The small plane crawled across the landscape like an insect over a tablecloth.
Beck Granger peered out at the patchwork of Alaskan wilderness thousands of feet below. It was spring and the thaw was all but complete. Not long ago it would have all been a smooth white, a land of ice and snow. Now he could see fir trees, grass, moss. Streams and rivers ran with crystal-clear meltwater. Endless shades of green, all tied together with fine silver threads.
Beck pressed his face to the window. He could just see the blur of the single propeller. The plane was a Cessna 180. Beck’s Uncle Al, sitting in front next to the pilot, had told him it was the workhorse of the far north. It had a streamlined body like a plump fish suspended beneath its single wing. The cabin had a grand total of six seats, but at the moment there were only three passengers, plus the pilot. The back of the plane was stuffed with their bags and equipment.
Like everyone else on board, Beck was wearing large padded earphones. Without them the noise of the engine would have made talking to anyone impossible. Even with them on, the vibration rumbled like a tumbledryer in his guts.
A burst of static in his ears meant that the pilot had switched on the intercom.
‘I’m adding an hour to the journey, guys.’ She was a cheerful woman, middle-aged and stocky. You could see that she was descended from people who had made a home in this wilderness. ‘There’s bad weather ahead over the mountains and I intend to go right round it. It’s way too much for this little plane.’ The static went away again, and at the same time the plane began to tilt.
‘OK,’ Beck called, but he hadn’t switched on his own intercom and his voice was lost in the roar of the engine.
The plane turned and brought the mountains into view through the side windows. Beck looked out at them with respect. The thaw only reached part way up them. Maybe it never got higher. The trees grew part way up too, and then stopped abruptly in a ragged line, as if the mountains had shrugged them off as they burst from the ground. After that there was just grey rock clawing at the sky from beneath a thin white sheet of snow and ice.
The storm sat on top of the mountains like a wild creature feasting on the peaks, which were lost in a dark, whirling cloud. It was quite literally a force of nature: Beck could see why the pilot didn’t want to risk her little plane against it. It was like coming across a bear in the wild. You didn’t push your luck – you just took another route. That way everyone lived happily.
More static meant that the pilot was going to speak again.
‘The good news is, the storm’s not coming towards us. It’s heading away but I don’t want to catch it up. We’re going to be a bit delayed doing this detour. I sure hope Anakat’s worth it.’
‘It will be,’ Uncle Al promised. ‘Trust me.’