“The exhumations are a very dangerous and very grim spectacle. There’s no need to subject yourself to any of that.”
But Nika dug in her heels. “Do we really need to go through this again? As the tribal rep, and a trained anthropologist, I insist on being there.” She held out her palm, flat.
Slater glanced at Lantos and the professor, and they both looked at him as if to say, “Not my call.”
Slater dug into his shirt pocket, removed the packet he was planning to give Groves when he got back from his rounds, and plopped it in Nika’s hand, instead; he’d make up another one later for the sergeant. She smiled in victory and held the little plastic baggie up like a trophy, and the others laughed. Slater had to smile, too; no wonder she’d become mayor.
“Now they might make you drowsy,” he advised, “so take them just before you go to bed.”
“And where would that be?” Dr. Lantos said, glancing around the mess tent, one of the few structures erected that day.
“I’m afraid this will have to double as the barracks for tonight.”
“Then I’ve got dibs on this juicy spot under the table,” she said, tapping her foot on the insulated rubber flooring.
“And I will put my sleeping bag on top of that fat pile of cushions,” Kozak said, gesturing at the stack of mats that would be laid down to make a path to the graveyard the next day.
“Nika,” Slater said, “I was thinking that you could—”
“I already know where I’m sleeping tonight,” she said.
“You do?”
“I do.”
As they trudged across the colony grounds, covered with crates and bundles of supplies unloaded from the Sikorskys, Slater continued to argue with her, but Nika would have none of it. She felt it was her duty to make this gesture of atonement to the spirits who had once inhabited this place. There was no explaining such a “metaphysical” view, however, to a man as empirically oriented as Frank Slater. She recognized that it was his job as an epidemiologist to look at things as squarely and objectively as possible, and to keep all other considerations out of the equation.
It was her job, as she saw it, to remain open and attuned to it all—the seen and the unseen, the facts and the faith. She had grown up among the legends and the folklore of her people. Her first memories were of fantastic natural phenomena—the swirling lights of the aurora borealis, the barking of a chorus of seals draped like mermaids on the ice floes, the sun that set for months at a time. You could not grow up on the coast of Alaska, one shallow breath below the Arctic Circle, and not feel both your remoteness from the rest of the world and your oneness with the vast and timeless elements—the impenetrable mountain ranges, the impassable seas—that surrounded you. Instilled within her was a sense of wonder—wonder at humanity’s place in the great scheme of things—and an innate respect for any people’s attempt to create a belief system able to encompass it all.
When they arrived at the church steps, she expected Slater to stop, like a boy dropping off his date at her home, but he started up the stairs instead.
“Wait,” she said, and he turned to look down at her. One of the two doors had fallen off its hinges and left a narrow opening.
“Don’t go in,” she said.
“Why not? The whole place is tilting already—let’s see if it’s safe.”
“I’ll be careful,” she said. What she didn’t say was that she didn’t want his presence to disturb the vibe inside, whatever it might be—and she knew that if she so much as hinted at that, he’d think she’d completely lost her mind. She was surprised herself at how much she already valued his good opinion of her; it wasn’t something she’d experienced in a long time. The dating pool in Port Orlov was meager, to put it kindly.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, grabbing up her bedroll and backpack and sidling past him.
He looked unpersuaded.
“Here,” she said, taking the bilikin from around her neck and dropping it down over his head. “Now you can keep an eye on things even in the dark of night.”
“You’re going to need it more than I do,” he said, glancing toward the church doors.
“It’s the leader of the hunt who’s supposed to wear it.”
For that split second it took her to put the necklace on him, their faces had been very close, and she had felt his warm breath on her cheek. She had seen the stubble on his chin, and a faint scar along his jawline. Where, she wondered, had he come by that? And why did she have such an urge to run her finger gently along its length?
“See you in the morning,” she said, to break the mood. “Put me down for French toast.”
But he still appeared dubious as she slipped between the doors, then flattened herself for a moment against the back of one, with her eyes closed. It was only when she heard his footsteps descend the stairs outside that she opened them again, to a scene of such desolation that she was sorely temped to change her plans.
Chapter 26