AllFreeNovel
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He’s an average-looking fifty-year-old, a little gruff around the edges with some gray threaded through his chest-length beard. He’s also happily married.
“Don’t let Thea hear you talk like that,” I say.
“No shit. That woman gets fired up over every little thing.”
We share a smile, and that’s the extent of what I know about this man. He knows even less about me. I own a yacht and a plane, and in his world, that makes me rich folks.
He knows I live off-grid, but that could mean Alaska, Canada, anywhere within six hundred miles. More importantly, he thinks I live alone. If he ever learned about my boys, it would raise dangerous questions. I’d have to kill him, and no one wants that.
I give him space as he transfers the crates to the plane, weighing each one to determine the payload. When he’s finished, he gives me the numbers, and I calculate the range. The weight of the freight determines how far I can fly.
With a sigh of relief, I nod. “I’m within range.”
“You sure? It’s what? Three hundred miles northeast to your homestead?”
Not exactly.
I’ve told him the correct direction before, knowing that without the exact coordinates, no one can find it.
Doesn’t matter. Alvis has a shit memory. But his logbooks are accurate as fuck.
“Thereabout.” I run a hand through my hair. “Better hit the head before I leave.”
“The hangar’s open.” He gestures at the building behind him.
I use the toilet and stop at his workbench on the way out. I know where he keeps his logbook. Top drawer on the right. I also know he filled it out before he left to pick me up. Otherwise, he’d forget.
After a few tiny tweaks to his chicken scratch, I change my arrival and departure dates to show I was here a week earlier.
A week before Frankie disappeared.
No longer accurate as fuck.
I stroll back to the plane and say goodbye with a handshake and a promise to return before the first hard snow.
That promise will hold true no matter how reluctant I may be to leave my newest acquisition.
Before I take off, I check the cargo for sound or movement. When she doesn’t stir, I remove the padlock from her crate.
Then I leave society and all its rules behind.
It doesn’t take long into the flight to feel like I’ve entered another realm. Rivers teeming with salmon. Skies dotted with eagles. Woods crawling with black bears.
As I fly beyond the edge of the world, human parasites give way to large, docile creatures. The muskoxen roam wild on the hills, their shaggy fur blowing in the wind like beasts out of the Ice Age, adding to the ethereal beauty.
Otherworldly.
Sublime isolation.
My own private biosphere awash in endless sunrises and sunsets.
Frankie will hate it.
I did.
Once, long ago, I despised the Arctic with every breath in my body.
But it didn’t kill me.
It claimed me.
It’ll claim Frankie, too, one way or another.
7
Frankie
—
I wake inside a vibrating coffin.
Thin slashes of light cut between the slats of the wooden walls. A strange, heavy fabric weighs me down. Or maybe it’s the foggy effect of being tranquilized again.
After feeling around, I realize I’m wearing my extreme weather coat. I kick my legs, surprised to feel my boots, too.
A chill whispers across my cheeks.
Where am I?
What is that thunderous sound? My bones shake with it. Must be an engine. But it’s too loud to be the yacht.
Am I on a plane?
Oh, my God, I’m going to fucking kill him.
Slamming my hands against the lid, I shove. Weird. It’s not nailed down this time. And I’m not restrained?
Holy shit, I’m free!
I scramble out of the crate and land atop another one just like it. At first, I wonder if it holds another woman.
Until the sharp stench of fish wafts from within. I relax—only a little—and look around to find myself in the rear of a goddamn bush plane.
No, no, no.
I crawl over another crate, making my way toward the cockpit, growing disoriented. The world tips, and I press a hand against my pounding head. Okay, that’s the drugs.
Focusing my eyes forward, I confirm what I already know.
I’m not alone.
The pilot doesn’t glance back. He just holds up a headset as if expecting me to emerge at exactly this moment.
I scan the space for a weapon, a shovel, anything I can use to smash in his head.
My attention lands on the window.
As far as the eye can see is nothing but low-growing shrubs and never-ending tundra. There are so few trees that I can only assume we’ve crossed the Arctic Circle.
I’ve never been this far north, but I’ve seen pictures of the barren lands of the North Slope. Not only are there no towns or roads, but I’m soaring God knows how many feet in the air.
I don’t know the first thing about flying an aircraft. If I kill Denver, he’ll crash us into the treeless plains. If I somehow survive the plunge, where will I go? How will I eat?
