“What’re we worried about?” asked Tony, “that they’re well enough to shoot? And why would they come back? They must have seen the five of us.”
“They weren’t sick because Choc here isn’t sick,” Mac said.
“Now, just how do you know? Judy’s our…”
“I’m just guessing, same as anyone,” she interrupted sharply. “All I know comes from the same reports you’ve heard, except for the little we learned in Kotzebue just before I left. I’ve never seen a patient with the disease. The shocking reality is the disease kills all the caregivers first…”
“So how does the flu spread exactly? Shouldn’t we know?” asked the Captain.
“I’m just guessing and my opinion will be my only answer… and not very enlightening at that.”
“Well, let’s have it… sure better than mine.”
Judy explained what she learned at the clinic… “This pathogen is extremely mobile. Anyone in a warm room is certain to acquire the virus by just breathing the air. And the pathogen needs very little incubation as in1918.”
“Can you get the disease from a corpse?” asked Jack.
“With a virus, normally no. Once the patient stops breathing and grows cold, the virus no longer has a path. But bacteria are quite easily spread from a cadaver as medicine learned the hard way long ago.
“The big question is… does exposure work in reverse. Can the bacterium or bacillus carry the virus with it? Some strains of virus infect bacteria as a host. And of course, you can always get pneumonia without the flu. Some pathologists suggest they are associated. So, until I know better, I wouldn’t want to touch or even breathe near a corpse. This pathogen might even thrive in dry air as long as the host survives.”
“In the future, if we encounter people who’ve survived, do we get exposed if they’ve become carriers,” asked the Captain?
“Perhaps… if the carrier somehow harbors the live virus. It works that way with some diseases, but not most. Your body can develop its own immunity to most diseases, but usually by acquiring the disease first and surviving with an immune system reinforced to fight in the future. Or… it might be carried by a few unique individuals who’ve overcome its ravages and struggle on while still sick. I truly hope not, otherwise, we’ll all eventually die except for the very few people who are genetically immune. By now, it’s unlikely that we’ll learn more… except the hard way.”
Jack asked the question in the back of Mac’s mind, “Are we doin’ the right thing by stayin’ here… or are we being lulled by the comfort of this place?”
“So answer my question first,” said Judy. “Where is the perfect place of isolation, aside from somewhere on Denali? Well…?”
“A remote island somewhere in the Aleutians, maybe,” answered Mac.
“If we knew where that was, we might go find it. So, how’s this cabin in comparison? We aren’t sick. The pathogen hasn’t arrived here so far. This is a better place than most people chose, and by now if we get exposed, it would likely be by a chance encounter, which could happen on that island… or like what happened today… or with William.”
“So how long should we remain here while things settle down?” asked Mac.
“That’s another imponderable,” replied Judy. “No way to guess; weeks at least. My best guess is… as long as possible until we have some other reason to leave...like food…or worse.”
Pappy said, “Coupla months from now, the only things left to eat around here will be moose. And the wolves don’t like to share.”
Judy replied, “Aaah, well that’s no problem. We’ll just send Jack and Tony to wrassle the moose away from the wolves.”
Mac drew the last watch. He tended the jerky and waited quietly for dawn in a peaceful chair. Choc, however, seemed disturbed. She padded about the cabin, sniffing at the door pausing to listen intently to sounds Mac couldn’t hear. Looking out the windows revealed nothing but impenetrable darkness. The glow of the stove provided the only light. He was reluctant to open the cabin door even to allow the lab to relieve herself until he could see outside.
Opening the door at first light revealed heavy snow fall with more than a foot on the deck. Although the stormy morning had been quiet, Choc had not. She whined and paced back and forth. As the door opened, Choc charged outside and disappeared around the cabin. The miners found her digging snow beneath the caribou which hung as high as the pulley permitted. But something had tried to reach it.
Looking at long scratches on the shed wall, Jack said “Wadn’t a wolf. Sure looks like cat scratches and higher than a wolf could reach. That’d make it a hellava cat… lot bigger’n a lynx.”
“Grizzly maybe?” Mac asked.
Jack chuckled, “Naw, a grizz would’ve just pushed over the shed. They ain’t bear scratches, not even close. Weird, though… looks like a cougar, but I’ve never seen one this far north.” The men circled the cabin looking for sign, but heavy morning snowfall had obliterated all tracks. Giving up, they turned toward the cabin’s smoking chimney promising warmth.
After breakfast of caribou strips while everyone else sat comfortably around the stove with coffee, Tony wanted only a productive task. Impatient to a fault, he asked, “How long’s a fall storm like this gonna last?”
“I’ve lived in Talkeetna only five years but weather’s been a doozie so early,” replied Pappy.
“Ain’t this normally huntin’ and fishin’ season hereabouts?” asked Tony.
“Yea, peak of the season usually, with mild weather and just a little rain. Rivers clear up free of silt for the best fishing of the season. The caribou should be migrating below the snow line by now, and so we should check lower down.”
“Well snowing or not, it’s time to tend to that deer. Cap, if you’ll help Judy wash, we’ll finish the butchering.” Tony rose, but the others peering out at the snowfall wanted another pot of coffee. “I’m coffee’d out,” said Tony, leaving the cabin for the snow.
Later with three joining Tony, the butchering went quickly. Jerky could be stored in the root cellar in the midst of saw dust, but raw meat needed better preservation.
“We need to cache this meat where it’ll freeze,” announced Tony
“We’ve had fair warnin’ not to leave it in that shed,” replied Jack.
“If we use that stone firewood box, we can still get at the meat from inside.”
“That thin lid won’t stop any critter, ‘specially a bear.”
“I’ll stack firewood on top. Least we’ll hear if anything tries gettin’ at the meat.”
“What if we do hear a bear? Wish we had a rifle ‘stead of that pistol,” lamented Jack. For the remainder of the day, the men dressed and stashed the meat, shoveled snow, stacked firewood, washed and mended clothes and then chaffed with boredom.
Judy explained her growing condition required maternity clothes and asked Mac to help her by letting out the few garments she possessed. By the end of the day, she had breathing room for another month or so. By then everyone just stared out windows drearily watching snow falling… again.
Early next morning, Choc’s frantic barking brought everyone out on the deck to watch her leap back and forth facing off an enormous bull moose. Realizing a rare opportunity, the miners grabbed spears and charged outside in time to watch the moose bound up the hill. The bull quickly outdistanced the dog, who hurried back expecting Judy’s reward for protecting home.
“Damn, there goes a month of chow, at least,” said Jack.
“He’ll be back. He was headed to the lake for a feed, so I’ll keep watch from the deck” said Tony.
“Let’s keep that dog penned inside this time,” replied Jack.
But the moose did not return. Instead, a flock of Canada geese settled on the lake. Prepared only for the moose, Tony ran for the shotgun. As he approached the lake bent low, t
he geese casually swam out of range. As often as he tried circling the lake, he couldn’t walk faster than the geese swimming out of harm’s way.
Snowdrifts piled randomly as the wind shifted around the compass. Pappy reckoned the storm had stalled directly over them. As often happened, the warmer air from the Cook Inlet fed the front with moisture, causing continuous snowfall.
Drifts swept over the roof of the privy enveloping the surrounding spruce grove. Welcoming the exercise, the miners cleared a path. Tony cut a narrow lead between two towering white walls terminating at the privy’s ice coated door. Everyone but the miners needed powerful motivation to plunge so far into a narrow snow cave.
Snowbound again, the companions busied themselves with any productive task that came to mind. They cut one another’s hair, trimmed beards and scraped lice. Clothes were re-examined for flaws, packs and gear repaired and the hauling harnesses improved. Near dusk, the men stood silently peering out the frosted windows, idle, restless and annoyed with cabin fever.
Stiff and slept out, the miners were up before dawn. Jack opened the cabin door to a blank white wall impressed with the joinery pattern of the wooden door. The snow shovel was buried somewhere on the deck. “Damn! Another snow day,” he said, closing the door.
Judy and the Captain served breakfast from the precious pantry, a welcome meal of baked apples with raisins and encouraged by the light of a red sky edging the clouds far to the east.
Daylight revealed a winter spectacle… a carpet of cotton extending to the horizon. The trees bore a burden of snow within a common cloak. Nature displayed her full range of winter hues with subtle distinguishing textures and cleavages in a landscape entirely of white.
The lake was vanilla slurry without a ripple across its mile long sweep. The other cabins were invisible, obscured by grand undulating drifts. The valley resembled a Siberian wilderness, untouched in any visible way by man or movement. A peeking sunrise added kaleidoscopic gleams across the ridge tops and windblown cornices.
“What a sight!” said Jack who seldom commented on the beauty of anything. “Fine beginning for a day.” The men, bound up with restless energy, walked aimlessly following Mac up the steep hillside determined to find a better lookout higher up.
Choc surged ahead in arching leaps looking back occasionally to be sure someone was following. Mac marveled at her energy for she nearly disappeared in the powder with each leap and struggled mightily to recover for the next one.
A ledge provided the perfect rest stop several hundred feet higher than the cabin. The five men gathered to pant. The vantage point gave Mac his first panoramic view of the area. Over the top of the spruce trees, he recognized the southern creek cleavage as the same east-west stream flowing from their first camp high above. A gentle ridge separated the drainage to the south from Iron Creek to the north where they had been hunting. From where they were standing, he saw the broad nose of drainage which fed the lake. While a perfect crossing for game migrating lower, the frozen lake no longer attracted game except a few hardy Canada geese still gobbling icy shoreline rushes.
From their high ledge, their cabin seemed secure for the foreseeable future. Surely no one would cross the vast snowfield on foot to reach them.
The miners probed the surrounding hills and valleys with binoculars for any sign of game. Nothing moved except another lively snow squall progressing northward in their direction. Reluctantly, Mac thought it prudent to return to the cabin. Descending faster and easier, the five explorers reached the cabin together.
Choc disappeared behind the cabin barking frantically. She was harassing two young black bears who took turns charging her. They were no match for the lab’s agility and scampered away when the bears saw the men. A hundred yards off, the roly-poly cubs turned, standing tall looking back. A long shrill bay from Choc sent them clownishly tumbling through the drifts.
While the sight was amusing to the men, Judy was upset. “Dammit! Why did you all leave without telling me? That shotgun is useless against a bear and you didn’t even leave Choc to warn me of trouble.”
The bears had rummaged in the wood box attracted by the smell of meat. Remaining in the cabin, Judy frightened the bears away by banging pans. But the cubs returned. Hidden from view, the bears scattered the firewood, smashed the box lid, and consumed a generous portion of the frozen caribou.
25
Bearing Sea near the Pribilof Islands, October 5th. Lt. Commander Richard Todd cultivated a disciplined, incisive mind as Executive Officer (Blue) of the USS Alaska, an Ohio class boomer in the northwestern group of SUBRON 17. Even so, chills prickled his spine as he telephoned the Skipper requesting an immediate review of the morning communication with Bangor. Minutes earlier the communications officer had handed him a dispatch confirming the morning orders. The confirmation was more troubling than the morning orders. The consequences of a crumbling command at Bangor alarmed the Exec. Worse, a world rival able to crack the dispatch would discover an Achilles’ heel in Pacific command.
The Skipper’s door swung open before he could knock. Commander Warren, already formally attired, returned to his tiny closet desk stacked with paper.
“Sir, I assume you’ve seen this?” The Exec handed him a copy of the early morning orders containing the priority prefix directing the message to the Commander.
He glanced at it, then with a wave of his hand said curtly, “Of course. Sit down.”
“I’m troubled by their latest dispatch...” His voice was noticeably tremulous.
Commander Warren glowered fiercely at him and said, “Buck up, Richard! Just the look on your face is annoying… especially coming from you.”
“Yes sir!” As he feared, he was not coming to grips with his emotions despite years of steely resolution and notable success. He remained silent until he could regain command of his voice.
Meanwhile the Skipper added, “Sounds like you pursued it with SUBPAC.”
“Yes sir, if you call this an answer. I think events may be overtaking Bangor.”
The Exec read the message verbatim and added for emphasis, “and that coming from some junior watch without a priority code.”
“Let me see that.” The Skipper plucked the paper from Todd’s hand.
‘FM: COMSUBPAC. TO: USS AKASKA. A. PRIORITY OPS CONFIRMED. B. REQUEST DENIED. C. SEND NO MORE CRAP REF B. D. VADM DEAD. SUBCOM SAME. IM NEXT.’
This document did not bear the prompt prefix that would have flagged the message directly to the Skipper’s attention. He pondered the stunning reply. The alarming, imprudent message urged the Skipper to make a decision he had long postponed. Unfolding events had disturbed his thoughts for days. The two officers were aware of the worldwide spread of influenza. The dispatch could only mean the disease was overwhelming Bangor and perhaps all of Seattle. Time for further deliberation had evaporated.
Having made up his mind, the Commander said grimly, “Maintain the junior watch and assemble the officers in the wardroom in fifteen minutes, beginning with the Chief, ahead of the others. It’s time to include him. Here… collate our copies of the past week in two reading files but make no other handouts. Got it?”
The day before, the two senior officers broached the decision to reveal troubling worldwide events. During any mission, no fleet officer ever revealed disruptive news beyond the operation and discipline of the boat. To do otherwise was considered a troubling breach of good judgment. The world beyond the confines of their vessel was screened from the ears of the crew leaving them to focus single-mindedly on their duties. With disturbing rumor spreading to all hands, the two senior officers of the Alaska candidly discussed breaking with convention and briefing the wardroom.
When family grams had been terminated three weeks earlier, dismay spread among the crew. Such restrictions were rare and usually portended change in the boat’s secret deployment. A few experienced han
ds concluded some unusual national event must be underway and scuttlebutt from the mess deck ran the gamut from terrorism to turmoil in the Pacific. Veterans were determined to learn the truth.
Family grams sent to deployed crewmembers provided their only contact with the outside world. While the hands were seldom allowed to reply, their inbound messages were shrewdly crafted dispatches intended to convey the most family news possible within the prescribed fifty word limit. Messages were first sent to Bangor SUBRON where they were censored, deleting any news which might be disruptive or inadvertently compromise the mission. Everyone understood the rules.
Often a Navy salt arranged an innocuous family code in advance to allow news of anxious family events to be conveyed, particularly deaths in the family. Positive news, healthy births, weddings and promotions could be reported openly, but never negative news. Families viewed the policy cynically – and evasion was considered fair game.
Using algorithms, computer software can reveal deliberate cryptic messages. Commonly employed ruse language could easily be detected. Rather than return an altered message and allow families another try at deception, the filtering algorithm simply deleted what was necessary and sent it along. The edited result often left awkward sentences and fewer than fifty words hinting at censorship.
Before the blackout, some amateur cryptographers succeeded in passing news that an extraordinary illness from asthma was overwhelming community hospitals. Since families living far from each other sent like messages, family health became the core of rumors. Such comparable messages had to be more than a coincidence.
Aware of the wild speculation, the Exec ordered distribution of all messages halted before the full consequence of the plague could spread. Shortly, SUBRON ceased transmitting family grams.
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