The room was bright, airy, and adorned with rustic furniture. Cassie dropped her bags on the bed, then opened the double-glass doors to the little deck and looked down at the creek riffling below her. She stood there for a minute, admiring the creek before her thoughts seized on the image of a fourteen-year-old boy wading out into a river carrying a fly rod. Mayflies were swirling in a coppery light as the boy cast his line next to a whirling rapid.
Maverick whined, tearing Cassie from that warm yet heartbreaking memory. She put kibble into one bowl and filled the other with water. Drool fell from the shepherd’s mouth, but he sat obediently in front of the bowl waiting for his mom’s instructions.
“Eat up, boy,” Cassie said. The dog dug into his food and then lapped up the water in his bowl while Cassie took a shower.
Refreshed, she put on fresh jeans, boots, and a light sweater before scratching Maverick behind the ears. He made a nest for himself on the foot of the bed and settled into a postmeal nap. Cassie turned on the TV for the dog, something she always did, and went to the door.
“Mommy’s going to get some dinner, I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, and left.
Chapter 3
OLD-FASHIONED GAS LAMPS lit the bar, casting a warm glow on the oiled log walls, the rough-hewn plank floor, and the booths and chairs whose red-cracked upholstered leather sagged under drinking customers.
Business was brisk, the place jam-packed with rough-looking patrons drinking beer after a hard day’s work. One rowdy group shot pool by the jukebox.
Cassie could feel the attention on her as she crossed the room and took the only empty stool at the bar between a scraggly young man scrolling on his iPhone and two older women who were having a hell of a time over a bottle of Black Velvet whiskey. The two women broke into laughter as Cassie sat next to them, their long black braids swishing over denim vests. Their hazelnut-colored skin would have looked like fine Italian leather had it not been for decades of drink and cigarette abuse.
The bartender leaned against the bar top and stared at the TV above him, focused on an episode of Shark Tank.
Cassie glanced over at the game of pool and was met with a half-dozen curious faces gazing back at her. A tall man in a bright red flannel shirt, sporting a five o’clock shadow, raised his beer and blew her a kiss. One of his buddies nudged him and the group laughed.
“Wouldn’t encourage them if I were you.”
Cassie’s gaze went to the scraggly kid to her left, his eyes never leaving Instagram on his phone. She asked, “Encourage who?”
“Everyone in this damn place.”
“You get Wi-Fi in here?” Cassie asked.
“Barely.”
Cassie reached into her pocket and took out her own iPhone, placing it on the bar top. The bartender peeled his attention away from Shark Tank as an order rang up from the kitchen. He grabbed the plate and placed a heavenly smelling pork chop in front of the kid.
“Password is ‘Northern,’ uppercase N,” the bartender said.
The kid put his phone down and sniffed at his dish. He looked at Cassie for the first time and grinned. His Oakley shades sat on the bill of a dark green Sitka ball cap, hiding a swath of tangled blond hair. He looked like he hadn’t seen a razor in months. To Cassie, he fit the mold of the stereotypical environmental science major—an outdoor enthusiast on a four-year track, but procrastinating through seven. He seemed nice enough, so Cassie returned the smile.
The kid jabbed the chop with his fork. “There is a great force for good in the universe. It’s being proven to me all over again.”
The women to Cassie’s right snorted into their drinks. The bartender cleaned a glass with a hand towel. “I swear, kid. That wilderness messed you up something good.”
The kid’s mouth was too full to answer.
The bartender rested a hand on the bar in front of Cassie. “What will it be, young lady, dinner or just drinks?”
“I’ll have one of those pork chops,” she said, studying the bartender.
Silver haired, blue eyed, and clean-shaven, his face said early sixties, but his build said fifteen years younger. He was wiry and strong—the flexing muscles on his exposed forearms looked like taut telephone cables—the kind of guy Cassie’s father would call “all sinew and rope.” He wore jeans, a denim shirt, and an apron that was monogrammed across the breast with the words: NED. MY PLACE. MY RULES.
“You got it.”
“You’re Darlene’s Ned?” Cassie asked.
“Thirty-two years this September,” Ned replied, and adjusted the sleeve on his shirt, exposing a faded anchor-shaped tattoo. “Anything to drink?”
Cassie scrutinized the familiar-looking tattoo, then ordered a local ale.
“You got a name?” the kid asked.
“Cassie.”
“Billy.” He held out a hand.
She took it. “You just come out of the bush, Billy?”
“Eighty days solo free trekking.”
“Is that like a walkabout?” Cassie asked.
One of the women to Cassie’s right said, “It’s what these new age hippie white kids do to find themselves.”
“Trespassin’ on our ancestors’ land what it is,” the other added.
Billy put his fork down. “I told you, all the land I enter is public.” He looked to Cassie and said, “And yeah, it’s kinda like a walkabout, more of a vision quest. You find the biggest, wildest terrain, and just dive in with no connection to the outside. Without any of this.”
He picked up his iPhone. “Whole world is addicted to this device. I was unplugged for almost three months; first thing I do when I come back to civilization is turn it on and start scrolling away. Next thing I know, three hours have gone by, and for what? That’s why I decided I’m going back in tomorrow. I need to continue the cleanse.”
Billy explained that he grew up in Oregon, got a degree in philosophy from Reed College in Portland, then committed himself to go full Christopher McCandless for the next couple years. “Into the Wild changed my life, man. But I’m not an idiot like that kid. I grew up in the woods. I’m prepared for it.”
Ned returned and plopped Cassie’s meal in front of her.
Billy continued, “You ever get a chance to spend some time alone in pure, unadulterated wilderness, you gotta do it.”
Cassie cut into her chop. “My family runs an outfitter and dude ranch in the Bob Marshall Wilderness in Montana. Spent my whole childhood there.”
Billy whistled his approval. “I went into the Bob last summer from the Rocky Mountain front. Country’s beautiful, too many people though. You want to go into deep wilderness alone, you come to Alaska or the Yukon, makes Montana look like Disneyland.”
Cassie was too hungry to disagree with the kid. She’d had enough friends from Alaska over the years and knew it was frivolous to argue whose state was more “wild” or “dangerous.” Montana could be a rough place no doubt, but Alaska and the Yukon were different beasts.
She took her first bite of the chop and voiced her approval. Ned gave her a thumbs-up.
Behind her, there were snickers from the group at the pool table. Cassie glanced in the mirror behind the bar, seeing the reflection of the tall, bullish man in the red flannel approaching her.
The woman to Cassie’s right saw him, too. “Like a wolf on an elk carcass.”
The man came to the bar. He was tall, cowboy strong. He held a beer in his hand and leaned between Cassie and Billy. He looked down at Cassie’s chest unapologetically.
“Is there a problem?” Cassie asked.
“Quite the opposite,” the guy said.
More laughs from the pool table. Cassie glanced over at them. A squat man with red hair filmed the interaction with his phone.
The tall guy flicked his head to the pool table. “Name’s Jake. Wanna join us for a game?”
“I’m good here, thanks.”
“No need to be rude; c’mon, I’ll buy you a round, what are you having?”
“A
lready got myself a round,” Cassie said, “and not being rude, just hungry.”
Jake’s lips tightened. “Around here, someone offers you a beer and to shoot some pool, the polite thing to do is say yes.”
“And I politely decline.”
The snickers at the pool table quieted.
Jake leaned in, his breath smelling like ale. “Then why don’t you finish your drink and we can go somewhere else—”
“Hey, man,” Billy said, tapping Jake on the shoulder, “she said she’s not interested.”
Jake glanced to where Billy’s finger touched his holy Canadian flannel.
Cassie moved her plate away and shifted her weight on her stool so her right elbow had more leverage on the bar.
“I’m sorry,” Jake said, “I didn’t ask a little hippie shit for his opinion.”
The redhead moved in for a closer angle with the phone.
Billy looked like he instantly regretted opening his mouth. The fork in his left hand shook. “She… she’s not interested.”
Jake said, “Who do you think she’s interested in, you?”
Billy’s furtive eyes jumped to Cassie’s calm face, then back to Jake’s. He seemed to wrestle with his next line and settled with putting his fork on his plate and standing to face the man.
Jake had a foot in height and an easy seventy pounds on the kid. Billy stared at his brutish physique.
“I didn’t say she was interested in me… she’s just not interested in you.”
“Looks like Cheech and Chong here left his bong at home and found his balls.” Jake laughed and took a confident sip of his beer. Then he looked at the bottle and swished it in a circular motion. “You know kid, you look like you need a shower.” He raised the bottle and emptied the frothy suds on Billy’s head.
Billy closed his eyes and let the beer fall down his face. He reached up and took off his hat and wiped at his eyes.
The redhead extended his arm even further.
Cassie stood. “You know what I can never get over?”
Jake turned.
Cassie continued: “Canadians always have the reputation for being polite. It’s all ‘sorry ’bout that, sorry about this—yes ma’am, no sir—you all right there, bud?’ But as soon as one of you gets liquored up, you’re no different than any other dip-spitting, hockey-loving, flannel-wearing asshole in cowboy boots.”
She put her face right up to Jake’s. “So why don’t you and your jailhouse friends let us eat in peace?”
Jake burst into laughter, then addressed the bar, “She’s got quite the way with words.”
“Just get outta here, man,” Billy said.
Jake pivoted, unleashing his right fist into Billy’s left eye. The crack of cartilage on bone sounded like a deer rifle going off. Billy staggered backward, falling over his stool. Jake cocked his elbow for another blow.
Cassie grabbed the man’s balled-up fist, found his pinkie finger, and yanked.
Jake screamed.
Cassie held firm and wrenched the finger even farther out of place, using it as leverage to force Jake’s head and torso onto the bar top.
“Lemme go, bitch!”
Ned exploded out of the kitchen. “What in Christ’s name—!” His face contorted in rage. He came around the bar and grabbed Jake by his collar. Cassie released the finger and Ned dragged Jake over against the wall.
Ned said, “You ever start shit again in my bar, Jake, you’re out, you hear me? For good!”
“Cool down, Ned, he was just messing,” the redhead said, lowering his phone.
Ned turned. “Curtis, you shouldn’t be egging this on. Hotheadedness has got no place here or in the field, you hear?” He turned back to Jake, slammed him against the wall again. “Understand, son!”
Jake didn’t like it, but he nodded, and Ned released him. Jake massaged his throat. Ned motioned to the group of men. “Up to Clinton Creek, all of you. Triple shifts until I say otherwise.”
The group dropped their pool sticks and reluctantly collected their things. Jake muttered under his breath, held his injured finger, and threw Cassie a bitter look as he passed.
Ned offered Billy a hand, righted his stool, and guided him back on the seat. “Let me get you something for that.” He went behind the bar, scooped ice out of the cooler, and placed it in a Ziploc before handing it to Billy, who placed it over his eye.
Ned mopped up the spilt beer on the bar top and said as he looked at Cassie, “Those boys are hard workers, but that doesn’t mean they ain’t stupid sometimes. Food’s comp’d for the rest of your stay.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Least I can do.”
Cassie sat back down. “Those guys work for you?”
“I run a small logging outfit on the side up north in Clinton Creek near the river. Helps pay the bills. Where’d you learn that finger trick? I’ve never seen that one.”
“Picked it up in the military.”
“US military? Which branch?” Ned asked.
“Army,” Cassie replied.
“What’d you do in the army?” Billy asked, wincing as he lowered the ice.
“This and that,” Cassie said.
“I was in the military myself,” Ned said. “Canadian Armed Forces.”
Cassie pointed to the anchor tattoo on Ned’s forearm that read: Parati Vero Parati. “You were Royal Canadian Navy?”
Ned laughed. “Back in the old days it was known as the Maritime Command. Spent most of my career on a Halifax-class frigate out of Esquimalt doing sweeps in the Bering Sea. Froze my ass off for the better part of my life patrolling for Soviets. Swore once I was done I’d never subject myself to that kind of cold again.”
Cassie laughed as she said, “Yet you live in Dawson?”
“I like to call it between Dawson and the middle of nowhere, but I enjoy the summers here. In winter everything is shut down so Darlene and I vacation somewhere warm. My goal is to retire on a boat in the Caribbean. Maybe St. Thomas…” He pointed to their empty beer glasses. “Another round?”
Chapter 4
YUKON TERRITORY, CANADA
Saturday, June 22nd
THE NEXT MORNING Cassie leaned against the front counter and looked down at the large map of Alaska between her and Ned.
“I just need a place to camp for a day or two,” she said. “Detune a bit, maybe do some fishing. I don’t have to be in Fairbanks for work until Monday morning.”
Maverick nudged Cassie’s leg with his nose. Cassie stroked the top of his head. “I’ll get you breakfast in a second, bud.”
Ned roved his finger over the map. “If you’re heading into Alaska, I usually send people here”—he put his finger on a tributary jutting off the Yukon River—“just north of Eagle. One of our favorite spots.”
He showed her the direct route to Eagle, where the Taylor Highway ended and the Yukon River ran into the vast Alaskan wilderness. He marked a dirt road that traveled north and showed her a place to camp and fish off the beaten path.
Maverick whined when Darlene came into the room with a steaming cup of coffee.
“I want to apologize again for last night,” she said. “I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about it. We want to comp your stay.”
“That’s not necessary,” Cassie said. “Ned’s already paid for my dinner, but I’d like to pay for the room, please.”
Darlene reluctantly agreed and stood next to her husband.
Cassie turned back to the map. “What’s the bear situation up there?”
“Helps if you think they’re around, so you get no surprises,” Ned said. “I’d carry spray, or a gun if you’ve got it. But it’s been years since I’ve seen grizzlies where I’m sending you.”
After giving Cassie more details, they shook hands, and Cassie thanked them for the hospitality. Darlene apologized again for the bar scene.
Ned said, “Speak of the devil.”
Billy entered the lobby, a stuffed backpack slung over one shoulder. His left e
ye was a mosaic of blues and reds, but he smiled when he saw them.
“Where you off to now?” Darlene said.
“Gonna hitchhike back to the US border and figure it out from there. Probably head back into the Alaskan wilderness,” he said, then looked down and saw Maverick. “Oh, hey, look at you!”
He went to put a hand on Maverick’s head and the dog growled.
“Easy, Mav, he’s a friend,” Cassie said. “Sorry, he can be extremely protective.”
“Damn, he looks like he could be a police dog or something.”
“Ex-marine, actually.”
“You were a dog handler in the military?” Billy asked.
“No, Mav’s just family,” Cassie said, scratching the shepherd behind the ears.
Billy looked confused but decided to not push the subject. He said his good-byes to the group and went for the door. Cassie watched the kid go.
“You take a shower this morning, Billy?” Cassie asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I can give you a lift across the border, take you as far as…” She looked to Ned.
“Jack Wade’s where you take the Taylor Highway north,” Ned said.
“Jack Wade, unless you want to head to Eagle,” Cassie said.
Billy considered her proposition. “I’ll take you up on that.”
In the parking lot, Cassie had Billy stow his stuff in the back of the already crowded pickup bed.
“That a raft all rolled up in there?” Billy asked.
Cassie put food into Maverick’s bowl and the dog attacked the kibble.
“It is,” Cassie said. “Oars are up top.”
“Going rafting?”
“Next week,” she said, locking the cap and taking Maverick’s now empty bowl from him. The dog sat outside the passenger’s-seat door and whined.
“No, Mav, you’re in the back seat. Humans up front.”
The dog did not look happy and Cassie had to pick him up and place him in the back seat.
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