SHE’D HOPED FOR SNOW, BUT NOT LIKE THIS.
The flakes seemed to have merged into a single sheet, billowing around her, getting into her nose and mouth, robbing her of her balance. The wind subsided for a moment, but she could hear it building again in the distance, bearing down on her like a train and nearly sending her careening across the tundra.
Jenna Kalin blamed her nausea on the vertigo caused by the swirling snow, but knew that she was lying to herself. She’d spent years in the Alaska wilderness and had suffered through far worse storms. There had even been a time when she’d enjoyed the majestic fury of them, a reminder that, despite the growing influence of man, some aspects of nature couldn’t be tamed.
She struggled to pull her boot free from the snow that had drifted around it and shone her headlamp behind her, illuminating a kaleidoscope of white flakes before being swallowed by the surrounding blackness. The rope extending from her waist began to sag, and she watched as the outline of her companion gained detail.
He had been confident to the point of dismissive ten hours ago, certain that his natural strength and fanatical commitment would make him more than a match for both her and the Alaska winter. But now his breath was coming out in ragged jets of steam and he was beginning to stumble with almost every step. Normally, she would have offered a few words of encouragement, but Jonas Metzger wasn’t a man who evoked compassion or sympathy. In the time they’d worked together, the warmest feeling she’d ever had for him was vague discomfort.
Jenna had begged to come alone but they wouldn’t let her. Michael Teague made a great show of concern for her safety but, as usual, that concern had an artificial ring. More likely he was worried she’d chicken out.
Jenna began fighting her way forward again before Jonas could reach her, concentrating on the endless darkness beyond her headlamp and trying to forget him. For some reason, the fact that he was there made her feel dirty. Criminal. Which, she supposed, she was.
It took more than an hour to cover the last mile, the tug of the rope at her waist becoming more frequent as her companion found it increasingly difficult to keep up. It wasn’t until the blackness ahead began to turn gray that she realized she was grateful for the delay. Her nausea worsened when a recognizable shape formed in the distance, a giant tombstone defacing what had once been untouched wilderness. A tumor on what was supposed to have been protected forever.
As she got closer, the oil rig came into focus: the towering web of steel girders hung with lights, the swooping cables, the blackened snow piled up as a windbreak. Her queasiness was soon overshadowed by the anger she felt at the sight of the compound and the sounds of drilling carried on the diesel-scented wind.
She dropped her backpack in the snow and detached a smaller pack from it, slipping it over her shoulders as Jonas came even with her.
“Wait here,” she said, turning off her headlamp and then reaching out to do the same to his. It was doubtful that anyone from the rig could see them through the storm, or even that they’d be watching at this hour, but there was no point in taking the risk.
She couldn’t see Jonas’s face, but the thick hood surrounding it moved slowly from side to side.
“I was told to come with you.”
The words were nearly unintelligible, garbled by his thick German accent, the wind, and now the ugly grinding of the rig.
“You have come with me,” Jenna said, taking a hesitant step toward him and leaning close enough that she didn’t have to shout. “This is my responsibility and I need to move faster than you’ll be able to.”
