They agreed that, while Zubov returned to oversee the revised plans for containing the slick, the Villager could begin dredging a suitable pocket for capturing the Plasroc.
As he returned to the Phoenix, Zubov realized he had probably delivered a pretty fair performance of “the man in charge,” though he hardly believed it himself.
In truth, he was exhausted, he was ready to leave the entire mess to Krail’s grunts, and most of all, he was sick with worry about his friends.
They were still lost, thought Garner, but at least they were lost together. It took nearly an hour to backtrack as far as the shore, then they continued north, Carol lying quietly on the concave surface of the hatch. Garner pulling her. He set a consistent pace and rested for fifteen minutes out of every hour.
Victor’s words about life in the Arctic came back to Garner. We get where we are going because of the snow, not in spite of it. Indeed.
The only sounds were Garner’s own labored breathing, the subtle groaning of the pack, and the scrape of the hatch as it slid across the wind-polished crusts of ice. Despite his fatigue, Garner could not help but notice the utter beauty of the sudden calm in the wake of the storm. He had never been a religious man but the serenity of the darkened landscape gave him pause — he and Carol were utterly alone, yet he did not feel alone. It was a sensation he had often felt in the Southern Ocean, that there was something innately spiritual about the earth’s polar reaches. The unending bleakness somehow filled him with reassurance, providing comfort rather than isolation.
As dusk descended, the sky cleared completely above them and a dazzling array of stars shined down on the fresh drifts of crystalline snow.
“The snow looks so beautiful,” Carol murmured as she drifted out of sleep.
“If only there wasn’t so damn much of it,” Garner grunted in agreement.
He stumbled over a small depression in the ice and used this as an excuse to stop and make another temporary camp. He fired off another flare. Two left.
As soon as they stopped moving, the absolute silence descended over them once again.
“How are you doing?” Carol asked him.
“We’ll get there,” he said. “Promise.” Garner was breathing hard, sweating under his layers of clothing. Tired but not beaten. He might have been out for a midwinter’s jog, not struggling for survival as her protector.
Carol’s heart swelled with love for him at that moment. For the strength of will that now carried them across the ice. For the brilliance he had employed to get them this far. For remembering her birthday. Even for the fact that he had come to the Arctic in the first place. All only for her.
“Kiss me,” she said quietly. “I need you to kiss me right now.”
He did, leaning over her gently. The warmth of his lips, the scent of his skin, pushed aside everything but the moment.
As she gazed into his eyes, a flicker of light glinted across the sky.
Looking up, they saw the first curtains rise on a magical display of heavenly light — the aurora borealis had come out to dance for them.
Carol sat up and nestled into Garner’s arms. They held each other and watched the pale green and magenta light dance until it faded into the glow of full night.
“Tell me that this wasn’t meant to be,” Garner said at last. She had to agree. At that moment, their closeness couldn’t have been more right.
Garner did what he could to excavate a small shelter in the side of a snowdrift, out of the wind. He carefully lined the makeshift iglu with whatever insulation they had, set Carol gently inside, and pulled the hatch over the opening as shelter from the wind. Sleep came quickly to them both.
As morning arrived, they were able to get a clearer look at the surrounding landscape. To the east, along the shore of Committee Bay, some kind of structure was now visible. It looked like a small building, but narrower. As they drew nearer, they could see it was a row of piled stones three of them, built out on a small tam bolo. With a little imagination, they vaguely resembled human figures with their arms stretched out to the sides.
“Inuksuit,” Carol said as she craned to look at them. “Inuit scarecrows used to herd caribou, among other purposes. Not this time of year, though the herds are too skinny after winter.”
Garner peered at the piled stones, eerily human in appearance.
“I thought they were used as some kind of sacred markers.”
“Legends describe them as being seaside guardians, watching for hunters to return from the hunt,” Carol replied. “The markers were also considered good luck because if they were followed correctly, they would lead to food where the caribou were trapped and killed. In any event, I think we just found the interstate.” Garner continued his plodding pace, bringing them ever closer to the rock formations.
“So what do we do now?” Garner asked. “Wait here for a dog sled?”
“More likely a snowmobile.”
Then a sound came drifting though the morning stillness: barking.
“Told you so,” Garner said with a wink.
It wasn’t a dog team but a single dog. A vigorous Siberian husky with a familiar broad white face and mismatched eyes.
“I don’t believe it,” Carol said as the dog bounded toward them, stopping short and ducking its head to be patted. “It’s Victor’s dog.”
“Janey,” Garner concurred.
“I might get tired of you being right all the time, you know?” Carol remarked to Garner. “Someday.” The delight quickly faded from Carol’s face as she craned her neck to look around.
“So… where’s Victor?”
Garner hoisted the hatch once again and followed Janey two hundred yards farther, approaching closer still to the inuksuit. The formations, it turned out, were not arranged in a line at all, but in a small, circular grouping. In the middle of the small space, lying on his back with hands folded across his chest, was Victor Tablinivik, his tools and smaller possessions in a neat pile beside him. His komatik sled and hunting tools were set inside a small cave eroded into the adjacent shore.
Garner set down the hatch and stooped to examine Victor’s body. The hearty Inuk looked to have been dead a few days, judging by the way the recent storm had blown a thin layer of snow and ice around his folded limbs. His flesh was frozen but perfectly preserved. In Victor’s folded hands, Garner found the rock from Elephant Island. The Inuk had died holding on to the past, a lasting memory of the frontier that once had been.
Carol was gazing up at the inuksuit.
“Look at that,” she said, pointing up at them. “Two large figures one slightly larger and a smaller one. I’d say it’s supposed to be Victor, his wife, and his son,” she speculated.
“He must have heard the news from his settlement,” Carol suddenly realized. “He might even have been the only survivor. Do you think ” She hesitated, unsure whether to continue.
“Maybe this was the way for him to find his peace.”
There seemed to be nothing else to add. Garner and Carol bowed their heads in a moment of respect, then left the circle of stones.
Garner pulled Carol the rest of the way back to the cave on the shore, Janey trotting beside them. Indeed, it looked as though many caribou had been herded into this place over the years, but so efficient was the Inuit use of flesh, bone, hide, and entrails that nothing of use remained for scavengers. On the other hand, Victor’s sled contained several blankets, extra clothing, and handmade hunting equipment. For catch. Garner found several fish and a seal carcass, to which Janey had helped herself in Victor’s absence.