Flight To Pandemonium

by Murray, Edward

  Rather than take the turnoff, he stopped at an overlook. This was a pump station that Lazlo was certain must operate continuously to lift petroleum over Atigun Pass. The only sign of life was the flight of a solitary raven swooping among the buildings. The station looked as forbidding as Station 2. Discouraged, Lazlo sought an overnight refuge before challenging Atigun Pass.

  Consulting his map, Lazlo was reminded of the Toolik Field Research Station just off the highway. Operated by the Institute of Arctic Biology of the University of Alaska, they should know what happened on the North Slope, if anyone.

  Normally, he would have avoided the place because of its negative reputation among oilfield workers. Its staff had published a litany of reasons why the oilfield should be curtailed. Challenging their very existence, no love was lost between the two groups. Ironically, the station was located within a former construction camp for the despised pipeline. If nothing else, he might find heat.

  A solitary military humvee stood at the turnoff near the entrance road. Keeping his distance, Lazlo walked around the vehicle. The rugged humvee had a formidable all-terrain reputation. He tapped the spare fuel cans strapped to the back. They sounded full.

  Lazlo brushed snow from the driver’s side window. The interior of the window was frosted over obscuring his view, but he could see dozens of reddish brown blossoms of blood on the glass. The humvee was a tomb.

  Discouraged, but undeterred, Lazlo drove the entry road toward Toolik Field Station, hoping to find anyone. At the boggy creek inlet to the lake, a broad puddle of ice covered the road; he inched forward and nearly cleared the hazard when the snowmobile’s front skis plunged through weak ice. Lazlo accelerated to regain a solid purchase before the machine stalled in the puddle. Water boiled up from beneath, swamped his feet, swirled onto his legs, saturating his pants again trickling inside his improvised boots.

  He wound his way through the station interior looking for a warm sanctuary. The lane ended at what looked like a headquarters building. Dismounting, he found the door locked. Moving beside the building, screened by an inside corner, Lazlo sought shelter from the wind blowing off Toolik Lake.

  With the engine running, Lazlo tried to untie the load from the sled to get at the stowed weather shelter. Sometime during the trip, his rope lashing had frozen fast. Abandoning the sled, he stabbed his ice probe into the ground, hammering the spike home with the heel of his boot. With the pole leaning against the inside corner, he unfolded a frozen tarp over the probe. Using stiff rope he arranged the tarp within the corner, and managed to form an imperfect lean-to shelter against the inside corner walls. Having nothing else, he climbed inside.

  Now chilled to the bone, he removed his socks and thermals to find that his warm underwear was also wet. Naked from the waist and barefoot, he went back for his propane stove from the sled and crawled into the contrived shelter dragging a dormitory lap blanket. Hands shaking, he fumbled to assemble and light the pack stove. Sitting upright with his legs drawn inside his long parka, his bare feet ached with cold. The frozen ground soaked the warmth from his naked buttocks despite the lap blanket. By the time he got the camp burner fully flaming, his feet were numb.

  Shaking uncontrollably, he fumbled awkwardly to hold the edges of the tent to better trap the burner’s warm air. He thought he heard an animal growl nearby. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing. Rearranging the fabric and still shaking, he heard a deep guttural growl which Lazlo knew wasn’t the sound of a bear huffing. But he didn’t have even a pocketknife for defense. Moving to put his back in the corner, he placed the camp burner between himself and the folded flap, covering his feet with the blanket. A fierce snarl followed his movement. Only the flaming burner protected him from a wolf. The sharp ice probe supporting the tarp might make a better weapon, but wouldn’t come loose. The tent swayed as Lazlo pulled, but the spike held fast. Meanwhile, a rumbling, deep throated snarl, quite close, frightened him.

  “Puppy…come!” someone shouted.

  My God! A human voice, possibly female, and not far away!

  19

  Sovereign Ridge, October 2nd, late morning. Mac trudged down the airstrip falling behind his companions. When he reached the lowest threshold, he looked back. Snowfall and low clouds masked the Otter. For a fleeting moment he felt sympathy for those remaining, especially Martha. No… she had chosen the protection of the nuns… but her future looked grim.

  Beyond the airstrip, the carpet of snow covered every hazard in his path. Carrying a heavy load, each footstep settled deeply in snow causing Mac to stumble frequently, falling further behind.

  His five companions took a break allowing him to catch up. Mac worried about becoming separated, so asked directions to their cabin destination. Pappy described the route – a gradual downhill hike following a gentle hogback ridge about eight miles, then across the Sheep River, then swinging south through the only visible hillside saddle until he saw the cabin on the lake. With such simple instructions, Mac was confident he could find the cabin alone, but his companions, keeping track of him, stopped frequently to allow him to blow. Reaching the lake, they had descended nearly three thousand feet where snow changed to rain. Several cabins surrounded the long lake, but most were mean looking shacks.

  Pappy led them to the cabin where he had once been a guest. Weathered with age, the modest cabin had a sizeable wood deck facing the lake. The chimney flue revealed no smoke and no one answered their hail. Pappy knew where the key was hidden and opened the padlock. They dropped their heavy packs on the deck.

  Their new refuge was a rustic two-room cabin, a dramatic improvement in their living condition and a welcome sanctuary. Most fortunate of all, the cabin contained six iron spring-beds with mattresses. Laminated corner countertops accommodated a hand water pump and deep sink. A commodious cast-iron wood-burning stove straddled the adjacent corner near a firewood pass-through. Table and chairs occupied the room’s center.

  A tall pantry and large closet separated the two rooms. When Mac opened the pantry, he was stunned by the wealth of food methodically arranged by the owners. Airtight containers provided an assortment of staples and preserves. Labeled tins contained rice, flour, cornstarch, baking soda, sugar, raisins, and powdered eggs. Compared to Otter camp, this was refuge heaven, he thought, and a remarkable blessing.

  Meanwhile, the miners explored their surroundings outside. They reported a modern privy, a mountain of firewood, and a shed full of tools, camping gear, and water toys.

  The cabin was situated near the saddle of a swale which terminated at the northern drainage of the lake. The lake, full to the rim of shoreline water reeds, had an outlet meandering through a swamp a mile south. From the deck they could see several thousand acres of watershed covering a mile in three directions. The low saddle behind the cabin blocked sight of the Talkeetna River Valley to the northwest.

  Presently, the rain squall diminished to a mist, and the five men scouted for signs of game and were encouraging by caribou and moose tracks abounding around the lakeshore. Jack followed a walking trail partially around the lake, cautiously approaching nearby cabins. He could find no man made tracks and none of the cabins trailed smoke.

  On their way back, Jack led the men along a nearly overgrown jeep road meandering over the saddle from where they came. They climbed the western side slope together and discovered a substantial distant stream which Pappy confirmed from the Otter’s flight chart as the Talkeetna River.

  Their lake country appeared far gentler, wetter, and more frequented by game than Sovereign Ridge but was stripped of all deadfall. The pile of split hardwood hadn’t come from anywhere nearby. When Mac looked back, chimney smoke revealed that Judy had kindled a fire, bringing food to mind.

  With five eager helpers, Judy prepared a sumptuous dinner of rice and fish, hot biscuits, and a crusty raisin cobbler. None had enjoyed such rich food since leaving Nome. No
w they dined in civilized fashion, seated at table with a splendid assortment of mismatched dishware and utensils.

  “Pappy, did the owners come here often?” asked Judy. “This cabin is provided with everything a body could desire… especially food.”

  “I never met the owners, just their guests, who seemed real familiar with the place. The owners were elderly and I don’t think came here much anymore. They lived in Palmer.”

  “Well despite our trials, I’m feeling a touch guilty about occupying their place and wolfing their stash uninvited,” said Mac. “And I’d feel mighty embarrassed if they happened by and caught us just now.”

  “You can always go find Sister Helena and ask for her prayer of forgiveness,” said Jack. Mac couldn’t even laugh.

  The luxury of sipping sugared tea together with candlelight ambiance and a popping fire prompted long overdue conversation. Soon, however, Jack and the Captain began an argument over their failure to bring the flight attendant.

  “Just stop you two!” Judy intervened. “Please don’t bring all that misery to our new refuge.”

  “You’re right,” said Jack. “Not a day I wantta remember.”

  The Captain added, “I guess I’m feeling some remorse about leaving Martha behind.”

  “Nothing you could have done would have changed a thing, short of abducting her,” replied Judy.

  She explained that Martha’s decision to remain had been made from the outset when she became Sister Helena’s first convert. The nun knew of Martha’s affair and continued affection for Pappy and hounded her with recrimination. Judy tried to turn Martha away from the nun’s influence, but instead earned the nun’s enmity. Judy’s alliance with Martha was the reason she was reluctant to be seen whispering to Mac. Her explanation was a somber revelation to the men.

  Judy doubted either man capable of quick reconciliation. But the Captain and Jack called a ceasefire, admitting their mistakes since leaving Nome. Jack regretted scorning his former friend and especially his lapse of self-control, the worst of his life.

  Judy summed up reality, “I think the change in Ted came when you all belittled him after Tlingit’s violence. Ted isn’t a self confident man and needed reassurance. So that nun gave comfort in turning him. But let’s put all that behind us and be thankful we can.”

  Hanging a blanket, Tony walled off a corner bed for Judy. He banked the stove, placed Jack’s pistol within reach, and all retired for the night. Resting prone on a warm mattress rather than hunched sideways on freezing gravel brought immediate sleep.

  Mac was awakened during the night by hailstones drumming on the iron roof, followed later by heavy rainfall. As Mac listened to the rain, he realized how fortunate they were leaving when they did. Three thousand feet higher, the Otter would soon be snowed in. He felt sorry for the innocent people remaining in the Otter, especially Richard and the deaf acolyte native who seemed beyond providing for themselves.

  If he’d interceded forcefully, he wondered? No, he concluded… he wasn’t of a mind to do so. What was done was done.

  20

  Toolik Arctic Station, October 2nd. When Lazlo peered through the tarp flap he came face to face with a huge Malamute dog, muzzle drawn back, teeth bared. The dog advanced a step closer but only woofed a warning bark.

  “Puppy! Come here… Come!”

  The dog disappeared in a puff of powdered snow. Lazlo moved the flaming burner aside and stuck his head outside looking for the source of the voice.

  “Are you all right?” asked the voice.

  “Yeah, I’m okay, just cold.” Shivering swept over him.

  “Have you been sick?”

  “You mean with that bat flu? No, I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I had a cold, but I’m fine now, except I’m bloody cold without any pants.”

  “So, you’re not sick.”

  “No! I’m just not wearing any pants!”

  The distinctly feminine voice chuckled. “I know you’re not; just bring them along and follow me to get warm,” she said light-heartedly.

  Listening to her confident voice, Lazlo turned off the burner and climbed out wrapping himself in the lap blanket. He retrieved his clothes and frozen boots, ignored the idling snowmobile, and followed her ghostly image through the falling snow. Lazlo could not feel his feet and found walking awkward. A house trailer loomed, its open door, beckoning. He stumbled up the steps into a wonderfully warm room.

  “Lord, you’re barefoot as well! We need to deal with your feet first!” The woman pointed to a day bed where Lazlo sat down while she filled a pail of water and placed it between his feet. Lazlo stared at her, joyful to see a healthy woman. Clad in hood, furs and mukluks, he could see that she was petite, agile and graceful.

  “Put your feet in there,” said the woman.

  Lazlo gladly plunged his feet into the water grabbing his lap blanket, and waited for the warmth to penetrate. Instead, he felt nothing. After a minute, he put his hand in the pail of water, and quickly removed his feet.

  “Wow, that’s cold!”

  “First cool, then we warm it up or you won’t like the consequences.”

  Still, Lazlo hesitated.

  “Please… you must put your feet in the pail.”

  Lazlo dunked his feet reluctantly and tried to relax. He sat back, sizing up his nurse. Even clad in heavy furs, he realized she was slender, probably middle aged and taller than he first thought. While he watched, she set up two folding racks in a corner surrounding an ancient propane stove. Gathering up his frozen clothes, she arranged them on racks to dry, and then removed her own furs. Doing so revealed her somewhat rounded attractive face and trim, well endowed feminine body. She was of native heritage, perhaps. Lazlo looked down at his feet so as not to be caught staring at her despite his inclination.

  Meanwhile, robust ‘Puppy’ ambled over, sat down next to him, staring intently and growling gutturally every time Lazlo moved. He wondered whether wolf blood flowed in the dog, for one eye was golden green and the other just dark and wild.

  The dog’s concentration made Lazlo uneasy. Lazlo gazed at the woman instead, gratified to be in her company. The dog growled as he did so.

  “She won’t bite; she’s a love,” said the woman.

  “Part wolf?” Lazlo asked.

  “A little maybe. Here…” She sat beside Lazlo placing her arm around his shoulders, patting him lightly. “Puppy, this is my friend, so don’t growl at him.” Instantly, the dog jumped up on the day bed, put her head on the woman’s lap, begging for the loving affection she was giving a complete stranger. “Time for introductions.”

  “I’m Lazlo Fodor. I’m… was, I guess… an oilfield rigger for British Petroleum at Prudhoe Bay. Everyone calls me Laz.”

  “And I’m Christie Anasogak. I’m a nurse and lab assistant here at the Station… was anyway, as you say.”

  His fleeting moment of joy turned dark as Lazlo was reminded of what he had seen. He asked, “If you’re a nurse, tell me what’s happened. Everyone I’ve seen along the road is dead… and maybe everyone else.”

  For a moment, Christie buried her face in her hands, then collected herself, and said, “Laz, how long have you been away from the news?”

  “The last time I watched the news was about… eleven or twelve days ago.”

  “So you remember hearing about the pandemic of influenza sweeping the world?”

  “Sure, that bat flu if that’s what you mean. I think everyone at the Main Construction Camp may have it. I don’t know for sure because they kept me isolated.”

  “I’m confused about what you’re telling me, Laz, but if that’s all you know, you’re in for a shock. And I haven’t heard anything for a week, myself.”

  “Do you go by Christie?” After her
nod, he said, “Christie, please forgive me but I’m famished. May we have some hot soup or a little something while we talk… if you can spare it?”

  “Yes, I was just about to fix something hot when I saw you come in,” and she took a few steps to a tiny galley kitchen.

  “You saw me come in?”

  “Yes, I even spied on you with binoculars. I was going to help you because I was so glad to see someone alive, but when you took off your clothes standing in the snow… well… I began to wonder.”

  While Christie heated soup and bread, Lazlo tried to get to know Puppy. She was an affectionate dog and apparently anyone who passed out strokes was someone who could be trusted. Puppy growled no more. Christie set up a tray between them and served warm beef stew and flat bread. Lazlo resisted the urge to wolf his food and said, “This is great, thanks. So you haven’t heard any news recently either?”

  “No, and I’m anxious to reach my family. There are telephones in the office, but that room would have been the first place where anyone sick came for help. I’m afraid of contamination… of being infected myself.”

  “Damn, I understand. Dead people scare hell out of me.”

  “So you were exposed?” she asked with concern. “How long ago?”

  “Yesterday morning… in front of the pump station. Seems so long ago.”

  Christie was silent, gave him a long stare, and then returned to her bowl. Lazlo didn’t want the conversation to end, but he began to feel sharp twinges of pain in his feet. He reached down to rub them. He thought he could feel his own fingers on his ankles. “Christie, I’m beginning to feel my feet again. Time for warmer water?”

  “Laz, I’m sorry to tell you that it’s just the beginning; they’re going to feel worse before they’re back to normal, so we’re just going to have to work slowly. Frostbite happens way too often in this country despite all the warnings. I’ve helped other people start walking again. Leave them in the water and I’ll warm it up a little when you think you can stand it”