Page 63 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“But I want you to break them.” I cringe. “Sorry. I don’t mean it like that. I want you to be free.”

He smiles. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

“It’s true.”

He gathers me in his arms. I sigh and relax into his embrace.

“You never told us your fantasy.” I gaze at our reflection in the glass with the sun-streaked valley and mountains beyond.

Dawson’s eyes find mine in the reflection. He kisses the top of my head. “This.”

When I WhenI return home, the kitchen is warm, and a note from Grams tacked to the fridge lets me know she’s out walking with Charlie.

She’s picked up our mail. There’s a manilla envelope addressed to me and an Orvis catalogue. I set the catalogue aside and tear open the envelope. A set of shiny photographs slip out, aerial shots of a patch of bald ground dotted with what looks like buildings plus some shapes I can’t identify. The surrounding landscape is a patchwork of greens with dark areas—rocks?—and small silver blobs that look like ponds, or meltwater from snow. In each photo, some of the objects have moved, giving a time-lapse effect. Could these be satellite photos? But of what? And who sent them to me?

The envelope’s return address is a P.O. Box in Anchorage, stamped in black ink. I peek in the envelope again. There’s a note down at the bottom.

Lexie,

Bealer looks awfully busy up there, don’t they?

We’re ready to fight. Are you?

Kalle Jensen

Volunteer Coordinator, Fish2Forever

I look at the pictures again. Wait a sec.

If these pictures are from Kalle, am I looking at the Soren Creek headwaters? I’ve only flown over it once, years ago, with Granddad when he began his work preserving the watershed. Back then, there was nothing up there but tundra, rock, and snow.

Edging the bottom of the pictures in faded gray ink are the latitude and longitude coordinates. I stuff everything back in the envelope and hurry down the path to the lodge.

Our manager, Annie, is working at one of the computers, her headset on. She gives me a questioning look when I slip inside the office, panting from my sprint, but I hold up a finger and mouthone minute?

With a nod, she re-engages with the customer while typing in details of what’s probably a new reservation.

I don’t have the coordinates of Soren Lake’s headwaters memorized, so it takes me more than a minute to track them down. Thankfully, Annie is too consumed with her conversation to notice that my minute has expired.

When I type in the lat-long coordinates, Google Earth zooms down too fast for me to keep track of the location, but I’m reassured because I’m staring at a barren section of tundra. Could Kalle’s images be of somewhere else? Maybe there’s a mix-up.

I click out once, twice, expanding the view.

My fingers freeze when a gray rectangle appears, and the edge of a linear patch of bare earth.

No.

I zoom out again and rotate so the rest of the image comes into view, my throat tightening.

A gasp tears up my raw throat and I start coughing. My eyes start watering as I fight for air. Annie drops her headset and races over.

“Lexie, what’s wrong?” She snatches up a nearby water bottle and forces it into my hands.

I risk a small sip. The water is lukewarm and tastes like plastic. To keep from spewing all over the computer, I race to the window and press my face to the screen, drawing fresh air into my lungs. My throat stops spasming. I grip the windowsill as the world comes back into focus.

“Lex,” Annie says, her hands on her hips.

I close my eyes, but the image of the mining camp flashes in my vision. Where before was pristine tundra is a section of cleared earth housing two buildings, a drill rig, and an airstrip.

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