
“Double holy shit.”
“It’s under investigation now and nobody is talking about it yet.”
“Did you identify the deceased?”
“Not yet.” Service wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell Hathoot he was pretty certain it was Jerry Allerdyce, but he had learned over the years, starting in Vietnam, that when stuff started going funny, you needed to withdraw into yourself and trust few others. “Your briefing go all right?”
“The usual crapola,” Hathoot said. “The governor wants even fewer state employees and he wants to up the state income, but reduce taxes. ‘How the hell do you do that?’ I asked the NRC guys. By selling off state land, they said. Did you know that DEQ has been ordered to okay licenses and leases with minimal investigation before they approve development grants?”
“I’ve heard rumors.” Clearcut Bozian seemed intent on letting business do anything it wanted in the state. He was not surprised by Hathoot’s revelation, but it irritated him.
“Before it was just a practice from above. Now it’s in writing.”
“Don’t tell me they want to sell the Tract.” Service felt his anger rise.
“Holy shit, no! We’re still a gem in the state’s crown jewels. Me, I’d do it the other way and buy property and real estate for the state and the future. This would cut down on rural incursions and let us put some substantial parcels back together, but in Lansing they think they’d lose tax revenues, so they want to sell public land for cash and to jack up the tax base. The thinking is to lower the rate, but get more people paying. Bureaucrats.”
“They come after the Tract,” Service said, “and they will have a war on their hands.”
“If they do that, count me in with you. And if you need more on the leasing situation, just call me.”
Kira sounded out of breath when he reached her at her office. “I’m glad you called!” she said. “I just got a call from a woman in Rock. Something about an eagle and her dog in her backyard. Meet me there?”
“Sure,” he said. He wrote the address on the back of his hand with a ballpoint pen, a habit acquired in Vietnam.
Kira’s truck was parked in front of the house, which was on the edge of a marsh not far from the Tacoosh River. Newf wagged her tail when she saw Kira, but Service told the dog to stay and she did.
There was an older woman with the veterinarian. She had on a faded shapeless sundress and blue flipflops with her hair in a ragged black hair net, creating the appearance of a helmet.
“They’ve got Mac,” the woman keened. Her eyes were red from crying. “I turned a hose on ’em, but it didn’t do no good.”
“Her dog McClellan,” Kira whispered to Service as they headed behind the house. “Named for the Civil War general who didn’t like to fight. That should make you feel good.”
“It’s still a dog,” he said.
In the backyard two very large, angry adult bald eagles were on top of a bloody brown dog
. One of the raptors had hold of the dog’s neck; with the other set of talons he was locked to the other bird. They were pecking at each other and pounding away with their wings.
“Get me a broom,” Service said.
The old woman fetched.
Service poked tentatively at the birds to switch their attention to the broom, but they were too filled with hate for each other.
The broom was not going to work. “You got your tranq gun?” he asked Kira.
“Yes, but I don’t have a clue about a safe dose for eagles. I don’t want to kill them. How about cold water?”
He nodded while he cautiously continued to try to separate the birds’ talons with the broom.
Kira lugged the bucket of water and Service tossed it and the birds suddenly lifted, but took the dog with them. The CO instinctively grabbed the brown dog and the eagles let loose, flitting upward, showering a small rain of feathers. Service and the suddenly freed dog fell to the ground. The dog shook its head, saw Service, and lunged snarling at his chest, but the CO managed to knock the animal aside with an elbow as he scrambled to his feet.
“Don’t, Mac!” the old woman shrieked.
Mac wasn’t listening.
The dog was losing blood fast, but crouched to attack, trying to marshal its strength, its ears flat. Kira grabbed the owner and pulled her back. Service wondered if he could get to the broom, but suddenly Newf banged into his leg, knocking him off balance, and planted herself between him and the brown dog. The two animals stared at each other silently until the brown dog finally collapsed on its side.
Service exhaled in relief and backed up, calling Newf, who came to him reluctantly and kept staring back at the other dog. He had learned a long time ago never to run away from an angry or injured animal.
Kira returned with a blanket and talked softly to the injured dog while she carefully wrapped it. She told Service she needed to get the animal to her clinic.
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