Page 26 of Protecting the Flame

There turned out to be quite a bit. Besides the rifle, two boxes of ammunition, and the BK2, there was a coil of wire, three flashlights, extra batteries, a hand axe, a folding saw, a collapsible fishing rod, a folding shovel, a coil of rope, a small military-grade stove, nesting cookpots, fire sticks, three lighters, three packets of waterproof matches, a packet of jerky, and eight civilian MRE-equivalents (full meals, Emma noted, and not simply entrees, which was good; with the cold, they’d need calories to keep warm). There were also extra packets of tea, instant coffee, sugar, and creamer, as well as an inflatable raft, two sleeping bags (one a double-ton, which made Emma wonder if Burke took trips with lady friends), an extra men’s parka and gloves, snow pants, a pair of men’s snow boots, and another of snowshoes.

“Interesting.” Will inspected a long orange tube topped with a white cap. “Well, I guess if your radio’s busted and you want to get someone’s attention, this would be a way. Or maybe mark out a landing zone at night? He’s got several.”

“I can see that.” Turning over a second, Emma read the label. “But why a marine flare? Why not a regular roadside doohickey?”

“Is that a technical term?” asked Mattie.

“Yeah, right up there with thingamajig. I suppose there’s a distance component. That is, a marine flare is brighter and produces a much larger flame.” Then Will’s face cleared. “Now I remember. It was during a lecture on bear attacks. An instructor said these are pretty handy against grizzlies. It’s the noise and the fire that scares them away, and they’re better than roadside flares because you don’t have to worry about fiddling with a striker. With this baby, you pop the cap and pull the string and you’re got fire. Might come in handy if there are bears up here.” At the expression on Mattie’s face, Will laughed. “Don’t worry. This late in the season, grizzlies already have been denned up for a month.” He paused then added, “Unless it’s been a bad fall.”

Mattie gave him a withering look. “Come on.”

“Scout’s honor. Bears don’t necessarily sleep all winter if they haven’t eaten enough in the fall, or something can cause them to wake up.”

“Yeah.” Emma nodded solemnly. “Like a plane going boom.”

“Especially a plane going boom,” Will seconded.

“Oh, ha-ha. I’m glad you’re having so much fun torturing a kid.” Mattie plucked the flare from Emma’s hands. “Seriously, should we carry one around or something? Just in case?”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t see why not,” said Will. “There are enough for each of us. Might be prudent.”

“Wait,” said Emma. “You were serious about grizzlies waking up?”

“As a heart attack. But the chances are small. It’s more likely we’d need one to signal a rescue team. In a pinch, you could also start a fire.”

“Cool.” Setting her flare to one side, Mattie read the label on a long blue box that also sported a graphic of a boy in a white sailor suit. “What’s pilot bread?”

She knew this one from Thule. “It’s another name for hardtack. They’re really hard, thick crackers without salt. People in Alaska and way up in Canada and Greenland eat it instead of bread because bread’s too expensive to make and pilot bread doesn’t spoil. Most people have it for breakfast along with, you know, jerky or fish.” It also tasted vaguely the way she imagined the paste they’d used in kindergarten might, and the stale ones could break your teeth, but details, details. Pilot bread was fine in a pinch, and if ever she was in one, this was it. Thinking about crunching into a cracker made her mouth water. Wait, she had her sandwiches, her trail mix—she nearly groaned aloud—and her Almond Joy.

“Jerky? For breakfast?” Mattie wrinkled her nose. “What about eggs?”

She forced herself to stop thinking about chocolate-covered coconut and almonds. She wasn’t going to touch that bar until they were rescued. “Chickens don’t do so hot in the cold. Plus, you have to fly eggs in, and that gets expensive. It depends on what you’re used to. I know people who like canned Dinty Moore stew for breakfast.”

“Could you guys please stop talking about food?” Will said. “If you’ll recall, none of us has had anything to eat since this morning.”

“Speaking of which,” Emma said, “we should dig through our packs, pool our resources.” And get some calories in and have something hot to drink and shore up their barricade and maybe start gathering wood for a fire…The list was endless.

“Hey, look.” Setting aside the box of pilot bread, Mattie reached in again, and this time pulled out three rolls of duct tape. “That’s a lot of tape. Can we use it?”

“Apparently.” Emma inspected the packaging. “Says it’s specially formulated for use in snow and ice.” A few pointers burbled up from memory. “I think you can make rope from it and use it for bandages and stuff.”

“Are you kidding? Duct tape’s a godsend. Say,” Will said, trying but failing to lift out what looked like rolls of plastic, “grab that for me, will you? I only have the one hand.”

The plastic was clear, thick, and very heavy, and wrestling one of the four rolls from the locker set her ribs to complaining again. “What is this?” She let it fall with a hefty thunk to the deck.

“Visqueen. It’s polyethylene,” Will said. “This is a total jackpot. Normally, you use this stuff in construction work. You know, drop cloths, vapor barriers…”

“Dexter.”

“Who?” asked Mattie.

“A very good show until the last season when it went completely off the rails,” she said.

“True,” Will agreed. “But beyond walling off blood spatter…”

“Blood?” Mattie asked.

“We’ll explain later.”

---