Flight To Pandemonium Read online

  “Sister!” the Captain interrupted firmly, “with due respect to your convictions, the last time your prayers contributed to the conflagration, however unintentionally. Please, stop. We can’t afford more trouble.”

  She snapped back, “Captain, what possible harm can…” but as she realized the irony of her words she fell silent.

  “Thank you.”

  Pleased with Cap’s request, Mac wondered what more the nun had up her sleeve.

  The Captain’s group began with finding food and water. Judy joined them, the only one from the medical group. A few minutes into the conversation, the Captain asked, “Where’s Ted?”

  “He’s on the head frame,” said Richard. “Soon as Craig left, Ted wanted to be sure he didn’t double back.”

  “Please go ask him to join us.”

  “Nothing wrong with keeping a watch when we’ve been threatened,” said Jack.

  “Can’t you see that will be perceived as groundless mistrust of our companions ?”

  “Better than groundless trust,” replied Jack sharply.

  “Can’t you guys work together?” said Judy. “Give it a break, will ya?”

  Gathered together again, Mac was assigned to look for a nearby source of fresh water, preferably from the little creek just above camp. The Captain suggested that the matter was urgent enough to begin immediately and asked Greg and Jane to help.

  Greg was reluctant, but Jane was enthusiastic about stretching her legs and suggested that Greg make up a water testing kit. Mac learned that Greg was a trained technician and realized the young man could help.

  Mac climbed to the head platform to view their surroundings and noticed water flowing directly from a mine pond nearby. The mine followed a steep quartz cleavage line descending beneath the ridge. Its shaft was full of water so clear that the sun penetrated into its blue depths.

  Thinking their search had ended quickly, Mac was surprised when Greg pointed to a ring of blue-green mineral deposits. He gingerly tasted a sip of the water, spitting immediately. From his kit, he added a few drops of testing solution to the water sample, shook vigorously and held the vial up for Mac and Jane to see. As tiny cobalt blue particles settled, Greg said, “Copper.”

  “Tests can be deceptive,” Mac said. “Can we safely drink the water or not?”

  “Strong solution of copper salts, as I suspected from the taste. Note the mineral deposits, even down that little creek.”

  Mac looked at the descending brook, and sure enough, the creek looked unnatural, lacking any vegetation. “Can we use it for washing dishes?”

  “I doubt it; way too much copper in solution. If we ingested any, everyone would be sick; and if we drank much, we’d be poisoned. For safe water, we should look upstream from the confluence to avoid the copper.”

  Mac was impressed by how quickly Greg transformed from a hip-hop hostile loner to a learned advisor. The three walked half a mile uphill and discovering resources worth remembering - a hillside of bearberries and cranberries, but no flowing spring.

  The wet area surrounding the berries produced a trickle into a test hole, not nearly enough water for so many people. Mac suggested turning around and following the ridge back to the platform looking for hillside springs feeding the creeks.

  “At least we can use the creek water for washing, don’t you think?”

  “So long as we draw the water above that confluence,” replied Greg.

  Following the ridge back, Mac saw something black moving in a thick patch of brush near the creek. He quietly said, “Stop! Don’t move!”

  Greg stopped, but Jane lagging behind listening to her MP3 player, tuned out with ear buds, walked on. Mac grabbed her arm, pulled out an ear bud and whispered, “Bear!”

  She asked loudly, “Where?”

  A bear huffed several warnings as her two cubs scrambled out of brush and scampered away. With her cubs safely behind her, she charged rapidly up the slope, stopping halfway to look at them through the brush.

  Mac whispered, “Let’s try backing away slowly.”

  The Yupiks taught Mac to avoid threats by calmly moving away until a bear calmed and wandered off. This mama followed Abel’s advice… wandering into the bush out of sight. On the other hand, Abel was firm regarding grizzly bears. “The grizz is the most unpredictable and worrisome of bears. Momma can be a terror and will charge anything, even a much bigger male.” This dark coated bear appeared to be a black bear.

  Frightened, Greg and Jane quit the water search. Mac continued looking; water could be anywhere, bears or not. From the mine platform, the panorama gave him a view of thousands of acres. He took a compass reading on several distant targets in the rough. Mac reconsidered bears. Alone, it might be wise to take the pistol along and he asked Jack to borrow it.

  “Naw,” he said. “Not a smart idea. If you have the gun, that leaves everyone else in camp defenseless. Ted’s got a phosphorus flare in the Otter. Bring that.”

  Mac did so, together with a pail. The country below the mine had been well trodden. He followed an overgrown trail from the mine through young spruce which led him to a sizeable spring in a rocky pocket ravine. The water, cold and clear, tasted sweet and sustained tiny fingerling fish within its brook. He dipped a sample for Greg and filled the pail. The disadvantage was the half mile trek downstream from camp.

  Returning, Mac was impressed by the progress. Everyone had joined together to improve living conditions. Within a grove of trees below the airstrip, the two miners were building a double-sided privy with rusted sheet metal and timber salvaged from the mine.

  They had pitched the large tent under a wing of the Otter providing both a rain screen and a weather porch. Beneath the other wing, a table, gasoline stove, and rock enclosed grill were protected from the wind within a tarp lashed from the landing gear.

  Judy and Pappy secured a tarp behind the wing over nine seats removed from the aircraft. Others made wooden benches of old planks creating more seating. Mac joined Ted working inside the cabin to relocate five seats on each side of the aisle so all of the women could fully recline in seat bunks at night.

  The Captain emerged from the cockpit having listened to the radio. “I’ve heard a little world news on the Talkeetna FM station, but mostly local. Talkeetna has its troubles like everywhere else. Rain is predicted day after tomorrow, which may mean snow up here, so we need to be tight as we can by then.

  “Mac, did you find water I hope? A few of us couldn’t wait and drank bad water from that mine.”

  “Yes, good water. We’ll need to haul it uphill with only one pail,” replied Mac.

  “Well, then, we’ll need to organize a bucket gang. Talk to Jack and Tony. See what they have.”

  “Is that where all this gear came from?” asked Mac.

  “We are fortunate to have those two men along. They crammed the hold with their gear. We’d be ill prepared without them. They think ahead far better than the rest of us.”

  By dusk, the camp had water aplenty, a pot simmered with mixed berries, while several slabs of moose flank roasted on the grill. Tlingit hauled a fore quarter from his morning kill to camp. He guided the miners to the remainder of the animal and left them, returning to bow hunting. Mac found a few familiar mushrooms he was certain were safe, but the skill was beyond everyone else; perhaps Tlingit would help.

  Far ranging wood gleaners stacked an impressive pile of firewood under a wing.

  Camp was settled reasonably well for the evening. Everyone seemed heartened with what eighteen people could accomplish working together. Tlingit’s absence was annoying, but Mac assumed he was hunting through last light.

  Dinner waited while the miners hung the remaining flanks of moose from the flywheel out of bear reach. Most had never tasted moose venison before, but ravenously devoured the grilled meat and co
oked berries while sipping a ration of precious hot tea provided by the miners.

  The Captain silently surveyed the group and hoped the success of the day would persuade doubters to remain together. Ted asked, “Captain, I’ve heard you were listening to the radio again this evening. Can you tell us any more news about what’s happening in the world?”

  “Are you sure this is the best time?”

  “What better time than when everyone is here?”

  “Well then, fair warning… the news will put a damper on evening conversation. As difficult as it is for me to believe, the federal government in Washington is failing. The Vice President and most of Congress are dead. The National Guard is severely burdened with duty and death within their ranks. Local government is trying to pick up the burden. Cities are troubled by looting caused by food shortages. People flee quarantines to forage for food, but find vigilante blockades determined to stop them. Put simply, the bat plague and its consequences are spreading. Things are worse everywhere.

  “Even the local FM station said that by tomorrow, they would leave a prerecorded broadcast since everyone at the studio is sick. This is a tragedy beyond comprehension... and we seem to be the lucky ones.”

  Sister Helena said, “Captain…”

  “Privately, Sister, privately,” was his instant reply. She glowered and whispered angrily to her twin sister.

  The Captain said, “There’s another thing I forgot to tell you. The weather report predicts a cold storm coming in day after tomorrow. That leaves just tomorrow to get ourselves situated as best we can. Today’s effort was outstanding, but we’ll need more food and a lot more firewood to last for a couple of days. Maybe catching some fish would be good for our diet. Let’s get organized at breakfast.”

  Judy stood up facing the group. “Captain, this is a good a time to suggest a compromise. While it isn’t entirely unanimous, most of us agree to let the arrangements remain as they are for the time being. We agree that today went very well and I’m suggesting that we shouldn’t upset a good thing especially if weather is brewing. We should devote the day tomorrow to get prepared for weather. If some people want to leave, we can talk about that after breakfast. What do you say to that?”

  “I welcome your compromise, but I’ll say no more for fear of upsetting that decision.”

  Most people relaxed around the warm glow of the campfire casually talking or just gazing at the Milky Way. Their location on the ridge top gave them a grand vista of the sky. Most city dwellers had never seen so many resplendent stars, even in Nome. Pappy demonstrated how to find the constellation Ursa Major, the large dipper, and from there, the North Star.

  Mac joined a line headed for the new privy down the hill. Once inside, he realized that waiting until after dark had been a mistake. A pair of smooth poles had been arranged so that one might straddle them. Understanding the arrangement in the dark took some groping. The nurses insisted the only roll of toilet tissue be preserved. Mac was advised to first use the privy and then wash outside. Not a happy experience… and he understood why those before him had taken so long.

  When Mac neared camp, he noticed several people fleeing the campfire, frightened by something he couldn’t see. He arrived to a spectacle more intimidating than a bear. Standing in the shadows was a thin, knob-kneed, white bearded man in shorts and light coat, wearing a bulging backpack and leaning against an elaborate walking stick.

  14

  Deadhorse Dormitory, Prudhoe Bay, October 1st. The cutting wind ceased, but the dormitory remained frigid. When Lazlo left his cocoon of blankets even for a few minutes, he shivered convulsively. He could keep a 12 oz. bottle of water warm wrapped beside his body, but when the water was consumed, defrosting a new bottle caused him hours of discomfort.

  Among his friends, Lazlo considered himself uncommonly physically motivated. As a healthy man, he had always tackled physical tasks without delay. Consequently, he regarded his present lethargy and indecision as shameful and self-defeating. Sitting inactive for days without exercise ground on his mind and impaired his health. Soon, he would be incapable of performing anything demanding, weakened further from dehydration and living without heat. No one was about; the storm had passed; so taking action should be compelling. Without visible military movements any longer, what better time than now? Indecision plagued him, nevertheless.

  He resolved to leave the following morning. But such arbitrary exposure seemed risky. He must first walk south along the Dalton highway without cover. If military guards stood watch anywhere nearby, a man on foot could easily be detected. And the highway was the only unobstructed way south.

  South of town, the company stored vehicles normally used only during winter operations. Lazlo knew that most winter transports carried emergency rations and fuel. His plan depended on finding a transport and taking the rations for his journey. Either the critical gear was available for the taking or it wasn’t. If it wasn’t, he had no other way of leaving Deadhorse. So when he heard distinct engine noises coming from the northern mists, he rose anxiously, peering from his window.

  Presently, a white company pickup truck emerged from beyond the airfield on the loop road, turned south, and passed through the vacant military checkpoint. Occupants of the truck were invisible behind dark tinted windows. With all four tires chained, deep snow hadn’t impeded the truck as it disappeared from sight. Nothing consequential happened; no one followed or interfered with its passing.

  Lazlo recognized his moment had come. He dressed in arctic weather coveralls, shouldered his backpack, stuffed trail food in his pockets, and gathered his spear. He donned wraparound sunglasses and stepped into a bright overcast day. Walking the half mile quickly warmed him and he felt optimistic entering the company compound.

  Everything looked comfortably familiar so Lazlo searched for his favorite machine. He regarded the Ski Doo Arctic Skandic as the best performing utility snow machine ever built for northern conditions. It was a powerful, sturdy workhorse with the widest drive track available and could carry on unparalleled through deep snow.

  He found his machine attached to a sled of special company design. The flat cargo carrier of the sled unfolded into a two man shelter properly insulated against arctic cold. With such advantage he felt confident he could brave the North Slope and Atigun Pass.

  He opened the cab of every machine parked in the lot and gathered winter food rations along with a tiny tripod camp stove with a cooking pot for melting water. He rounded up spare cans of gasoline, tarps, rope, hand flares for fire starting, a tool kit for the snowmobile, a sharp ice prodding pole, and a snow shovel. As expected, he did not find a firearm or even a flare gun.

  The Arctic Skandic enabled winter starting with a special carburetor heating circuit. He risked the battery to fully employ it and pushed the starter. The machine sputtered to life and soon purred smoothly as he threaded his way through the maze of snow encased equipment, through the gate and onto the Dalton Highway.

  Perfectly suited for the snow covered paved road, the Ski Doo traveled smoothly. Gentle swirling snowdrifts and hoar frost covered tundra wetlands. The highway paralleled the Sag River and meandered through a gentle coastal marshland devoid of trees. The snow streaked Franklin Bluffs provided a guide for an hour after leaving Deadhorse, but the last of the bluffs marked the beginning of the Brooks Range of the North Slope.

  Aided by the electric warmer in his seat, Lazlo comfortably followed the undulating climb into the Brooks Range. Stopping on a low rise, he stood up to make a long sweeping scan across the tundra. He wouldn’t have been able to explain the reason exactly. His careful survey was more than a tourist’s gaze – a new sensation… a primal urge to attend to his surroundings. Lazlo felt insecure alone in the wilderness. This denizen of suburbia was now completely dependent on his own senses and resources. And Seattle was far away, indeed.

  15

 
Sovereign Ridge, October 1st. “Good evening,” said the man nervously, obviously uncomfortable with his silent, apprehensive reception.

  Had Pappy’s plan for escaping the plague just been defeated? Greg asked first, “Where’d you come from, dude. You sick?”

  The Captain stood, looking official in his (almost) clean white uniform. Ignoring Greg, the man addressed him in a crisp British tone. “Suh, my apologies for the fright after dark, and no, I’m perfectly well… but if you desire, I’ll leave straight away.” His flat tone of anxiety as he looked about camp made it obvious he’d rather remain.

  The Captain exchanged a few words with Judy, and then replied, “You’re welcome to stay. Someone, please get the gentleman a plate of food. Have a seat, sir.” Cap gestured to the seat he had just vacated. Addressing everyone, he said, “Look, whether or not he’s sick doesn’t matter. If he was sick, leaving now would already be too late. He doesn’t appear to be sick. So, everyone… please, just relax.”

  “Thank you kindly.” A bewildered frown creased the Englishman’s brow. “Pardon me, please, but how is that? Am I distressing you?”

  “Just momentarily. How long have you been away from a radio?”

  “Nearly a month, and I’ll have you know, it’s been delightful!”

  “I’m forgetting my manners, I’m Captain Tom Churchill and I’ll introduce you around after a bit. But first, tell us how you arrived. You’ll have our undivided attention, believe me.”

  “William Watkins, here. Churchill…British?” His accent and formality left no doubt of his origin.

  “Yes, a couple of generations back, but your food is hot; your story can wait until you’ve enjoyed dinner. Is there any more hot tea?”

  Judy was convinced that their guest was not sick. She told the Captain that the visitor looked healthy, robust and physically fit, ate eagerly, and twenty minutes had elapsed without respiratory coughing. He began his story over a cup of hot sugared tea.