Apparently, he was divorced.
He had a bit of a limp, poor man. And with no wife to take care of him!
What was his name? Oh, yes. They called him Cap. Cap McVey.
She searched him now. Hmm. He ran a hunting guide service; the cell number was right there on the site. Millie would bet anything that he’d be interested to know who—or what—was here right now.
It was the least she could do.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
41
SUBWOOFER VIBE
SEWARD, ALASKA, TOWARD RESURRECTION PEAKS
All that night—while Dr. Jones drove us to Seward, while we checked into our rooms at the inn, while he gave us equipment and instructions and advice—during all of that time, nearly every single second, a private sound track went running through my head.
Mom’s voice. From the phone call. Alive.
She’d sounded softer than she used to. Or at least, than I’d remembered. Not quite so quick and energetic. But she didn’t seem fused out or anything. She seemed totally Mom.
Alive.
Dad too. Though I hadn’t doubted so much with him. Hadn’t let myself.
Sasha and I roomed together. Dr. Jones stayed down the hall, but he came in with us for a while. He pulled out a second sat phone and looked up Mom’s island online. A tiny island, in the far northeast corner of the Kodiak Archipelago, population twenty-seven. He captured the coordinates, then handed the phone to me. “Here,” he said. “You’ve got them. You know exactly where they are.”
It was a comfort, somehow. To have them marked right there on the map.
Dr. Jones watched as I tried to feed the critter. I coaxed him to swallow half a basterful of ReliaVite, but after that he turned his head away, refused to eat. He dozed on the bed, not curled up like he used to, but all stretched out and limp. My heart hurt when I remembered how he’d been in the motel in Bellingham. Full of mischief. Chasing his tail. Burrowing under the spread.
Laughing.
Had I done this to him?
“Maybe he just needs his mother’s milk,” Sasha said.
Milk? I turned to her. “Dragons don’t have milk.”
“They might! I read it in those books, the ones with the floating dragons.”
“But dragons lay eggs,” I said. “Eggs: reptiles, amphibians, and birds. Milk: mammals. They don’t go together in the same animal.”
“Do you hear yourself? We’re talking about an animal that breathes actual fire and floats in its sleep. Who’s to say it can’t have both eggs and milk?”
“In point of fact,” Dr. Jones said, “the spiny anteater has eggs and milk, as does the duck-billed platypus. Monotremes: eggs and milk. So milk is at least a possibility.”
Okay, so milk would be good, I thought. Mother’s milk could maybe help.
Nobody mentioned the fact that some mother birds reject their babies if humans have touched them. No point in going there.
‡ ‡ ‡
The next morning at the trailhead I unzipped the backpack Dr. Jones had given me. I lifted the critter inside. His eyes, dull and glazed-looking, didn’t seem to actually see. I tried to ken him and felt only a faint, stuttery buzz. Panic pushed up inside me.
He could die. He really could.
I zipped him in and shouldered the pack while Dr. Jones repeated instructions for the new sat phone. “Keep it off until you need it,” he said. “Do you know how to navigate the GPS? I’ve got the cave mouth marked under ‘favorites,’ and the trail-head as well. And I’m on speed dial, number one.”
“Due respect, Mungo,” Sasha said, “would you chill? We get it, already.”
He frowned, then turned to me. “Remember,” he said, “leave the dracling just inside the cave. His mother will find him there.”
“Right,” I said. That was the plan. That was the hope.
We set off.
A chilly breeze had swept away the clouds, and, even in the pale first light, the high crests of the mountains stood crisp against a dark gray sky. The trail started out easy, following the chalky waters of the Resurrection River.
Before long, we found the narrow track Dr. Jones had told us about, the one that followed the course of a little tributary stream. We hiked up through the sweet-smelling forest—snagged by trailing underbrush and whipped by branches, the sound of running water constant in our ears. The ground was muddy, with patches of snow in the shadows of trees and shrubs and boulders.
It was going to be a long, hard slog. Several hours, at least, Dr. Jones had said. Sometimes bushes swallowed up the track; my hands got all scratched and sticky, and prickers embedded themselves in my clothes. We crossed a long, grim stretch where the trees looked sick, their needles orange or gray; and then an even worse one, with just blackened earth and stumps.
The beetles and the fires. Like Josh had said.
About forty minutes in, the sat phone buzzed. I picked up. “There’s been a complication,” Dr. Jones said.
“What?”
“A car just drove past, quite slowly. I couldn’t see inside; the glass was tinted. Possibly they’re just sightseeing. Or perhaps, if they intend to hike, they’ll follow the river trail. But just in case, you should be watching.”
“Okay.”
“And if there’s any sign of hikers behind you, you’re going to have to hide the dracling deeper in the cave.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll have to hide as well. Wait for them to pass, then come back down.”
“Okay.”
A pause. “Bryn, are you all right?”
All right? All right as in, I’m schlepping my sick critter up this stupid mountain and the best-case scenario is that I’ll lose him forever and never know for certain what’s happened to him? All right as in, there are so many worst-case scenarios that I can’t even allow myself to think about most of them?
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re fine.”
‡ ‡ ‡
So now we were constantly looking behind us.
Higher up, the trees fell away, the sick ones and the healthy ones. We scrambled up rocky slopes dotted with scrubby brush. Twice, we had to ford the stream, groping for footholds in water that was heart-attack cold, leaning against the current so it wouldn’t knock us on our butts, grabbing onto roots and branches to haul ourselves out. Then it was alpine meadows. Clouds bulking on the horizon, pierced by shafts of light. Mountains behind mountains behind mountains. Eagles, moose, and bear.
But no one following.
So far.
After a while the track veered away from the stream and got steeper and narrower, sometimes winding along the sides of cliff faces, sometimes cutting up through the crevices between crags. My shins hurt, and I had a blister on one heel, and my lower back ached. And the critter was fading from my ken.
Just walk.
More snow now, sometimes deep on the trail. More piles of loose rocks and gravel. In places, the rock piles crusted over the track, so high and so unstable, we had to scramble up the steep hillsides and go around.
Dr. Jones hadn’t warned us about this. Maybe there’d been a little earthquake or something. Maybe he didn’t know.
Before long, we could see the whole huge Harding Icefield to the south, with that blue-blue naked ice in the folds of the ancient glacier, a blue that didn’t obey the rules of other colors.
And farther south, I knew, was the Gulf of Alaska. Where, on a tiny island marked on my phone, Mom and Dad waited for a boat to take them to Kodiak, so they could catch a plane to Anchorage.
I would see them soon.
And the critter …
I touched him with my mind. This time, I felt his answering thrum, fluttery and weak.
What would become of him?
I blinked back tears, halfway relieved and hopeful, halfway terrified and grieving.
We were high up in the rocky crags when Sasha stopped. “Rat piss!” She pointed downhill.
Four men, hiking up the trai
l, maybe a quarter mile back.
Oh, no. My legs went soft and rubbery; my knees buckled.
“Come on.” Sasha grabbed my arm; we stumbled around a bend to where the cliffs blocked us from sight.
“Do you think they saw us?” I asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Did you recognize them? Was it Josh and his dad?”
“Couldn’t tell,” she said. “But Mungo said to hide.”
“Yeah, but where?”
“That cave’s got to be around here somewhere.”
To our left, the cliff rose straight up, dotted with scrub, boulders, patches of ice. To our right, the hillside dropped straight down.
“There,” Sasha said. A little way up the path, I saw a tall, wide gap in the cliff face.
Was that it?
We edged up the track. I stopped at the opening. Peered inside.
Dark in there. And cold. I felt a thin, frigid breeze, exhaled from the depths of the mountain.
The cave.
I didn’t like the idea of being stuck in there, between whoever was behind us and whatever was in front. I wished I could stay right here, where the sun sparkled off patches of snow and warmed the stones at my feet.
There’s only me.
I stepped inside. Blinked until my eyes adjusted.
It was bigger than I’d expected. You could fit an entire hemlock tree in here. I’d hoped the cave would have a complicated shape—lots of offshoots and nooks and crannies. But no. Just the one megacavern, narrowing, farther back, into a tube like a freeway tunnel. No place to hide that I could see.
We had flashlights, but we couldn’t use them. Not if we didn’t want to be seen. I followed Sasha, deeper.
The cave smelled metallic and damp. The walls grew closer, squeezed in tight. After a while, it grew so dark, I couldn’t see at all. I held tight to Sasha’s jacket so I wouldn’t lose her.
“Ouch!”
Sasha tripped, and I went down with her, crashed into a pile of rocks. We groped blindly over the top of it. My palms stung; they were slick with blood. Pretty sure one knee was bleeding too.
“We could stop and hide here,” I said, when we reached the other side.
“We can’t. They’ll have flashlights. If they’re looking for us, or for something in the cave, they’ll have to come right by here.”
I listened for the men behind us.
I listened for whatever was in front of us.
Nothing. Which was scarier, almost, than something.
Soon, though, the tunnel began to widen. I could actually see a little again, by the thin gray light that seeped in from somewhere ahead.
More heaps of rock and gravel. We threaded our way through. The cave walls drew in close again, but the light kept growing stronger. Then suddenly, Sasha stopped.
Just ahead, the cave seemed to end at a huge berm of rocky rubble. Above the rubble: a jagged strip of light.
And air. An actual breeze.
Noises, behind us. Voices.
“Crap,” Sasha said. “That must be them.”
Something in the breeze: a smell. Alien, and scorched. Something in my body: a deep, subwoofer vibe.
In the backpack, the critter stirred. Coming awake. Alert.
The vibration was making me tremble, was humming in my bones.
“Do you feel that?” I asked Sasha.
“What?” she asked. She turned to look at me. “What?”
A shiver passed over me, like ice water down my back.
I didn’t wonder anymore if the mother dragon was here.
I knew.
42
NOT THE BORG
RESURRECTION PEAKS, ALASKA
Josh paused on the trail. He hitched up the rifle he’d slung across his back. Feeling kind of shaky.
Everything had changed so fast. The whole unbelievable scene at Lake Hood, with all those people surging over the fence. And the moment when Bryn’s “lizard” had flamed.
Actually flamed.
He was still having trouble wrapping his mind around that.
Then there was bumping into Quinn in the crowd, after Bryn and her friend had disappeared. And Quinn claiming to know Bryn’s friend’s cousin, saying he could find out where she’d gone. And later the random phone call from the clerk at the inn, and the late-night drive to Seward with Cap, Zack, and Quinn.
The worst thing, though—the very worst—had been right after Bryn got into the car, when Cap had started yelling at Josh, raging at the crowd, cursing whoever took Bryn away. Josh had never seen him so out of control. In that moment, Josh had understood without a doubt that Cap didn’t intend to save the animal after all. He wanted to collect it. Preferably alive, but dead if necessary.
Josh wanted to kick himself. Stupid! How could he have been so stupid!
Now he took a swig of water and fell in beside Cap, behind Zack and Quinn. No point in arguing with Cap. Arguing would get him kicked off the team. Josh’s only hope was to go with it, pretend to be on board. Swallow the sour bile that pushed up in his throat.
And try to find a way to help Bryn.
The morning sun had tipped over the mountains, but at the moment they walked in shadow, headed into the steep part of the climb. Cap had taped his knee, which seemed to be doing fine so far; it had held up even while they’d forded the stream. He was in high spirits, energized by the hunt—and by the fact that he’d guessed right about where Bryn’s group was headed.
The car at the trailhead had confirmed it. The car the desk clerk had described.
“Want me to go on ahead?” Josh asked Cap now. “I could pinpoint their location and call it down.”
“I’ll go,” Zack said. “Cap and me do this tag team thing when we’re hunting. We—”
“Not yet,” Cap said. “We’re sticking together for now.”
If Zack said “Cap and me” one more time, Josh was going to deck him. He really was. All last night it had been “Cap and me.” When Cap and me went fishing … When Cap and me were out snowmachining … Cap and me think …
Cap had stopped him on that one. “We’re not the Borg, son. You think for yourself.”
Josh leaned into the trail, remembering. The Borg. Those hive-mind guys from Star Trek reruns. But he couldn’t help wondering if what Cap really meant was that Josh and Zack were supposed to think independently but come to the exact same conclusions as Cap did.
Like for instance: It’s not okay to poach wildlife, but poaching fossils is a completely different matter. And: That animal isn’t viable, so it doesn’t count as wildlife. And: Your little friend will be fine.
Mills had been right. On the drive to Seward, Cap had used the exact same arguments she’d said he would.
Josh should have seen it coming. But maybe he’d been desperate not to see. Not to admit to himself how much Cap had changed.
Or maybe he’d just wanted to hear Good work, son.
Cap’s knee was bound to start slowing him down soon; maybe then Josh could go on ahead. Help them hide or get away.
Cap wouldn’t hurt Bryn. Josh was certain of that.
But as for that “pet” of hers …
Mills was probably right. More than likely, the little guy was doomed.
A while later, above the timberline, Zack stopped and pointed up the trail. “Look,” he said.
Movement on a stony ledge above. Two girls. Running. One with weird white-and-purple hair. The other in an ugly orange coat. As Josh watched, they disappeared around a bend.
“They’ve seen us,” Cap said. “Now we split up. Quinn and I will follow them. They’ll probably go into the cave. Zack, you and Josh head off trail. Find the rear cave opening and wait there for us. Cut off their retreat.”
Josh seized his chance. “Why don’t you take Zack with you, too? I can cut off their retreat myself, then you guys can …”
Cap leveled his gaze on him. Glacial. “If I were you, son,” he said, “I’d be very, very careful. Zack’s going with you. It’s yo
ur chance to redeem yourself. You missed the animal last night. Don’t hurt the girl, but do what you have to do.”
43
DRAGON’S MILK
RESURRECTION PEAKS, ALASKA
I wasn’t thinking well. The deep vibration had come into my head and was crowding against my thoughts. The critter sensed it too; I could feel the tug of his longing.
I shrugged off the backpack. Unzipped it. Reached inside. The critter was warm and thrumming. He leaned into my hand and arm as I lifted him out. He snuggled against me, hooked his talons into the fabric of my coat. I scratched his eye ridges, then rubbed the length of his rubbery crest down to his jacket.
“Bryn,” Sasha said. “What’s the plan here?”
The jacket. All at once, it seemed wrong for him to wear that thing. Like we were trying to diminish him, make him seem cute. When he was so much more than cute. So much more … I groped for the word. That one from before, meaning powerful and awesome and miraculous and huge. The Mr. Franzen word.
Oh, yeah. Sublime.
Sublime in argyle microfleece? You don’t send someone to meet his mother dressed like that. You just don’t.
Another shout, from way back in the cave behind us.
I slipped off his harness, then ripped open the jacket Velcro and pulled out one of the critter’s front legs.
“Uh, Bryn?” Sasha said. “Can I ask what you’re doing? You’re starting to creep me out.”
I pulled out his other legs, dropped the jacket on the ground.
Done.
“Whatever that was about,” Sasha said.
A deep rumbling sounded from behind the rock heap. The rocks shivered.
“Did you hear that?” Sasha asked.
“Yeah.”
She looked at me. Sort of squinted. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
“Pretty sure.”
“It’s, ah, the mother ship, right?”
I nodded.
“You’re not going over there, are you? Over the rock pile?”
I was, actually. I had to. They were pulling me, someway. Both of them. I knew I ought to be meltdown scared. And I was—almost. But at the same time, I felt weirdly calm. That vibration … it was familiar, down deep. Maybe something with the kenning …
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