by RJ Corgan
She stared at the tiny thing in the palm of her hand.
I’m holding ten million dollars.
The greasy sheen of its alien skin stuck wetly to the edge of the bag. It seemed like such a grotesque thing to build with all that money. Not worth Bruce. Or Tony.
She would have to give it back, of course. Probably. Of course, she would.
Right now, however, she had to see a girl about a plane.
***
Kea let out a whoop as the little Cessna lifted off the bumpy gravel runway and shuddered into the air. Nestled within her fleece, her shoulder ached with every jolt, but as the mountains rose before her, the pain fell away, forgotten. The tramadol the doctor had given her helped, of course.
During the night, Kea had lain in her tent, trying to map out her future. Between thoughts of Fernando and Lexie, what had happened to Bruce, Tony, and Jon, she had decided that it was time to just move on. To find a research site somewhere more accessible. Somewhere tropical even, near a beach.
Now, as she soared through the sky, Kea felt elated. With Zoë’s help, they propped the camera against the window to document the modifications of the river channel caused by yesterday’s jökulhlaup. As Skeiðarárjökull spread out below her, she remembered why she loved this place so much. No one could ruin this for her. She would never let them.
Who am I kidding? I’d be bored stiff on a beach within a weekend.
As the plane banked for another run, she looked down at Skeiðarárjökull, the magnificent glacier that seemed now like an old friend.
I’ll be back, she concluded. After, perhaps, just a quick trip to the beach with Zoë.
Epilogue
“CAN I help you?” Ísadóra asked. She was desperate for a cigarette, but this guy in the rumpled yellow rain slick wouldn’t leave the gift shop. He didn’t seem to be buying anything, just walking around poking at things and generally weirding out the other tourists in the visitor center.
“I said, can I help you?” she repeated.
He turned. It was one of those Eco volunteers, she remembered. The old one with the wild hair and the nose shaped like a bent spoon. Although Ísadóra had been introduced to all of them on their first day, she couldn’t recall his name.
He walked toward the counter, waving his gloved hands as if casting a spell. “It’s late, isn’t it?”
“Late?” Ísadóra glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even noon yet. The shuttle bus to Reykjavik was still idling outside the visitor center. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get on it.
“Terribly late.” He snuffed the air in disapproval, giving Ísadóra an unpleasant flash of untrimmed nose hairs. “This is no way to run a business.”
“Kúkalabbi,” Ísadóra swore under her breath.
The man slapped the counter sharply, causing her to jump.
“Language, young lady,” he scolded in a quiet whisper. “I expect better service in your country.”
Ísadóra stared at the old man. His eyes which a moment before had been distant and unfocused now burnt blue and bright. Even his accent had changed, becoming hard-edged and foreign.
“I would like that.” He pointed to a toy puffin in a box on the counter. “And the postage to mail it.”
Ísadóra nodded and quickly rang up the sale, eager for him to be away. She handed him the customs form and a pen. She watched as he hurriedly filled out the information, his handwriting consisting of nearly illegible looping swirls of cursive. She noted the final address, totaled up his costs, and waited impatiently while he counted out exact change.
“When does the mail get collected?” The man’s irritation was evident, his fingertips tap-tap-tapping on the countertop. “I thought they’d be here before now.”
“The mail goes on the bus.” Ísadóra nodded at the Reykjavik shuttle. “He’s collected already, but you can give it to him.”
“I’ll take that.” He snatched the package out of her hands before she had a chance to seal it. He stalked out of the visitor center, leaving Ísadóra to exhale a sigh of relief. Despite wanting to be as far away from the man as possible, she watched through the window as he stopped outside near a bin and dumped out the furry toy.
As if sensing that he was being watched, he shifted his body so that his actions were shielded from view. The old man, Gary, Ísadóra remembered, pulled a plastic baggie out of his jacket and presumably stuffed it into the postage box. He then strode over to the shuttle and handed the driver the sealed parcel before hopping on board himself.
A few minutes later, Ísadóra stepped outside for a smoke, watching as the vehicle pulled away from the visitor center and vanished up the little road to Route One.
Germans, she reflected, were so strange. Who wears gloves in gorgeous weather like this?
***
Across the campground, Kea’s tent flap lay wide open, its flimsy skin fluttering in the cool breeze. Her bag of clothes had been ripped apart, her undergarments threatening to take flight with each stiff breeze. Her sleeping bag lay splayed out on the ground, her pillowcase turned out and her daypack upended. Atop the mess lay her field jacket, its pockets turned out, their contents emptied.
High above, the tiny plane was nothing more than a speck, keeping watch on the beast of Skeiðarárjökull that slumbered below.
Acknowledgements
To Matt for believing in me, to Kate for listening, to my parents for their support, to Maeghan Kimball for developmental editing, Aimee Child for copy editing, to Rory for the title, to my brother for Georgian food, and to Scott, for everything.
Thanks to Dr. Andy Russell, Dr. Andy Large as well as partners in crime Dr. Andy Gregory, Dr. Matthew Burke and Tim Harris. Special thanks to Dr. Fiona Tweed – your hard work, enthusiasm, and dedication is an inspiration for generations of students. Thank you for letting me explore your world.
Finally, this book would not be possible without the hard work of hundreds of volunteers over the years or the kindness and generosity of the families who have dwelt at Skaftafell for nearly a thousand years.
If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review on the the website of your choice.
Recommended Readings
For more information on Skeiðarárjökull:
Skaftafell in Iceland: A Thousand Years of Change by Jack D. Ives, published by Ormstunga (2007).
For more information on glaciers and glacier landforms:
Glacial Landsystems, edited by David J.A. Evans, published by Arnold (2005).
For more information on the 1996 jökulhlaup and the resulting landforms:
Icelandic jökulhlaup impacts: Implications for ice-sheet hydrology, sediment transfer and geomorphology by Andrew J. Russell, Matthew J. Roberts, Helen Fay, Philip M. Marren, Nigel J. Cassidy, Fiona S. Tweed, and Tim Harris in Geomorphology (2006).
For more information on GPR and the esker at Skeiðarárjökull:
Structural controls on englacial esker sedimentation: Skeiðarárjökull, Iceland by Matthew J. Burke, John Woodward, Andrew J. Russell, and Jay Fleisher in Annals of Glaciology (2009).
For more information on supercooling:
Glaciohydraulic supercooling in Iceland by Matthew J. Roberts, Fiona S. Tweed, Andrew J. Russell, Óskar Knudsen, Daniel E. Lawson, Grahame J. Larson, Edward B. Evenson, Helgi Björnsson in Geology (2002).