Ice Hunt

Her experienced ears told her the direction from which the gunfire had come — her cabin!

Fear for her father flamed through her. “Eyah!” she yelled, and snapped the line.

Horrible scenarios played out in her head. Bears were out and about already, though they rarely ventured so low. But moose were often just as dangerous, and the cabin was near the river, where the thick willow browses attracted the yearling bulls. And then there were the predators that walked on two legs: poachers and thieves that raided outlying cabins. As a sheriff, she had seen enough tragedy in the wilds of the Alaskan backcountry.

Panic made her desperate, reckless.

She dug around a sharp bend in the river. Ahead, a narrow pinch squeezed between a cliff of granite and the rocky stream. She realized she was speeding too fast. She tried the brake, but a patch of ice betrayed her. The sled fishtailed toward the cliff.

There was no avoiding it.

She hopped to the ru

Clutching and praying the sled didn’t tumble on top of her, she clung tight to her handles, giving up the dogs’ snub line. With the line loosened, the dogs took off at a full sprint. The sled dragged behind the furious team.

Je

The cliff fell away and the sled landed hard on both ru

She made no attempt to slow them.

Gasping, Je

The sled raced alongside the river. She was now following the same track upon which she had left yesterday. A final wide bend and her cabin suddenly appeared ahead. It was built in a meadow where the stream swung around and emptied into a swollen river. Beyond the cabin, her sheriff’s plane floated at the end of a stout dock.

She quickly spotted her father standing before the cabin’s doorway. He was dressed in traditional Inuit clothes: fur parka, fur pants, and mukluk boots. He clutched an old Winchester hunting rifle across his chest. Even from here she could see the angry spark in his eyes.

“Dad!”

He turned toward her, startled. She urged her dogs on, now kicking with one leg to keep the sled careening toward the cabin.

Once clear of the forest and sailing into the open, sunlit meadow, she yanked out her pistol and hopped off the rig, ru

Then it lunged at her. A large black shape leaped toward her from the shadows of the porch.

Wolf, her mind screamed. She swung her pistol.

“No!” The shout was a bark of command from behind her.

Her eyes adjusted, changing focus. The large dark shape dissolved into the familiar.

“Bane,” she cried with relief.

She lowered her weapon and dropped to one knee, accepting the exuberant attention and hot tongue of the huge dog. After being thoroughly slicked with saliva, she twisted around. Two men stood ten yards away in the fringe of the forest. Nearby, a horse chewed leaves from a low-slung branch of an alder.

Her father spoke from the doorway, harsh and angry. “I warned the bastard to get away from here. He’s not welcome around these parts.” He lifted his rifle for emphasis.

Je

She stood up. “Go ahead and shoot him.”

Matt knew his ex-wife was only venting, but he still kept his post at the forest’s edge. The two stared at each other for a long breath. Then she shook her head in disgust and crossed to her father. She took the rifle from him and spoke softly but sternly in Inuktitut. “Papa, you know better than to shoot a gun into the air. Even out here.”

Matt studied her, unable to look away. Because of her mother’s French-Canadian blood, Je

Now, three years after their divorce, those same eyes stared at him with bald anger…and something deeper, something more painful. “What are you doing here, Matt?”

He couldn’t find his tongue fast enough, so Craig spoke. “We’re sorry to disturb you, ma’am. But there was a plane crash.” He fingered the fresh wrap that Matt had applied to his scalp wound. “We’ve spent the past two days hiking out from it. Matt here rescued me.”

Je

“It was Brent Cumming’s plane,” Matt added, finally finding his tongue. He paused as understanding slowly hardened Je

“Oh my God…” She raised a hand to her forehead, sagging as she stood. “Cheryl…what am I going to tell her?”

Matt tentatively walked forward, leading Mariah. “You’ll tell her it wasn’t an accident.”

The lost look in her eyes sharpened. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story.” Matt glanced to the smoke rising from the chimney of the cabin. He had helped build the homestead ten years ago. It was constructed of unpeeled, green-cut logs and a sod roof. He had followed a traditional design. There was even a small lagyaq, or meat storehouse, out back. But to aid in heating the main dwelling, he had modernized the cabin’s design with a propane tank and triple-paned windows.

As he stood, old memories superimposed over the present. He had spent many a happy time here…and one awful winter.

“Maybe we could discuss this inside,” he said. “There are two other bodies out in the woods.”

Concern crinkled her forehead, but she nodded.

His words, though, did little to soften her father’s expression. “I’ll see to the horse and dogs,” John Aratuk said, stalking forward and taking Mariah’s lead. He had calmed enough to rub a palm down the mare’s nose, but the old man refused to make eye contact with Matt. He did, however, nod perfunctorily to Craig as they passed each other. He plainly bore the stranger no ill will, only begrudged him the company he kept.

Je

Matt waved Craig ahead of him. The reporter passed inside, but Matt paused on the threshold. It’s been three years since I last stepped inside here. He girded himself, licked his dry lips, and ducked through. A part of him expected to see Tyler’s tiny body still sprawled on the pine table, bony arms crossed over his chest. At that time, Matt had stumbled inside on limbs leaden with grief, half frozen, frost bitten, his heart an icy stone in his chest.

But the cabin was not cold now. It was warm, scented with old smoke and a deep woody musk. Across the room, Je