by Beth Orsoff
I remembered to knock on the bathroom door first, which was a good thing since Patti answered me. A minute later she opened the door on my side and told me it was free. It wasn’t until I noticed the bath towels hanging on the back of her and Joe’s door that I realized I didn’t have one of my own.
"You don’t happen to know where I can find a towel, do you?" I asked, sticking my head into their room. It was the mirror image of mine and Ethan’s, right down to the itchy gray blankets and faded white sheets.
"You didn’t bring one?"
I explained about my lost luggage and the trip to the AC. "Ethan never told me I needed to buy a towel."
"Maybe he brought an extra," she said, crossing through the bathroom into Ethan’s and my room. She looked in his closet first, then tried the cabinet under the sink. "Here," she said, and handed me a dark blue bath sheet. "There are two in here, so one must be for you."
I wasn’t as confident in that conclusion as she was, but since I didn’t want to drip dry, I chose to believe her.
She crossed back into her own room and pulled three sample–sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel out of her bag. "You can have them," she said, as she piled them onto my towel. "I always pack more than I need."
I thanked her and smiled, even though I’d bought my own at the AC store.
"Happy to help. Now did anyone show you how to use the shower?"
I peeked inside. It had one knob in the center with an "H" to the left and a "C" to the right. "Don’t I just turn the handle?"
"Yes, but we’re supposed to take sea showers to conserve water. Do you know what that is?"
I shook my head. I hoped it didn’t involve washing with sea water because my hair and skin were already dried out from the constant gusting wind.
"Just turn the water on to wet down, then shut it when you soap up, and turn it on again to rinse. I usually wash my hair while I’m soaping, then rinse all at once. Same rules apply for the sink."
That would make shaving a challenge. But since I didn’t have a razor unless I borrowed Ethan’s, it didn’t matter much. This still beat showering on Wilde Island. At least on the boat I was indoors.
When I arrived in the galley, it was already empty, so I scarfed down the pancakes Will had left out for me, and carried my second cup of coffee to the lounge. That was empty too, but I heard voices above me, so I ventured up one more level to the bridge.
I found Patti, Joe, Ethan, and Captain Roberts huddled around one of the computer screens. Everyone but Ethan said hello. I apologized again for the false alarm, but Captain Roberts just told me the next time I wandered off in the middle of the night I should let my roommate know.
"So what’s the plan?" I asked, joining them.
"That’s what we’re working on," Joe said, making room for me in front of the screen. They were studying some sort of satellite image.
"What is this?" I asked, pointing at the bands of color punctuated by clusters of red dots.
"A map. We’re here," Joe said, and pointed at the area where the yellow blended into the green. "This is Point Barrow," he added, moving his pen to the uppermost tip of the black blob at the bottom of the screen.
Once I had a reference point, I was able to make out the outline of the northern coast of Alaska. "What’s all this?" I asked, pointing to the layers of color above.
"This is the Chukchi Sea," he said, circling the large green and blue area on the left side of the image, "and that’s the Beaufort," he added, pointing to the purplish patch on the right. "The red spots are where we think the walruses are."
"Doesn’t tracking them with a satellite kind of take the sport out of it?"
"Sydney, this isn’t a game," Ethan said.
Clearly he hadn’t accepted my apology. "I know, Ethan, it was a joke." Although obviously not a funny one.
The rest of them ignored me, but Joe gave me a sly grin. It was good to know at least one person on this boat had a sense of humor.
Captain Roberts typed something on the keyboard, and the satellite image was overlaid with a series of numbered grids. He punched more keys and the red dots stayed, but the oceans turned blue and swirling white clouds covered the screen.
"The highest concentrations are here and here," Captain Roberts said, pointing his meaty finger at the spots with the most red dots, "but I’m concerned about this storm," he said, moving to the large white swirl in the center of the screen. "I think we should start here," he continued, pointing to grids eight and nine, "then circle back when the storm’s moved south."
Patti, Joe, and Ethan agreed, and Captain Roberts minimized the map. "We should be at the first site in less than an hour. If you want to get your gear together, I’ll send one of the crew to help you load it onto the dinghies."
I followed Patti, Joe, and Ethan down the stairs and out onto the deck, but I was immediately sorry I did. Overnight, yesterday’s balmy seventy-five degrees had dropped to a decidedly colder temperature, aided by an icy wind.
"Don’t we need jackets?" I asked, alternately blowing on my hands and rubbing my arms. They were jacketless too, but they seemed to be handling the cold better than I was. Maybe they were wearing more layers underneath their sweaters and khakis.
"You can go back inside," Patti said. "We can handle it."
"No, I’ll stay." I’d already made a bad impression with the false alarm. I wasn’t going to be the only one who couldn’t handle the cold too.
We all followed Patti to a large metal door at the back of the boat. She pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. "They must’ve locked it. We’ll have to wait for them to bring the key."
It figured the one locked door on the whole ship was outside.
"What kind of equipment is it?" I asked, placing my hands between my thighs and rocking back and forth on my heels. I’m not sure it increased my core temperature any, but at least it kept my fingers from going numb.
"Go back inside," Ethan said.
They all had their hands in their pockets, and everyone’s nose was red, but I was the only one who was actually shivering.
"Really, Sydney," Patti said, "it’s okay. I’m about ready to go back too."
"I’m fine," I said, stuffing my hands under my armpits and jogging in place.
Ethan shook his head and walked away.
"I swear to God, Patti, no matter what I do, he’s mad at me. If I didn’t come out here he’d just be pissed at me for not pulling my weight."
"He’s not mad," she said, following my lead and stuffing her own hands under her arms. "He’s just concerned. If something happens to you, he’s responsible."
"What does he think’s going to happen?"
"Sydney, if you’re going to work for him, you’re going to have to learn to let a lot slide."
I stopped jogging. "I don’t work for him."
"What about the documentary?"
"Didn’t Ethan tell you? I’m a publicist. I work for Blake McKinley."
"You’re a publicist?" she said, at the same time Joe asked, "Who’s Blake McKinley?"
Chapter 33
Patti decided we’d waited in the cold long enough. "We’re going back in," she shouted to Ethan, who was standing at the railing looking out to sea.
"I’ll wait," he replied.
"Suit yourself," she told him, and Joe and I followed her back to the galley.
While we hovered around the coffeemaker waiting for the fresh pot to brew, Patti and Joe peppered me with questions, and I explained to them how a publicist could end up on a scientific research vessel in the middle of the Arctic.
"Who exactly is Blake McKinley?" Joe asked, wrapping his big hands around the steaming mug Patti handed him.
I rattled off the titles of his films, but either they hadn’t seen them or they didn’t remember his part. It was when I told them that he used to star in a TV show called Bite Me, that they knew exactly who he was. Or at least Patti did.
"I’m a little surprised you watched that one."
I didn’t want to be rude, but they were both significantly older than the show’s core teenage demographic.
"I didn’t," Patti admitted, "but our niece Kristy loves it. I bought her the whole series on DVD for Christmas last year. She’s head over heels for Blake McKinley, much to her mother’s distress."
I understood. Although the show was aimed at twelve to twenty year olds, many parents assailed it for being too racy, which naturally only made it appeal to teenagers even more.
"There you are," George said, joining us in the galley. "The equipment’s ready to go. You three need to suit up."
"Suit up?" I asked.
"Get into your gear," Joe said. "Ethan probably left yours in your cabin."
Joe was right. When I returned to the cabin, Ethan had laid out two jumpsuits on my bunk—one thick and fluorescent orange, the other thin and opaque white. "I’m supposed to wear one of these?" The orange one was hideous, but at least it looked warm. The white just reminded me of a hazmat suit without the gas mask.
"Both," he said, "and they’re not optional. The orange one’s a dry suit. It’ll keep you alive if you accidentally fall through the ice. The white one’s to blend in."
"Why do I need to blend in? Are the walrus police out looking for me?"
"Because the easiest way to tag a walrus is to sneak up on it from behind."
I grabbed the dry suit, my long underwear, and a pair of fleece sweats, and headed into the tiny bathroom. By the time I pulled on all the layers, I was sweating profusely. The air outside the ship was frigid, but inside was toasty.
"How am I supposed to move in this—" I flung open the bathroom door and stared at Ethan. He was wearing an orange jump suit too, but he’d left the top half unzipped, dangling around his legs. From the waist up he was naked.
"Sorry," I said, and quickly turned around, although not before I noticed his surprisingly toned upper body, and his flat stomach marred only by a faded C-shaped scar. While his physique paled in comparison to Blake’s, who had six-pack abs and perfectly formed pecs, I couldn’t deny that Ethan looked good for a man who undoubtedly didn’t spend two hours a day in the gym.
I stood facing Patti’s and Joe’s closed bathroom door until Ethan told me it was safe to turn around. His jumpsuit was still folded down at his waist, but he’d covered his upper body with a long-sleeved thermal tee.
"Is this supposed to be this loose?" I asked, yanking on the fabric of my dry suit while purposely avoiding his eyes. He’d seen much more of me at Wilde Island than I’d seen of him today, but I was still embarrassed and could feel my face flush.
"Yes," he said, avoiding eye contact too, "but not at the closure points. Wait here."
As soon as he left the cabin, I unzipped my jumpsuit and started peeling off the layers. It was too much trouble to deal with the bottoms, so I just undressed on top. By the time Ethan returned, I was down to a moisture-wicking T-shirt and a sports bra underneath.
He gazed down at my chest first before settling on my face. "I’ll tape your seams shut when we get outside," he said, holding up a roll of silver duct tape. "You ready?"
"I think so," I said, as I pulled my layers back on and grabbed my purse.
"Is that waterproof?"
"You’re kidding, right?" How could anyone think a Marc Jacobs satchel was waterproof?
"Then leave it behind."
"Ethan, just because I came here doesn’t mean I gave up my day job," I said, pulling my sat phone, wallet, and Blackberry out of my purse.
Ethan sighed, then tossed me a giant plastic bag. "Use it for anything you don’t want to get wet, because I can guarantee you anything not inside it will be."
When we reached the deck, Joe and Patti were already waiting. We looked like four giant powdered sugar doughnuts oozing orange cream filling. George, Mac, and Will were on deck too, but they weren’t wearing these silly suits. They were dressed in jeans and parkas.
As Patti and Ethan started divvying up the hard-shelled silver cases, I asked Joe what was inside. "Crossbows," he said, pointing to the two largest boxes. "The rest are satellite tags and testing equipment."
"That’s how the walruses show up as red dots? From the satellite tags?"
"No," he said, "those were geothermal maps. The walruses appear in red because they’re warmer than the ice they’re floating on."
Now I was confused. "If you already know where they are, then why are we tagging them?"
"To determine how much time they spend in the water versus hauled out on the ice. The tags are just sensors with mini-transmitters. They record the air and water temperature, and send the information back to us."
"Wouldn’t it be easier just to watch them for a few days?" I thought that was the point of counting them every day on Wilde Island.
Joe shook his head. "Since the walruses spend the majority of their time in the water, it’s impossible to get an accurate visual count even using aerial photography. But with the data from the tags, we’ll be able to extrapolate how much time they spend in the water versus hauled out on the ice to estimate their true population size."
"And that’s important because?"
But the crew had finished loading the equipment into the dinghies and George directed us to climb in. Patti lowered herself down first and I grabbed the ladder next, but Ethan stopped me. "No, you’re on my boat."
I followed him to the other side of the deck where Mac was waiting for us in a second dinghy. I assumed we’d be following Joe and Patti’s boat, but Mac steered us in the opposite direction. Ethan explained that we’d be tagging in separate locations "to increase data diversity."
I hadn’t even settled into my seat yet when he tossed me a tube of sunscreen.
"Is this really necessary?" I didn’t expect to tan in the Arctic even on sunny days, but definitely not when the sky was a solid mass of white clouds.
"Not if you don’t mind second-degree burns from the glare."
While I was lathering my face with sunscreen, Ethan was unlatching the cases. "Have you ever used one of these?" he asked, as he pulled out what looked like a sawed-off shotgun with an arrow attached to the top.
I shook my head. "No, we only had the low tech kind in junior high."
"This’ll be easier," he said, pulling a small crank out of the case and attaching it to the side of the crossbow. As he spun the handle, a wire on top of the barrel moved farther and farther back, until it formed a triangle above the trigger of the gun. "Give it a try," he said, handing it to me.
It was a lot heavier than a standard bow and arrow, but easier to keep steady. I focused on a chunk of ice floating off in the distance and pulled the empty trigger. I wasn’t prepared for the recoil, which almost knocked me on my ass. I’d definitely have a bruise, even with the five layers of clothing between my body and the butt of the gun. I finally understood why Ethan refused to bring Duncan. There was no way someone with a dislocated shoulder could shoot a crossbow, even if he didn’t have his arm in a sling.
"If you relax your muscles, you won’t feel the kick back so much."
I doubted that, but I cranked the bow back into place and squeezed the trigger again. "Ow!" I yelled, as the gun smashed into my shoulder a second time.
"You’re too stiff."
"Well, if you’re such an expert why don’t you shoot?"
"I’m going to," he said, then reached his arms around me and positioned the crossbow in the crook between my arm and my chest.
I turned around to ask why he needed me if he was going to shoot the walruses himself, but our faces were so close, I could feel his breath on my cheek and I quickly snapped my head back.
"Now relax your shoulders," he said directly into my ear, and I started to get that tingle again. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes so I could concentrate on replacing the image in my head of a shirtless Ethan with one of a shirtless Blake. It didn’t make me any less tingly, but at least my feelings were directed at the right man.
With the image of Blake fir
mly in my mind, I opened my eyes and elbowed Ethan hard in the ribs. "Get off me. I can’t shoot with you hovering."
Ethan moved back, and I let go of my fantasy to focus on what I was doing. I forced my shoulders down, then lined up the sights and squeezed the trigger. I still felt the butt of the gun recoil against me, but it hurt less this time.
While I practiced firing, Ethan pulled out a second crossbow.
"I don’t understand," I said, setting down my weapon. "If you’re going to shoot them yourself, then why do you need me?"
"Because we’re shooting different things."
"You mean I’m not going to shoot the walruses?" I thought that was why I was there.
He sighed and set down his crossbow too. "Sydney, what do you think happens when you shoot a walrus?"
"I have no idea."
"Guess."
"It runs away. Or swims away." I hoped attacking the shooter wasn’t an option.
"Exactly. So once I tag it with the transmitter we only have a few seconds for you to get a tissue sample before the walrus dives down."
"And how exactly am I supposed to get this tissue sample?"
"Don’t worry," he said, "it won’t require you to get your hands dirty. I doubt you’ll even break a nail."
Mac slowed the engine as he pulled the dinghy alongside a large mass of floating ice. I didn’t need my binoculars. I could tell from the awful smell that those pink and brown lumps fifty yards upwind were a herd of walruses.
"I don’t think I can shoot them from this far away," I said, joining Ethan at the front of the dinghy.
"You’re not going to," he said, as Mac cut the engine.
"So what’s the plan? We sit on the boat and hope they get curious and swim over?"
"No, we’re going to them."
I turned to Mac, who was now leaning back in the captain’s chair with his feet up on the console. "If we’re going to them, then how come Mac looks like he’s ready for a nap?"
I could tell by the set of his jaw that Ethan was getting annoyed with me again, but he managed to keep his voice steady. "We can’t go by boat. The noise will scare them off. We have to get out on the ice and approach them from behind."