Chicago, IL: 7 p.m. CST

 

     “This is crazy,” Del whispered.

     Josh nodded but didn’t speak. He didn’t want Sam or his goons to overhear. It was crazy. Del was right, but Sam had made their participation mandatory, and since they owed him, they agreed to risk their necks on this fool’s quest.

     Sam wasn’t home when the quakes hit. Lucky for him, since his house suffered a severe collapse. But he was furious when he realized he’d be risking his neck to go in and retrieve the contents of a safe from his bedroom closet up on the third floor of the row house. Sam was not sharing whatever was so important, but it was clear that recovering it took precedence over everything.

     The two men Sam dispatched to retrieve the safe yesterday never emerged. Something went awry—perhaps a shift, a collapse; the details remained vague. Sam told them a confusing convoluted tale of an immense crash, followed by a billowing cloud of dust, and the entire right side of the structure sinking another foot closer to the ground. It was evident that those two were unlikely to return. This setback left Sam, a wealthy, spoiled man-child with ambitions of becoming a gangster loan shark, with no choice but to pivot to Plan B.

     The jerk figured two seasoned builders like him and Del could navigate their way through the wreckage. If the house continued to crumble around them during the process, well, he’d hire some demolition experts for Plan C. It would be too bad for Josh and Del, just like the last two. Once more, he cursed that stupid loan.

     When they initially secured the loan, it felt like a stroke of luck. Banks were hesitant to extend $300,000 to two young entrepreneurs embarking on their own construction venture. With that capital, they had been able to renovate an upscale condo in the affluent upper north side, aiming to sell it for three times their investment. It would have enhanced their credibility, and the publicity would have been invaluable. They had been a few weeks away from completing the project when the earthquake struck, reducing the building and all their hard work to rubble in a mere thirty minutes. It was a fricking mess.

     The only good news was that Sam had agreed to give them a year to pay the loan off if they pulled that safe out. That would provide time for the insurance process to go through its procedures, and they at least had a chance to recoup. Or maybe they could sell the land and get Sam’s money back to him. Either way, Sam wasn’t taking no for an answer, so Josh wanted to get through this as fast as possible and get out of there.

     Dressed in his usual extravagant attire, complete with an expensive suit and a black Chicago Blackhawks cap tightly pulled over his curls, Sam stalked behind them, his two henchmen in dark clothing flanking him while a dog trailed behind the whole group. Crossing the city square, Josh and Del cautiously slipped through the shadows cast by the rubble, well aware of the risk of looters in the city. They didn’t need any confrontations. Overhead, dense clouds loomed, and sporadic raindrops peppered the fractured pavement. Despite the impending storm, Sam remained undeterred, focusing on one thing.

     Dust still hung in clouds, prompting them to wear masks like bandits. Maybe some rain would wash the air clean. Josh hoped so. The day’s declining temperatures and the approaching thunderstorm had plunged the evening into the chilly forties. As another gust swept past them, they braced themselves against the brisk wind.

     The square gradually grew darker as the cloud cover thickened. Josh shivered and pulled his jacket closed. The dog, a big yellow labrador, pulled ahead, pacing next to him. He wondered what the dog’s owner owed Sam that he’d be willing to risk its life.

     “George, heel,” Sam hissed at the dog. George looked back at the man as if trying to decide whether to listen to him, then backed up and sat down. They all stopped.

    Straight ahead, a line of row houses stood just off the street, with only a narrow porch, a tiny yard, and a double sidewalk dividing them from the wreckage of smashed vehicles. Berkeley Avenue, a short street adorned with three-story Victorian row homes, had exuded an air of elegance and prosperity, boasting views of the lake. After the quake, a line of collapsed structures sprawled over the yards, with what was left of Sam’s townhome right in the middle.

     “Well, at least it didn’t pancake.” Del’s observation did little to improve the facts.

     “Sam, look,” Josh was shocked at how bad the damage actually was. “The internal load-bearing beams have all failed. That building is just one big gust of wind off Michigan away from total collapse. It would be insane to try and enter, even if we can find a way in.”

     Sam handed him a crowbar in response. “You owe me. I want my safe. Take the dog with you; I got him from some guy who also owes me. He’s a trained scent dog who can help you find it.”

     “George can sniff out a metal safe?” Josh looked at George doubtfully. The dog chuffed in return, almost like he was laughing at Josh.

     “He can scent out what’s in the safe. Quit arguing and go. Use the dog or don’t.”

     One of the henchmen moved closer.

     Josh got the message.

     “Come on, George,” he said with a sigh.

 

     Lightning lit the street as they crossed. A towering mound of debris, twelve feet high, loomed over them. Broken masonry and bricks littered the area, forming uneven piles on top of concrete slabs.

     Josh took a deep breath and then started the climb. He tried to watch where he put his feet, but the rubble shifted underfoot several times, causing him to freeze. Behind him, Del halted as well, and George sniffed anxiously, trying to find better footing. With a soft whimper, the dog scrambled upward until he reached the summit, where he settled on a slanted piece of broken roof.

     Josh joined him a minute later, followed by Del. They found themselves standing on an immense heap of twisted and crushed wreckage, leaning against the remnants of a masonry wall. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and another flash of lightning illuminated the desolate street below. Buffeted by a stinging wind, they struggled to keep their eyes clear of the swirling dust and debris. A broken window frame looked like a potential entrance, likely used by the previous team.

     Cautiously, Josh maneuvered through the broken window frame, mindful of the shards of glass still clinging to its edges. He illuminated the interior with a sweep of his flashlight as a low rumble stirred up the settling dust. Uncertain whether it was an aftershock or their own movements causing the uneasy shifting of the house, he paused, allowing first the dog, then Del, to follow. Del carried a rope over his shoulder, clutching a crowbar and tool bag. As they squeezed into the cramped space, a powdery substance trickled from the cracked panels of plaster and lath that remained of the ceiling. The room was creepy in the flashlight’s glare.

     The beam illuminated a display cabinet on the opposite side of the room. Split down the middle, its shattered contents littered the floor. Sofas were buried beneath beams and panels, strewn across the rugs, while smashed chairs lay scattered nearby. Above them, the ceiling sagged and cracked, spilling the contents of the second floor onto the first.

     As they peered into the next room, they realized it was the dining room. A lengthy table lay in two pieces, bisected by a sizable joist, while the matching dinner chairs were reduced to splinters. Proceeding slowly, they could see that the destruction grew worse the deeper they pushed through the house. Navigating through the dining room would be challenging, as a significant portion of a bedroom encroached upon the space.

     “We won’t have to climb far to find Sam’s bedroom,” Del craned his neck, trying to see around the wreckage. “I think we only have two floors left at most.”

     “Great,” Josh muttered.

     Sam had handed them a map outlining the third floor’s layout and indicated the safe’s location in the master closet. However, it was evident that the third floor no longer existed. Instead, what remained of it now occupied the space where the second floor once stood, and the second floor had collapsed down with them. The debris above them teetered, seemingly awaiting a reason to fall.

     “Let’s check down here first. Maybe we will get lucky, and it already fell through.” Hopefully, Del hefted the crowbar.

     They scaled the wreckage, watching their footing. George maneuvered through tight spaces or leaped over obstacles wherever he could. His once glossy coat soon dulled with dust, and he panted heavily in the dense air. Josh grew concerned about the quality of air the dog was inhaling. His own mask was already caked with dust, irritating his nose. But there were no alternatives; they had to press onward to escape.

     Josh warily stepped onto a wooden beam protruding from a jumbled heap, testing its stability with a slight bounce. The wood emitted a groan as it shifted slightly, and he retracted his foot hastily. Trying another beam, he found a more secure base and crawled over it.

     Wreckage obstructed his path at every turn. He had to stop frequently to clear away pieces of broken furniture, a multitude of books strewn from a toppled bookshelf, and bent curtain rods entangled in their dust-covered fabric. The floor was littered with shattered glass from the picture frames, broken vases, and pottery shards, with each step threatening a broken ankle. Thunder rumbled once more, its resonance heavier this time.

     They bypassed the staircase, its ornate wooden structure tilted at a 45 ° angle, its treads cracked and unusable. Instead of ascending three stories as it should, the stairwell now led only to a black open sky and twisted beams above the first floor. As the threatened rain finally began to fall, heavy drops pounded down the shaft, collecting in pools on the slanted floor. A fleeting sense of satisfaction washed over Josh at the thought of Sam standing out in the cold downpour.

     The ceiling over the kitchen had collapsed, dropping a bedroom into the kitchen space. A tall highboy dresser and double bed tilted precariously against the back wall. Broken pipes dripped, the water seeping around a refrigerator lying on its side. An overpowering smell emanated from a fractured sewage pipe somewhere. No sign of Sam’s men. Maybe they escaped another way and ran off?

 

     Del’s flashlight caught water dripping from a crack in the ceiling. Spilled detritus and broken plaster cluttered the floor, soaking up the stink. They splashed through the room. Though he guessed the odor would linger, Josh was grateful for his boots.

     “We’re going to have to go up to the next level,” Del said finally. Josh knew he was right, but he hated the thought.

     “Okay. How are we going to do that.”

     I think we’ll have to go up one of these walls.” They didn’t need to discuss who’d go first. Del was the rock climber in their family. Josh was barely a novice. Del unslung the rope, and they both used their flashlights to probe what was left of the ceiling, looking for the least dangerous way up.

 

     The clouds chose that minute to unleash, and rain came down like a waterfall. George growled as the wind slammed into the building, causing the walls to shudder and creak. Del threw the rope end, snagging something heavy and wooden. He looped it and pulled hard, testing its resilience. It didn’t budge. Del winked at Josh and George, but they both saw the sweat on his brow. He started up the cracked masonry wall, feet scrabbling for a moment, then finding traction and beginning to work his way up, utilizing the notches to hold his weight.

​

***

​

     Sam paced in the rain. He ignored the lightning and thunder even though his men sought shelter under the remnants of an overhang, attempting to stay dry. His urgency to retrieve that safe tonight was intense. Catching glimpses of light as the two men moved through the building, he willed them to hurry.

     He needed that safe. Or, more precisely, he needed the data storage device that it contained. It’d be great to also have the few hundred thousand dollars and the drugs that were in there, but it was imperative to get his hands on that data storage device. The safe was strong; he knew the storage device would not be damaged.

     The device was encrypted by one of the best data jockeys in Chicago, so there wasn’t any risk of someone finding and accessing the data. But he needed it himself! Every account number, loan, and aspect of his operation resided in that box, including his recent acquisition— some compromising blackmail photos he was pretty sure would fetch millions. If he didn’t get it back, his operation would be set back years.

     Those two joes were expendable. He’d chalk it up to the cost of doing business if one or both of them perished in this job, as long as he got the safe. His wet jacket billowed in the wind, and a sharp, cold sensation flicked against his cheek. He pulled his cap down further. Damn storm. He wished those two would hurry up.

​

***

​

     The beam of Del’s flashlight illuminated a pair of legs protruding from beneath a slab of reinforced concrete. Startled, he jerked back, nearly losing his balance before the rope caught him. With a scramble, he hoisted himself over the edge, leaning against a sturdy beam, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Refusing to glance back at the legs, he steeled himself for what lay ahead.

     “Throw down the rope. I’ll use my jacket around the dog, and you can pull him up.” Del grimaced at Josh’s suggestion, but even his brief look around was enough to convince him they needed the labrador if there was any hope of finding the safe in all of the wreckage.

     Minutes later, the three of them perched on what was left of the flooring, looking around. Nobody mentioned the legs, and even George shied away from them.

     “Okay, George. It’s up to you.” The dusty mutt tipped his head sideways and whoofed at Josh.

     Del and Josh exchanged a look of exasperation at the dog’s reluctance.

     “Which way?”

     “I don’t know.” Thunder pounded, and the boards shivered beneath them. They winced, and Josh picked the direction with the most secure flooring. “Let’s go this way.”

​

***

​

     Sam squinted, trying to discern the moving lights between the raindrops. It looked like the two numbskulls had finally moved up to the next floor. The rain had eased, so he stepped further into the street, trying to see better.

     “Sir, maybe you should stay back here,” one of his men called out. Sam ignored the suggestion and took another step forward. Suddenly, something crashed into the street to his right. Before he could react, there was another impact in front of him, smashing what remained of an Audi’s broken windshield. Hindered by the rain and wind, his visibility was limited, but multiple blows rained down around him, each exploding with a shatter that echoed like glass.

     “Hail!” one of his men screamed.

     Hail! The house! Could it stand being bombarded by hail? He picked his way closer, willing the hail to miss the house. As lightning flashed, he caught a glimpse of the icy bombs, each the size of softballs, hurtling towards the rubble. Stone, masonry, and wood exploded and shifted under the ruthless assault. Amid the cacophony of ice crashing into the abandoned cars, he heard the dog barking and distant shouts. At that moment, the wind intensified, unleashing massive, drenched gusts that sent the hailstones careening in all directions.

     Sam took a hard blow to his shoulder that spun him around, and another like a fist to his stomach before he finally woke up to the danger he was in. Another glanced off his head, causing him to moan. Hunching, he staggered towards the overhang, where his men were unsuccessfully attempting to avoid the giant ice fragments when the clouds opened up and dropped their main arsenal.

     Sam was pelted with hailstones of all shapes and sizes. He screamed once, cut short as he fell. Both his body and the street were buried in ice boulders in just a few minutes. When it ended, the stones over the gangster winked red in the lightning flashes as Sam’s blood leaked onto the already melting shards.

​

***

​

     It was George who found the accursed safe. Will didn’t know if the dog could really smell anything within the locked safe, but he was relieved when he started barking, leading them to the back end of the house, where they discovered it. They didn’t need the crowbar: the safe had broken out of the wall and was tipped on its side under some plasterboard. Josh kicked the piece aside, and both he and Del positioned themselves to lift it.

     It was heavy and covered in dust. Despite their masks, they both sneezed, and Del groaned.

     “We’re going to have hernias on top of lung disease,” he complained.

     They dragged it as far as they could, the wet floor creaking and groaning as they stepped on stressed joists and navigated gaps. Suddenly, without warning, ice bombs blasted through the stairwell, bombarding what remained of the hallway. Caught off guard, they screamed and recoiled, inadvertently losing their grip on the safe. With a sickening snap, the remaining boards gave way beneath its weight, and it plummeted through to the first level, crashing to a halt by the remnants of the stairwell below.

     Retreating in haste, they scrambled back and took cover behind a concrete slab, partially shielded by a section of wall, finding refuge away from the precarious stairwell. Josh gripped George’s collar tightly, commanding the large labrador to sit and remain still.

     Like artillery fire, hail pounded relentlessly on what remained of the roof, with some larger pieces breaking through, their shards stinging if they came in contact with the skin. Huddled against the shattered masonry, they bent their heads and raised their arms defensively, enduring the onslaught while they waited for the deluge to stop. All around them, gusts screamed, adding to the chaos.

     Five minutes later, the storm tapered off. A few stones clipped the house and rolled off; the wind still gusted heavily, but the ice stopped falling. Josh stood, his muscles trembling. He rubbed George’s wet, dirty coat.

     “Good dog,” he said hoarsely.

     Del pulled himself up and carefully stepped over to the fresh hole in the floor, mindful of the remnants of the ice, to see where the safe had fallen through. It sat flat, dial and hinges down, half buried in debris.

     “Well, at least we don’t have to figure out how to lower the safe to the first floor.”

     “Was that a hailstorm?” Josh picked up a block of ice the size of a softball. “If this is hail, these stones are huge!”

     The wind finally calmed to a whistle through the wrecked hall. Most of the rain had stopped, but everything was soaked. It took them several minutes to get down to the main floor. Josh was gasping by the time they were all down.

     They picked up the safe and struggled back to the living room. The rain stopped while they were pushing the safe, and then George went through what was left of the window. The house groaned as they each climbed through the twisted gap in turn. Something heavy in the back crashed as if to chase them off.

     The sight that met them when they turned around rendered them speechless.

     Stunned, they stood atop the heap, gazing in disbelief at the street blanketed with colossal ice stones. Some were as massive as the wrecked automobiles obstructing the road. Others ranged from the size of basketballs to softballs, but many were shattered remnants, binding the mass together. Not a single thing stirred, yet the landscape shimmered under the flashes of lightning. The entire scene possessed an ethereal glow, extending as far as their eyes could discern.

     “Where’s Sam and his guys?”

     Josh shook his head.  “Maybe they found cover somewhere?”

     They pushed the safe over the edge, figuring the noise it made as it slid down the ice and landed with a clatter would bring Sam out. When neither Sam nor his men appeared, they resigned themselves to getting down alone. It took them time to descend the side of the heap; the rocks were wet and slippery, mixed with ice and slush. They both slipped several times, falling hard against the rock. George struggled too, finally sliding the last few feet with a whimper.

     They stood on the street, wet, cold, and shivering, wondering what to do next. Lightning, more distant now but still strong enough to brighten the road, flashed again.

     That’s when they saw Sam. He lay on his back, mostly covered in ice. His cap was gone, and a huge, black dent disfigured his forehead. Blood and water streaked his face as the ice thawed over him. His expression was twisted in a frozen mask of rage and fear, his eyes staring blankly up at the sky. His hands were gripped in bloody fists, a testament to his last attempts to fight the ice. Ice spears pierced his body, already melting from his body heat.

     “He’s dead,” Josh said in disbelief.

     George whimpered and picked his way around the body, using his nose to nudge parts of the dead man not buried in ice.

     “Where’s his men?” Del asked, turning around in the street, looking for them.

     They both surveyed the area, but their search yielded no sign of anyone. “I guess they left, or they didn’t make it either. This is so screwed up.”

     “What do we do now?” Del bent at the knees, resting on the safe for a minute.

     “I’ll tell you what we’re doing. We’re going to Nebraska. We are going to my dad’s house. I don’t know what’s happening with the sky and the weather, but my dad will know. We’re leaving tonight. We’ll go to our place, grab our stuff, and head out before anything else stops us.”

     “What about the safe? And what about George?”

     They both looked at George, who looked back at them.

     “George, have you ever wanted to live in Nebraska?” Josh asked the labrador.

     George barked. He picked his way back to Josh and rubbed against his legs.

     “I think that’s a yes. We’ll never find his real owner without delving into Sam’s business, and I, for one, do not want to start digging into Sam’s business. And we can’t leave George here in this mess.”

     “What about the safe?”

     “Leave it right here next to Sam. If his men return, they’ll find them together and know we kept up our end of the bargain. If not, well, Sam has his safe. Let’s get out of here.”

     Thunder growled as they hurried away, chasing them through the rubble and ice.

 

Grise Fiord, Ellesmere Island, Artic: 10 a.m. local, 8 a.m. CST

 

     Hanta Aklaq accelerated the old Yamaha

snowmobile, comfortable in the knowledge that the sled would handle the rigors off-trail today. The snow and ice were only two or three feet thick along this shore, but it was enough. With recent storms having caught them off guard, he wanted to get there and back as soon as possible. As if reading his mind, his eight-year-old grandson, Tonraq, squirmed in front of him.

     “How much longer?” the boy yelled over the loud engine.

     “Maybe thirty minutes,” Hanta was gruff. He swung the machine around a fallen tree half buried in ice, speeding up as he straightened out.

     When the report came in yesterday about a dead whale stranded on the beach seventy-five kilometers east of their home in Grise Fiord, Hanta made plans to ride out this morning.

     Bringing Tonraq was not part of the plan, but the boy was waiting for him this morning, dressed and determined not to take no for an answer. His mother wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but she knew Tonraq would be in good hands. So, with his Green Hulk backpack stowed on the back of the machine and a big grin on his round face, the stocky, black-haired boy climbed on.

     Hanta was in his seventy-fifth year. He no longer participated in the hunts for seals, walruses, and caribous. Light fishing was more his speed these days. However, he relished driving through the snow on the mechanical beasts. After using dogsleds for fifty years, the recent introduction of the machines injected renewed vitality into his spirit. He loved to ride, and seized every opportunity to venture into the snowy wilderness.

     If he could find the whale, he’d let the tribe know, and tomorrow, a group of whalers would come back and butcher the carcass into useful pieces. At the very least, they could flense the blubber and process what they had into whale oil.

     He glanced up and noticed clouds rolling in, big heavy bruisers. Frowning, he checked on Tonraq, who was bundled up against the cold. And it was really getting cold. A stiff breeze was coming in off the gray waters of Baffin Bay. Whitecaps formed on the surface, their frothy sprays filling the air and obstructing visibility over the sea.

     “There!” Tonraq shouted, flinging out an arm. Sure enough, a mountain of flesh rose over the shore, and a big, black whale sprawled on the sand about two hundred yards ahead of them. The boy’s sharp eyes had caught sight of their target before Hanta’s own failing vision had picked it out.

     “Good job,” he told Tonraq, gunning the snowmobile. The boy beamed.

     It was a bowhead whale. It lay more on its right side than its stomach, head tilted, and the huge mouth cracked open, revealing its white chin. The bow-shaped skull was enormous; he figured at least seventeen or eighteen feet, comprising easily a third of the whale’s overall size. White streaks adorned its exposed belly and tail, while numerous discolored scars marred its hide. Doing battle with orca, he guessed.

     Fresh rake marks scored through the whale’s glistening skin down its left flank, the exposed blubber glossy in daylight.

     As soon as the snowmachine came to a halt, Tonraq hopped off, impelled by the boundless curiosity and energy of an eight-year-old boy. Hanta shivered as he stood, glancing back out at the bay again. The clouds appeared denser and more threatening than they had just a few minutes before, and the breeze now carried a biting chill, laden with icy needles. Concern nibbled at the back of his neck.

     “It looks like it got into a fight!” exclaimed Tonraq, touching the edge of a huge gash.

     “It probably tangled with a killer whale. Those are teeth marks. Killer whales will get into a pack and can take down a bowhead like this in minutes.” He used the GPS on his sat phone to set the coordinates and then texted the information back to the community whalers. They needed to get started back to town.

 

     An odd crackling noise drew Hanta’s attention back to the bay. He retrieved a small pair of binoculars from his coat pocket, fumbling for a minute to adjust and focus around the goggles. The wind intensified, whipping fiercely around them. If he wasn’t wearing the goggles, his eyes would be tearing up in no time. He struggled to understand what he was seeing, to make sense of the scene before him.

     Far out in the bay, the gray water had turned white and still. It looked like a layer of steam was swirling above it. As he watched in astonishment, that layer slid toward him, and as it crossed the heavy combers, the water underneath stilled and crystallized into ice sculptures. Waves and foam were caught in motion, frozen in place with the spray dropping as brittle, luminous shards onto the hard surface. It was a breathtaking sight, resembling a piece of otherworldly art, with frozen whitecaps swirling eternally in time. Hanta had never seen anything like this before.

     “I’m cold,” Tonraq announced beside him, tugging on his grandfather’s jacket with a gloved hand. Snapping out of his scan of the bay, Hanta suddenly realized they were in trouble. Whatever that icy fog was, it posed a threat, and they needed to escape from it immediately. Glancing towards the snowmobile, Hanta quickly abandoned the idea of riding. Despite his admiration for the machine, he realized they stood little chance of outrunning whatever force this was.

     That left the whale. With no other viable option, Hanta swiftly retrieved their knapsacks from the snowmobile and urged Tonraq forward. The boy began to speak, but the expression on the old man’s face silenced him. He must have looked alarmed, because Tonraq didn’t argue at all.

     Luckily, the whale’s mouth was already cracked open. Hanta glanced back and saw the vapor nearing the shore.

     “Help me,” he instructed Tonraq urgently.

     Together, they exerted all their strength to peel back the heavy lips. Hanta struggled to push his head and shoulders up into the whale’s mouth, maneuvering past the baleen and further inside. The overwhelming stench of rotted fish threatening to knock him over, but he kept pushing. Finally, he managed to drag one of his arms through, extracting the flashlight from his upper pocket and clicking it on. To his relief, there was just enough room.

     Reaching back, he grabbed Tonraq and started pulling. The boy was young and strong and knew what they were trying to do, even if he didn’t understand what was happening. He struggled and squirmed hard, sliding across and into the whale’s throat. Hanta quickly thrust the flashlight into his small hand, then reached back for their knapsacks, pulling them through.

     Pushing the bags ahead, he scrambled to join the boy deep in the whale’s throat. They slid over the tongue and back, their progress halted only when they reached the meaty mass of the throat. Exhausted, they collapsed, seated on the base of the tongue at the entrance to the whale’s stomach.

     Panting, Hanta pulled out his big ulu knife and started cutting. In just a few minutes, he opened up the throat and pushed back through the meat towards the stomach. His goal was to get them between the heavy blubber sides. Tonraq held the flashlight, the torch shaking from the cold. Finally, he opened a space large enough for them both and pulled the boy and the bags through.

     “It smells awful in here,” Tonraq choked while Hanta dug in his knapsack.

     He pulled out a portable stove, set it up quickly, and lighted the wick. It sputtered, then caught, quickly spreading light and a little heat. He pulled a second stove from Tonraq’s bag, lighting that as well. Hanta grabbed rescue blankets along the bottom and pulled Tonraq close, wrapping them together in the insulated material deep inside the whale.

 

     The boy was shivering and scared. Hanta held him tight and started to talk, hoping to calm the youngster. “My grandfather once told me a story. When he was a young boy, he was stranded on the ice with the carcass of a bowhead whale. Of all the whales that swim in these icy waters, the bowhead is the best adapted to life in the cold. They have the thickest blubber of any whale. Did you know the blubber layer is up to two feet thick in a bowhead whale?”

     Tonraq shook his head and snuggled closer.

     The air grew colder, and Hanta feared he would see ice crystals forming on the tissue along the whale’s ribs. He knew the vapor had reached them and tried to wrap himself and the blankets more tightly around his grandson.

     “One day, you can tell your grandson this story,” he encouraged the boy. “It will be an exciting story. That cold mist coming off the water can’t hurt us if we are protected by two feet of blubber!”

     Tonraq smiled gamely. “Blubber sure stinks.”

     “Yes, we are both going to need a bath and a new set of clothes.” He wanted to keep them both awake, fearing they might never wake again if they fell asleep now. “Let’s practice your counting skills while we wait. Can you recite the multiples?”

      “Sure!” Tonraq launched into the multiplication tables— math was one of his favorite subjects. As cold, creeping death surrounded them, Hanta listened to his grandson’s voice in the dim light and waited.