Page 36 of Smoky Lake

“No, I’m fine. I just…I don’t feel radiant. I feel grungy and sweaty. But I am pretty tough. I’m not even supposed to be walking right now. Did you know there was a sixty percent chance I never would? But here I am.” She mimed a tap dance right there on the side of the road. “Never count out a girl who wants to dance at her junior high prom.”

Interesting incentive, but whatever worked. “How did you injure your leg? Car crash, skiing accident?”

“Neither.” She didn’t say any more. Fair enough. It wasn’t his business in any case. “Listen, I learned something while I was in the restroom at the airport. The pilot who flew Victor from Firelight Ridge is dead.”

He frowned, all other thoughts besides their current situation fleeing his mind. “I don’t like the sound of that. Was he sick from this virus? Do you think the CDC knows?”

“I couldn’t say. The girl who told me said she didn’t know how he died. She was sick too, but her symptoms weren’t what Dr. Christianson described.”

He paused, wondering if they should go back and inform the CDC. “They probably know about that already, right?”

“Probably. They have all those soldiers going around interviewing people, and I’m sure he’d be at the top of the list.”

That made sense. Besides, he wasn’t eager for any more interaction with all those grim-faced military folks. Was that how he came across to the people he dealt with when he was on the job? He probably did.

He glanced over his shoulder at the guard following them to the hotel. Sergeant Thomson had volunteered for that role. Surprising; he would have thought she’d be sick of them by now. But out of all of them, he trusted her the most, since he’d seen her in action at Smoky Lake.

Ani continued. “We should see if we can find out more about the pilot. It’s a small community, the pilots who fly to Firelight Ridge. I’m sure Sam Coburn knows him. I’m going to call Sam as soon as we get some privacy.”

His phone. Gil had practically forgotten about it in the midst of all this drama. He pulled it from his pocket and turned it on. Texts populated his screen, many of them from the head of the Smoky Lake Institute or other research scientists who had already gotten the word about what had happened. His heart sank. What a disaster for the Institute and everyone connected to it.

Lachlan had texted too. His message was short and simple and mind-blowing.

911.

17

Gil had always figured that he and Lachlan were about as different as twins could be. He’d been born first, half an hour before Lachlan. Family legend had it that he’d elbowed Lachlan aside and burst into the world yelling like a banshee, kicking and ready to scrap.

“Your brother had to think about it first,” their mom always said. “But when he finally arrived, his eyes were wide as saucers, as if everything he saw amazed him.”

As far as Gil could remember, he and Lachlan had never fought with each other. There was no point because Lachlan simply wasn’t a fighter. But Gil did plenty of fighting against anyone who wanted to pick on his brother. Lachlan was a dreamy kid who could spend hours on things like watching ants build an anthill during recess. He’d become so focused on it that he wouldn’t hear the bell signaling the start of classes.

All the teachers knew that Gil was his self-appointed minder. Gil was used to checking for Lachlan before every class and dragging him away from whatever beehive or ant colony he’d discovered. If Lachlan minded, he never said so. He trusted Gil completely, and would do anything his barely older brother told him.

Lachlan was just…different. He was a genius, for one thing. Once they’d reached college, Lachlan had whizzed through it in two years, then sailed on to graduate school. At that point, their paths had diverged, because four years of college was more than enough for Gil. He’d spent his time doing sports and learning languages, which were the only areas where he really shined.

But that was enough to catch the attention of military recruiters. He’d considered the Marine Corps simply because he wanted to travel and see the world. The Secret Service had appealed to him for the same reasons. Then he’d learned about the Diplomatic Security Service, and bingo. It played to his strengths and allowed him to travel the world.

He’d been posted to locations from Karachi to Bali, and preferred switching it up as much as they allowed. Meantime, Lachlan had settled in at the University of Minnesota, spending most summers in Firelight Ridge. Once Lachlan had entered the adult world of climate research, Gil’s “bodyguard” services hadn’t been needed as much. One year he’d had to scare off a research assistant who was stealing Lachlan’s data. More recently, he’d suspected that a woman who was flirting with Lachlan was actually working for the Chinese government. He’d hated having to break that news to Lachlan, but, as always, his brother had accepted the warning without resentment.

He and Lachlan never went more than six months without seeing each other, and when they did, it always felt as if they’d never been apart, as if they could just pick up the same conversation they’d been having the last time they saw each other. His brother was the most content and peaceful person Gil knew, happiest when he was absorbed in his work, always kind, always supportive, the water to Gil’s fire, the calm to Gil’s storm, surely several levels of human evolution beyond Gil. He took most things in stride and saw himself as an observer of events rather than a participant.

So for Lachlan to text “911” meant that something very bad had happened.

Why hadn’t he texted more information? Because he couldn’t?

Gil called him right away, swearing when he reached Lachlan’s voice mail.

“Are you okay?” Ani asked, touching his arm.

“My brother sent me a nine-one-one text. I don’t know what it means, except that something’s wrong.” He couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice.

“Is he in Firelight Ridge?”

“Yeah, he was checking his permafrost readings when I left for Smoky Lake. He should be back home by now. But he’s not answering. Service is spotty there.”

They reached the front entrance of the Wagon Wheel Inn, where a cab was just dropping off a family of sunburned tourists.

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