“Works for me especially since we’re supposed to bury him… right now.”
“Right this minute?” asked Ernie.
Lazlo nodded. “Leaving the ladies out of it.”
“Anyone guess how we do that with the ground hard as concrete?” asked Pug.
“Well then… I’ve been pondering an idea,” replied Ernie, “but the last step leaves everyone out of it but me. We bury him in an open grave in that plague graveyard. I’m the only guy who can go there since I’m immune.”
“What’s all that about?” asked Pug.
“Long story, but we’ll explain as we go. First, let’s unload the firewood and get on with this mortician thing,” said Ernie. “Can’t believe I’m really doing this.”
Loading Will’s body on a cot onto the sled on top of a pile of river cobbles enabled Ernie to inter Will with minimal effort without even stepping to the ground. He simply tipped the cot holding the body from the sled into the open grave and shoveled cobbles on top… all within thirty minutes without touching anything in the military graveyard.
When the three returned to the cabin, Lazlo nodded to Christie saying nothing. Pug remained standing silently.
Noticing Pug’s unease, Christie said, “This little table is too small for the seven of us. Pug, would you help move some furniture so we can all be seated and get to know one another?” asked Christie. Pug jumped to the request.
“Cindy please tell us how you learned to fly that airplane so young! Your landing on the ice looked perfect.” Christie avoided beginning with the tragic event.
“I like riding a motorcycle,” began Cindy, “but Dad didn’t approve. So he told me that he would teach me something much more exciting… and he was right! I began more than a year ago and I love flying. That Beaver can do almost anything. It was Dad’s pride and joy. He even let me fly solo! I have over a hundred hours logged already.”
“Sounds like you like flying better than riding the motorcycle.”
“Weellll… I can’t race an airplane… yet.”
“Sounds like I shouldn’t ask any more questions,” said Christie lightheartedly.
After lunch, discussing the calamity with new companions was inevitable. They briefly shared their experiences and what little they knew.
Pug asked, “Ernie, why do you think you’re immune? Last I heard no one had immunity.”
“Beats me… Christy should answer that,” he replied.
“It’s likely a matter of recessive genes a very few people possess,” she explained. “Several among us seem naturally immune to the disease, perhaps Lazlo and Piquk, but not me. Did you come in contact with anyone who had the flu, Pug?”
“No.” Pug answered, “So…we live on. What now? Thought of that?”
Lazlo replied, “No one wanted to get home to Seattle more than I did. That meant passing through Fairbanks and traveling down the Alcan. Thanks to the military and easy hunting, we have plenty to eat… and we’re safe for now… even happy.”
“Before my radio died, I heard terrible things about Fairbanks,” said Pug.
Christie added, “Guys, I’m afraid of Fairbanks. We need a way around.”
“I know the town well,” said Ernie. “Spent most of my career living there. I know several ways around the outskirts, if we could check them out somehow.”
“I know how,” said Cindy, “…with my father’s Beaver.”
“Really! We should do that soon if you’re willing,” replied Ernie.
“Then we should do it now with good weather. It can change by morning.”
“You up for doing this right now?” asked Ernie.
“Right now! Dad would have wanted us to know and when we circle around you can show me where you buried him.”
“If you’re serious, we have a whole afternoon of daylight left, so we could take a good look around,” said Ernie, hoping he would not have show off his improvised grave.
“And the clouds are clearing.”
Ernie stood up and said, “Alright then, time’s a wasting.”
“You sure this is a good idea?” Christie asked, doubtful of Cindy’s resolve.
“No,” replied Ernie, “but life is short and so is daylight.”
Minutes later, they were off and flying over the trees following the highway south. Christie was apprehensive by the unexpected turn of events, and while thankful Lazlo wasn’t going, she would welcome news of conditions beyond their bridge.
The Yukon companions returned to the cabin and reorganized the space to accommodate six military cots. Even though they moved food and some supplies to the steel container outside, the cabin would be crowded wall to wall at night.
The sun set behind the mountains. Evening chill settled in without return of the Beaver. Lazlo, Christie and Pug, covered with military blankets, huddled on the cabin porch, uneasily waiting. Low on the horizon far to the west, they detected a pair of distant bright lights following the river toward camp. Blazing the ice with light, the Beaver landed gracefully.
As Christie greeted Cindy on the beach with a welcoming hug, she realized the young woman was shivering and looked frightened.
“A little hairy,” said Ernie grimly, “Had to land for repairs… but let’s talk over dinner and heat. Damned glad to be back.”
Still tense, Ernie began his tale before dinner, “Just south of here, you wouldn’t believe the collection of wrecks and abandoned vehicles beyond the bridge. A really pathetic scene. Thousands of people must have been fleeing north. Old tent camps lined the road for miles and miles. Must have been awful. Intruders tried to enter Pump Station Six; burned out wrecks were all about. Looked like some military action happened there.”
“Bikers!” added Cindy.
“There was another blockade near Livengood, but it looked like most people found a way around. Must have been why they cut out the roadway decking here at the bridge.
“Fairbanks was worse. So much of the city burned! Fires must have raged for days…both sides of the river. There were a dozen streets where nothing was left but foundations. The block I lived on was one of ‘em. Big box stores got the worst. Almost nothing remained that I recognized. Seems like every street had some sort of improvised barricade… must have been serious trouble there.
“We flew along Chena Springs Road because I knew of a way around the city on that old jeep road. When we flew over Fort Wainwright, we saw living people… survivors who must have gathered there. Must be more than a hundred people left alive. But they looked little better than slaves… and I do mean slaves! We circled around and watched. They were being forced to work by brutes with bullwhips! They were building some sort of fortification or maybe a prison with lots of concertina wire. Most people were dressed only in military overalls with no coats. We flew lower to get a close look, but some bastard shot at us. Coupla slugs found us. We stayed high after that.”
“Tell them about the coat,” said Cindy emphatically. “They should know what it said.”
“I suppose… well, this fat brute on a Harley with a Mohawk haircut had on a black leather coat with lots of chains. On his back, it said, ‘I fuck slaves’ in big red letters… and they looked like his slaves! He was using a whip!
“Those poor people won’t last the winter like that. The brutes were armed with military rifles guarding work parties along the highway. They were forcing people to break into abandoned trucks for the taking… and cars for the gas. They had people dressed in rags harnessed to a wagon like mules to haul their loot. Whenever people stumbled, they just beat ‘em until they stood up. A nightmare for those people especially!”
“Worse than a nightmare!” shouted Cindy. “It was way real!”
“Can’t believe my luck in finding you folks,” said Pug. “I’d of been killed. I wouldn’t have put up with a be
ating for a minute. Grew up with bad-ass gangs all around me. You can’t knuckle under to a thug even once!”
Ernie resumed, “We tried looking for a way around the city. But nothing seemed safe especially my favorite jeep road. Then we flew along the mountain ridges as far as we dared, looking for trails… anything at all. Damn near ran out of fuel doing so. We landed to fix leaks then followed the river back… in case we had to set down fast. That airplane must be running on fumes by now.”
“Any gas left in those trucks?” asked Cindy.
“Some maybe, but mostly diesel,” said Lazlo. “For the airplane, you mean?”
“I want out of here,” replied Cindy. “It’ll take two trips to get us all out.”
“To where? I’m not sure that will work for us, Cindy. We’ll need to bring lots of food and gear to survive, not just fly out.”
“Well, I’m not going through Fairbanks, no way!”
“That’s what I was getting at,” said Ernie, “… a way around. But our choices aren’t good. All the roads lead back through the city, except the long way around.”
“Running a gauntlet through Fairbanks sounds terrifying,” said Christie. “I’d rather take my chances here.”
“Look… you said you wanted to go south eventually,” replied Ernie. “If not through Fairbanks, then the long way is all there is.”
“So where’s that?” asked Christie.
“We take the river east all the way to Eagle, and then back south over the pass to Tok, then wherever we decide from there.”
“You mean Eagle next to the border?” asked Christie with skepticism.
“Yea, that’s the way I mean.”
“Good Lord, that must be three hundred miles or more,” said Christie, “then another hundred over the pass!”
“More probably,” replied Ernie.
A doubtful silence followed. Lazlo wasn’t convinced. “Fairbanks is only about a hundred fifty miles from here. Sure there’s no safe way through it?”
“Might be if we were desperate enough, but not in those big noisy trucks, I’m thinkin. We’d be like a circus parade marching through town.”
“Laz. Fairbanks is not an option. You’ll be going without me. It’s already too close for comfort.”
“Did you two fly all the way to Eagle?” asked Lazlo.
“No way… not nearly enough gas for that.”
“So we’d be going blind.”
“Same way as you got here,” countered Ernie.
“Well, I damned near didn’t make it and neither did you,” said Lazlo. “Maybe the airplane is a good idea. That Beaver is supposed to be a mighty fine bush plane.”
“We won’t need reservations,” quipped Ernie. “Just bring a lotta gas.”
As Ernie headed for the privy, Lazlo followed. “Ernie, you sure there isn’t some way through Fairbanks? I know the trip scared hell outta Cindy, but surely, there’s gotta be some way.”
“Scared the crap outta me, too, Laz. Must have been more than one biker shooting at our little airplane. The real reason we’re outta gas is that it leaked out. Holed us twice. Had to land on the river to plug ‘em. We were damned lucky. Reminded me of Afghanistan guerrillas… so many ruthless dudes unleashed on that poor town. I’m with the women. I’m not goin’ back. I used up my lucky pass this afternoon.”
“What if we were to fly around it at night… avoid the city altogether? Fly to Palmer or somewhere south… ferry us and our gear in two or three trips.”
“Just drop in blind on another city? What if Palmer had trouble like Fairbanks? Then what? I’d prefer the trucks, myself. Those fifty caliber machine guns might come in handy if we meet more of those slavers. That flight has straightened out my head about living safe.”
“Your deuce couldn’t cross that pass in winter. It’d be late spring before we could try it… or worse.”
“So what? We’re not living in the fast lane. You seem so anxious again, Laz. You sure that Seattle thing is outta your mind?”
“Naw, not Seattle, not any city. I just can’t stand to sit, that’s all. And now with seven of us in that tiny cabin, we should move on. Things are closing in on me”
While unwilling to reveal it to the others, Pug had been more frightened than Cindy by the story. He remembered well the heartless beatings he had endured from the avenue gangstas as a youngster. Pugnacious to a fault was how he had earned his nickname.
At first light, Piquk awoke the others to warn them that an arctic storm was brewing. Cindy was anxious about her airplane. She requested help securing it for the duration. Outside, there was no question about the weather. The temperature had plummeted overnight and a frigid wind shrieked up river.
Near the beach, shoreline vegetation didn’t offer a strong enough anchor to satisfy Cindy. Pug suggested using the bridge pylon in mid river. Lacking anything better without towing the heavy airplane ashore, they pushed the craft across the ice and secured it to the pylon with heavy chain attached to the landing gear. Cindy wasn’t satisfied, insisting that the wings needed to be secured as well. The men drove steel stakes into the ice under each wing to provide the necessary tie down and each wing was snugly cabled twice. After determined cinching, and personally testing the tension, Cindy was finally satisfied.
By the time the task was completed, the craft strained against the cables as the wind lifted the wings. With everything secure, everyone was happy to return to the cabin for hot coffee and breakfast.
The storm increased in intensity throughout the day. By dark, gale force gusts howled against the cabin door which faced directly into the wind. Each time someone opened the door, the cabin was blown into disorder and the temperature inside plummeted. Worse, gusts disrupted the fire in the barrel stove, requiring it to be constantly tended and patiently restored.
Going to the privy was challenging as the gale swept away loose snow leaving an ice sheet covering everything. After several painful falls, a honey bucket was brought inside and placed in the midst of six cots, the dining table and stacks of military stores.
Even Piquk’s baby was disturbed by the storm. She squirmed fitfully whenever she was away from her mother. As the cabin chilled, Piquk wrapped her baby slung within her own clothing, carrying her in traditional fashion.
On the second day of the storm, Lazlo discovered their privy had blown away… entirely disappeared, together with the old public porta-potties at the observation deck. The wind scoured everything with tiny shards of ice. Leaving the cabin became desperately unpleasant duty… like emptying the honey bucket properly far away from the cabin.
By the third day, they had exhausted their supply of firewood. Lazlo, Ernie and Pug braved the weather to dismantle more of the wooden observation deck. None could suffer working in the open for more than twenty minutes. Using the enclosed food locker near the porch, they managed to cut short stove lengths while protected inside from the storm.
That night, the wind howled incessantly and objects carried by the gale slammed into the cabin wall. The metal chimney flue broke off the roof and the cabin immediately filled with smoke. Without the tall roof flue, only Piquk’s skill could keep it banked without producing choking smoke. Consequently, the temperature inside plunged below freezing. No one slept even huddled close together in sleeping bags. The storm subsided to a moaning bluster by midnight, rising and falling for hours, then finally calming.
As soon as there was sufficient light to move about, Lazlo and Pug dressed to restore the stove flue. The cabin door wouldn’t budge. Heaving and shoving with their combined weight finally dislodged the door from its rim of ice. Ice shrouded every object fanning away downwind.
The air was dreadfully cold, as bad as Pug had ever experienced. He spit into the air which audibly snapped, freezing in mid air before reaching the ground. “We don’t wantta be out
here long,” he said. “You should cover up your face, Lazlo. I’ve seen this before on Wolverine Mountain.”
They found the remains of the chimney flue suspended by a single guy wire over the roof eave. They restored the flue on the steep roof as the day brightened for the work. But as Pug gripped the flue waiting for Lazlo to descend the ladder, he said, “Damn, Laz… look over there,” and pointed toward the bridge just discernible in morning light.
Lazlo didn’t immediately see what Pug was looking at and stood surveying the length of the bridge. Beneath the bridge, the fuselage of Cindy’s airplane lay on its side still chained to the pylon, missing wings and tail, utterly destroyed.
Back inside, the joy of stoking the fire coupled with anticipation of heat and breakfast occupied everyone’s conversation. The men didn’t have the heart to break the news to Cindy and waited until breakfast was finished. Lazlo quietly announced, “Cindy, I’m sorry to tell you your airplane has been wrecked by the storm.”
Without a word, she jumped up, bounded outside without her parka and ran to the edge of the frozen river. As the others joined her, she stood forlornly staring at the wreck. Lazlo looked along the river’s edge downwind of the storm. Nothing of the wreckage was visible. So much for their easy means of getting away, he thought.
“Way bad,” said Cindy sadly. “She was the pride of daddy’s life.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Christie, “but I must tell you we should all go back inside where it’s warm.” And Christie had another unmentionable thought – perhaps that wreck was a lucky break.
52
Old Man Lake, January 12th. The weeks following Christmas were a trial of endurance. Arctic storms descended upon the lodge. Without functioning geothermal radiators on the unframed third floor the lodge grew cold, so the two lounge fireplaces were lit every morning.
Always hungry, everyone ate more than their ration of meat. The seven caribou wouldn’t last the winter. Forever alert, Ahtna spotted a lone caribou dashing across the frozen lake pursued by four wolves. When the deer neared, Ahtna shot it, but the wolves couldn’t be driven off and immediately tore it to pieces. They rescued only a portion after the miners shot all four wolves.
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