Page 56 of Fire Peak

“Let’s go. Quick, quick.”

Charlie played it a few times, listening for nuance and picking up mostly frustration.

Had one of them shot her? Or had “Vasily,” whoever that was?

Turning back to the computer, she did a search on archery and Chechnya. Every spring, the country held a festival that included an archery competition as part of an effort to revive Chechen national culture. If the Chechen couple had shot that arrow, maybe they were on the “Chechen culture” side rather than the Russian side? Did that make a difference? What were they seeking here in the wilds of Alaska? What connection existed between Firelight Ridge and a faraway Russian republic?

Next, she shifted gears to the dead birds. What could cause birds to die in such a dramatic way? The dark-eyed juncos migrated from southern regions into the vast expanse of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park every summer, where they got to spend the long summer days feasting and nesting.

Maybe they’d simply become exhausted by the long journey of migration. That had been known to happen. Perhaps they’d all reached the end of their tether at the same moment. Or maybe they’d been under severe stress from an encounter with a larger predator bird. That was what had happened in most cases where large numbers of birds had suddenly veered toward the ground.

They could have collided with something, although Charlie couldn’t imagine what, since this had happened in the woods, far from any buildings.

She remembered that Nick had also airdropped her the video he’d recorded from the helicopter. Maybe it showed the meadow.

It did not, but it did reveal something else of interest. A ways down the creek from the camper, a tent was set up in a small clearing. A four-wheeler was parked next to it, and a motorized skiff was tied to a tree along the creek’s edge.

Where were they taking that skiff? Where did that creek go? She pulled up a map of the area and studied it. She didn’t know the territory well enough for it to mean much, but it looked like the creek meandered down from Fire Peak and bordered Chilkoot territory. Maybe it was fed by the snowmelt from the upper slopes.

Back to the birds.

Just for fun, she allowed herself to get distracted by the “meaning of birds falling to the ground.” Apparently, that could symbolize grief and hopelessness. Yikes. It could also mean you were in for a time of transformation and change.

Could she choose door number two?

She knew the feeling of grief and hopelessness well. Losing her father to prison and being helpless to do anything about it had seared her soul. But whenever she cried about it, Dad had blabbed on about resilience and challenges only making you stronger. At this point in her life, she was pretty dang strong. She was ready for some change and transformation.

Images from last night flashed through her mind. Those moments with Nick had been…mind-blowing. The way he’d filled her entire being with pleasure, the way he’d released all the tension and stress that had built up inside her, was pure magic. It had left her feeling…weak, in the best possible way. Weak in the sense that she didn’t have to be strong anymore, she could just lie on the bed next to him and drift back to sleep, knowing everything would be okay.

When was the last time she’d felt that way? A long, long time ago, before the police had shown up at their house and handcuffed her father and her entire life had changed.

And then that text from Hobbs had come in, and all that good feeling had evaporated.

She stared at the computer keys. Her fingers itched with the desire to backdoor into Hobbs’ system and do something dramatic. Reroute all their income to Earthjustice or dig up all their dirt and expose them to the media.

She should do it. Forget that twenty-four hour agreement with Nick. This was her problem, not Nick’s. Her battle.

Her hands were on the keys when the sound of April’s voice interrupted her. She jumped and winced, having forgotten that she’d been shot by a damn arrow.

“You’re supposed to be recovering, not working.” April sounded stressed and irritated.

“I can multitask.” Charlie quickly cleared her search history, then turned to face her boss, who held a basket of freshly picked yellow tulips from the garden.

“Multitask. Humph. Is that what you were doing with my four-wheelers out in the forest?”

“We thought there might be a connection to the smoke bomb.”

“And what business is that of yours?”

Charlie got to her feet, exaggerating her limp. “It’s definitely my business because I’m the one who got hit with strike two. It said that on the arrow.”

April swung away to hide her reaction, but Charlie caught it anyway. Shock. Fear.

She grabbed her opportunity. “April, do you know anyone from Chechnya?”

“Chechnya? I don’t think so, but people come here from all over.” Having composed herself, she turned back to face Charlie. “You should really get back to your bed.”

“I will.” But she wasn’t going to leave without asking a couple more questions. “What about someone named Vasily? Does that ring a bell?”

---