Other than being covered in mud, the tan Stone Glacier backpack was untouched, a bottle of bear spray strapped to its waist clip. Gale snatched the pack from the VPSO and opened it—Cassie’s first aid, flares, and thermal blankets stared up at him.
Tobeluk tugged again at the tent and cursed under his breath.
Cassie’s steel-sided food box lay unlocked and open, devoid of anything but a torn-up, plastic Wheat Montana bread loaf wrapper. Tobeluk held the wrapper in his hands. “She left her food box open in her tent.”
Gale stared at the box.
“That’s not possible,” Emily said, finally.
Gale shook his head in disbelief. There was no way Cassie Gale, his daughter, had broken the cardinal rule of bear country.
Never leave open food at ground level.
Emily started to cry. “If something got her, we need to find her—she might be hurt somewhere!”
“Jim, we need to call in a search party,” Trask said, looking at the radio on Tobeluk’s belt. “You can call it in?”
The VPSO shook his head. “We’d have to get closer to town—”
“What about Cassie’s satellite phone?” Trask asked.
“We need to get a plane up here,” Emily said.
“Everyone just stop!” Gale barked. “Calm down. First things first. Emily give me your phone.”
She dug in her pocket and handed him the iPhone. Gale took pictures of the tent, the truck, the grizzly tracks, and the campsite as a whole, then handed it back.
“We’ll send those to the troopers so we can get some help. Cassie’s satellite phone is charging in the truck; when it turns on, we make the call. Till then, we pull this place apart.”
He assigned Trask to the tent, Emily to the perimeter of the campsite, and Tobeluk to walk around the camp in ever-expanding circles.
“If you find anything of interest, holler and we’ll all come over. And keep your weapons on you.”
“What are you going to do?” Trask asked.
“I’ll run down the road and see if there is any sign of her and Maverick trying to get back to Eagle.”
Gale slung his rifle over his shoulder and took off. He stayed on the shelf between the muddy road and the tree line. Around every corner he expected to see his daughter sitting on the side of the road anxiously waiting for her father to find her.
Gale trotted on for a couple miles until the searing pain in his hip forced him to stop. He stooped over, gasping. The trees around him creaked and moaned in the soft midday wind.
His mind flashed back on the campsite.
The flayed tent, the ripped apart food wrappers, the discarded rifle.
He started to panic.
Hold it together.
You don’t know what’s happened.
Remember the promise you made. Nothing would happen to her.
That same voice inside his head then told him to stand, to go back and be strong for his daughter, for his family. This wasn’t the time to run away.
This was the time to act.
* * *
“We found something,” Emily said, as Gale jogged into the campsite.
Trask walked over to his father-in-law and handed him an oddly shaped stainless-steel canister the size of a small thermos. The canister bottlenecked at the top and was open. Gale studied the object.
“What is this?”
“No idea.”
“Where’d you find it?”
Trask indicated the mud next to the log.
Gale turned the canister over and looked down the opening, then sniffed it, recoiling immediately. The smell was brutally sharp and chemical.
“Dad, there’s something else.”
Emily led him to a tall poplar tree standing on the northern perimeter of the campsite. She pointed to a rope hanging over a high branch.
Gale recognized the rope—it was the same type they used at the ranch. One end of the rope was secured around the trunk of the tree, while the other hung over the branch and moved in the wind—its end frayed.
“Cassie did hang her food box,” Emily said.
Gale stared up at the rope undulating in the wind as Tobeluk entered the camp.
“Anything?” Trask said.
Tobeluk leaned against Cassie’s truck and shook his head. “Nothing, you?”
Trask indicated the metallic canister in Gale’s hand. “Just this.”
The VPSO walked over to them and snatched the canister from Gale. Tobeluk’s face turned from confusion to incredulity. “Where was this?”
Trask showed him. “You know what this is?”
The VPSO shook his head, still holding the canister. “No.”
Gale’s mind spun. None of this was normal. None of this adds up—where the hell is Cassie? Where the hell is Maverick?
Gale tried to rein in his thoughts, when a large branch snapped in the forest behind him.
He moved between Emily and the trees.
Another snap!
Something was crashing toward them.
Gale drew his pistol.
He could hear the heavy, labored breathing of a large animal—the willows under the poplar swayed and parted.
A glint of brown fur.
Gale wrapped his index finger around the trigger and aimed at the patch of fur with both eyes open.
Chapter 11
A DARK NOSE broke from the willows, followed by a head.
“Maverick!” Gale shouted and lowered his weapon.
The German shepherd stumbled out and collapsed. Gale and Emily ran to him. Maverick whined softly. His fur was matted in filth and dried blood. The dog struggled to his feet. Gale held him down with a gentle hand.
“Mav!” Emily cried, kneeling by the dog, as the others came up behind her.
A deep livid gash scarred Maverick’s head from his left eye to the ridge of his nose.
“He needs water.”
“Here,” Tobeluk said, coming forward with a Nalgene bottle.
Maverick lifted his head, saw the man, and snarled. The dog’s body lurched and he tried to regain his feet. Gale held the dog down and ordered Tobeluk to stay back. The VPSO stopped in his tracks.
“He doesn’t trust males he doesn’t know,” Trask said, taking the water bottle and handing it to Gale.
Gale stroked Maverick’s fur as the dog began to drink.
“We’ll need to carry him. He’s limping pretty badly,” Gale said, placing his hand on Maverick’s rump. The dog yelped in pain.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Gale said, repositioning himself to look at the shepherd’s back right leg. Another deep wound ran down the flank of his thigh. “He needs a vet, that leg might be broken.”
Maverick whimpered and looked up at them with forlorn eyes. Gale got a sickening feeling in his stomach. He knew that war dogs—especially German shepherds—were extremely loyal to their handlers. Maverick wouldn’t leave Cassie’s side unless he absolutely had to, or was forced to.
Gale looked over at the tangle of forest from which Maverick had come and thought that his youngest daughter might be out there somewhere, too, wounded, or worse.
“I have to go in there.”
Maverick continued to tremble in Emily’s arms.
“Give me twenty minutes,” Gale said, then gestured at Tobeluk. “Grab your shotgun, you’re coming. Emily, Trask, keep your weapons on you. Fire off a shot if you get into trouble.”
“Should I run to the river and see if I can call the troopers?” Emily asked.
Gale stood. “Wait till we get back in case we find something.”
Gale moved quickly into the forest with Tobeluk on his heels. Maverick’s tracks were easy to discern, and Gale maintained a healthy pace. Tobeluk wheezed and stumbled behind him. After ten minutes they came to a small depression of land where a blowdown tree lay on its side. Gale followed Maverick’s tracks into a small nook of the tree’s upturned root system.
Gale inched his head inside the hollowed tree. Maverick’s paw prints dotted
the matted soil.
“He sheltered up here,” Gale said, and then he and Tobeluk circled the area for any sign of his daughter.
Tobeluk said, “I’ve never seen a dog survive in the wilderness that cut up—you think he took on a bear?”
Gale ignored the man and tilted his head back and shouted, “Cassie!”
His voice carried through the trees toward the churning Yukon to their east. He yelled again, his voice grating and strained. He closed his eyes, could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage. The idea of Cassie injured, the idea of Cassie alone in the wilderness consumed his thoughts.
“Wait!” Tobeluk hissed.
Gale’s eyes snapped open.
“Did you hear that?”
Gale primed his ears to the sounds of the forest and listened intently, then he heard it—a distant, high-pitched cry.
“There!”
“Shut up!” Gale snapped.
The report of a shotgun blast rippled through the forest.
“Em!” Gale cried out, sprinting up the side of the depression. He held the rifle in front of him like a shield, protecting himself from the low-hanging brush.
He could hear Tobeluk trying to keep up.
Gale burst into the campsite and found his eldest daughter on the ground, holding on to Maverick’s limp form. Trask stood over them, his smoking shotgun in his hand.
Emily looked up. “We were checking on the satellite phone and he just started seizing. I can’t get him to respond to me!”
Gale got down on all fours and cupped the dog’s nose. “He’s barely breathing.” He lifted Maverick’s eyelids and saw his eyeballs swimming in their sockets.
The dog began to shake violently and choke.
“He’s going to swallow his tongue.”
Tobeluk broke through the tree line, his face soaked in perspiration.
Gale reached into Maverick’s mouth and grabbed his tongue, then yelled to Tobeluk, “Is there a vet in Eagle?”
“Yes, horse vet, next to the church.”
Maverick’s seizing abated and his body went limp.
Gale turned to Trask and said quickly, “Pete, turn off that truck, grab the phones. We’re leaving.”
Trask did. Gale hefted an unconscious Maverick into his arms and raced to the waiting Zodiac. He placed the dog into the bottom of the boat. Tobeluk and Trask jumped on board and Emily kicked them into the current as she jumped in. Gale gunned the throttle and they tore up the tributary. His attention went from the dog to the wilderness extending in every direction. The sun beat down on the monumental terrain, on the raging river and the small raft.
Emily suddenly lost it, as if the reality of the situation had just clobbered her. She flung herself into her husband’s arms, her body lurching with grief.
Tobeluk kept his head down, the mysterious canister in his hands, his eyes glued to it.
“Officer,” Gale said over the pulsing motor.
Tobeluk raised his head, his cheeks pale and sweaty.
“It’s time to call the troopers; we need a damn search party up here. Now.”
Chapter 12
GALE SAT IN the passenger’s seat of Tobeluk’s Ford Expedition and watched a Cessna 185 Skywagon touch down in front of them and taxi to a stop. A light rain fell and pattered the windshield of the vehicle. Gale opened the door and put on his cowboy hat, still damp from the ride up the Yukon nearly three hours before. He grimaced as the familiar hot poker flash of pain raced from his hip down into his quadricep.
The Cessna’s door opened. A portly man in an Alaska State Trooper uniform climbed out and slung a small rucksack and a shotgun over his shoulder. He held a manila folder in his hand.
“Jim Gale?” the trooper said, years of cigarettes on his voice. He gave Gale a grim smile and firm handshake, his eyes resting on Tobeluk in the driver’s seat.
“I’m Trooper Glenn Ross; how’s the dog doing?”
“He’ll be okay. Couple of busted ribs, cut up, dehydrated, and exhausted. My daughter and son-in-law are with him now.” Gale indicated the Cessna. “Your pilot coming with us?”
“No,” Ross said, walking to the vehicle. “Rutledge needs to refuel before we begin the search.” Tobeluk stepped out and Ross placed his pack and shotgun in the man’s hands. “Throw my stuff in the back, Max. I’m driving. Sit up front with me, Mr. Gale.”
Gale climbed into the passenger’s seat. Tobeluk wasn’t happy, but he took the back. Ross put the manila folder on the center console and pulled out onto the dirt road heading to Eagle.
The trooper had a bulldog’s flattened face: ruddy cheeks behind a handlebar mustache and the faint hint of liver spots patching the tip of his nose. His jowls bounced as they drove down the bumpy road.
“I got a brief look at Cassandra’s missing person file on the way up,” Ross said, patting the folder. “Sergeant Plant sent me the pictures you took at the campsite. I’ll need to get up there and take my own before we get to sweeping the area.”
Ross eyed Tobeluk through the rearview mirror. “Meredith said you found some sort of canister and a rifle on the ground?”
Gale dug around in his jacket and took out a Ziploc freezer bag he’d bought at the Eagle Trading Company. In the bag sat the metal canister. He put the contents on the console.
“I don’t know what to make of it, smells terrible.”
“Anyone handle it?”
“My son-in-law. Me and Officer Tobeluk.”
Ross shot Tobeluk a sour look in the rearview mirror, then asked, “And what about her rifle?”
“Hadn’t been fired,” Gale said.
“And the grizzly tracks, no sign of blood?”
“Rain washed it away if there was any.”
“Well, we’ll get everyone up there to comb through the area, they know the drill.”
Gale eyed the man curiously. “This kind of thing happen a lot?”
Ross flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Near Eagle? A few every summer, most of them floating the Yukon on the Circle route. Had a kayaker last year get chased out of his camp by a bear and into the river. He floated for a couple miles, tried walking back to his camp and got lost. Found him a couple days later naked in the woods kissing a tree. Guess he got hungry and started gorging himself on some funny mushrooms. Guy was lucky to be alive.”
“What about the others?”
“Lost or body recoveries.”
Gale stared hard at the trooper and Ross returned the look, more matter-of-fact and sensible than callous.
“Your daughter is still in the survival window. Rutledge will skim the banks till he’s exhausted the effort, and the villagers up here know this place better than anyone.” The trooper eyed Tobeluk again in the rearview as he pulled the vehicle into the VPSO Support Office’s parking lot. Emily and Trask sat on the front stoop and stood when the vehicle came to a stop. Emily’s face was puffy and red.
Three other people stood in the parking lot. They were short—stooped from age and harsh living—their faces resembled cracked leather, deep canyons of worn skin exposed to the Alaskan elements for decades. Two had jet-black hair. The shortest, a woman, had a silver braid that fell down to her lower back. Her face was more shriveled and sun spotted than the others’, but her eyes shone brightly, like crystalline blue marbles.
Gale thought the woman could be anywhere between eighty and a hundred years old.
“They came?” Ross said.
“She would only talk with you,” Tobeluk said.
“You’ve even pissed off the elders now?”
“I’ve really cracked down on the villagers.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it, and not your constant boozing,” Ross said. “Mr. Gale, could you tell everyone to wait inside for me? I need to have a quick word with Officer Tobeluk.”
Gale obliged, eyeing the old woman, whose gaze was steady on him as he stepped out of the vehicle and made his way over to Trask and Emily. When he passed the old villagers, he repeated Ross’s me
ssage.
They stared at him blankly, then the youngest of the men, who looked to be in his sixties, said something quietly to the woman in an odd dialect Gale couldn’t place.
The old woman puckered her lips and made a nasally response and shook her head vigorously.
The man translated for her.
“We’ll wait,” he said, pointing at Ross through the windshield.
Gale collected Trask and Emily and went into the office. Emily grabbed a glass from the kitchenette counter and poured herself water from the tap. Standing at the window, Trask looked outside and spoke softly.
“The veterinarian said Maverick could be released in a couple days. For now they’re going to keep him sedated.”
“Good, when he wakes, we might need his nose.” Gale moved to the window and stood next to his son-in-law as they watched Ross step out of the vehicle. The trooper’s face was beet red with anger. When Tobeluk stepped out behind him, he looked like a whipped steer.
Ross went to the elders and led them inside. Tobeluk followed.
Ross took the seat behind Tobeluk’s desk in a possessive manner, slapping both the Ziploc with the canister and the manila folder down in front of him.
The small woman took the seat across from him. The two men stood at her shoulders.
“This is Eve Attla,” Ross said to the Gales. “And her son, Isaac, and her grandson, John. Eve is the Hän village elder. We’ll be coordinating the search for Cassandra with them.” Ross looked to Isaac. “How many people would you be able to round up?”
Isaac spoke in the old Athabaskan language to his mother, who spoke back promptly.
“Today? Ten,” John said. “Three boats.”
Ross turned to Tobeluk. “How many townspeople?”
“Fifteen so far, another four boats.”
A pronounced scowl morphed on the old woman’s face when Tobeluk spoke. She pointed a knotted finger in his direction and barked at him.
Tobeluk asked, “What’s she saying now?”
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