Prologue
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment the direction of my life first changed. The displacement of idealism with cynicism doesn’t happen in an instant. It’s more of a slow, steady, insidious assault. First you start worrying about finding the right prom dress instead of helping the hungry and homeless; then you take the job with the Fortune 500 company instead of the nonprofit group because you have eighty thousand dollars in student loans to repay; and from there it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to destroying the ozone layer and supporting fascists.
But I can pinpoint the exact moment when I decided to change it back.
Chapter 1
The wind picked up and the sky turned gray as our skiff approached the small green island partially shrouded in fog. The right side sloped gradually toward the steely chop of Bristol Bay, while the left side ended abruptly in a steep, jagged cliff.
As the distance closed, I caught my first glimpse of wildlife—pink and brown blobs strewn across the beach.
“Should I get my binoculars?” I asked.
“Don’t bother,” Captain Bailey, cloaked from head to toe in orange rubber, shouted over the roar of the boat’s engine. “You’ll have plenty of chances on the island.”
Then the wind shifted, and I was struck by a stench so overpowering—think rotting garbage on a hot summer day—I felt the bile rise in my throat. I swallowed hard and forced it down.
“Oh my God,” I said, trying not to breathe. “What’s that smell?”
Captain Bailey smiled as he watched me coil my scarf around my nose and mouth, allowing the chill wind to whip my hair across my face.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked, my voice muffled by layers of faux cashmere.
He shrugged. “You get used to it.”
I doubted that.
As we closed in on the island I was able to distinguish the edges of the blobs littering the shore. The pointy white tusks provided a sharp contrast to the otherwise shapeless bodies. Packed side by side and on top of one another like a giant can of two-thousand-pound sardines were hundreds and hundreds of walruses.
I stayed quiet, opening my mouth only to breathe, while Captain Bailey maneuvered the skiff inside the rocky cove. I waited until he cut the engine to ask, “Excuse me, but—”
“Shhhh!” Captain Bailey turned and glared at me. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” I whispered.
He nodded toward the walruses as he guided the anchor over the side of the boat, the metal chain silently slipping through his fingers before dropping into the sea. “So we don’t disturb them.”
I turned back to the walruses. They were rolling on top of one another, grunting and bellowing and barking so loud I could’ve screamed at the top of my lungs and they still would’ve drowned me out. But I didn’t argue. I’d arrived in Alaska less than twenty-four hours ago, and I’d already learned it was better just to do what the locals tell you than attempt to get them to explain. We may not be the friendliest people in the lower forty-eight, but they could be downright nasty up here in the forty-ninth state. Yet there was still one question I had to ask.
“Okay, but—”
Captain Bailey glared at me again and brought one orange-gloved finger to his lips.
“Sorry,” I whispered, “but how am I supposed to get to shore?” He’d anchored us at least forty feet from the beach. It’s not like I could swim there in my long wool coat.
“You got boots, don’t you?” he asked, nodding to my luggage stacked end to end along the boat’s perimeter.
I did. Although I can’t say that I understood how my new suede “Alaska Boots” with lace-up calves and fur trim were going to help me get past forty feet of churning water and a bunch of smelly walruses with extremely sharp tusks, but I shoved my feet into them anyway.
Captain Bailey was busy tinkering with his instruments when I spotted the lone figure hurrying down the open metal staircase clinging to the side of the cliff.
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing toward the island.
But Captain Bailey just stared openmouthed at my feet. “What the hell are those supposed to be?”
I followed his gaze downward. “My boots.”
“And how do you expect to get to shore in those things?” he asked, hands on his hips and shaking his head.
I put my hands on my hips too, but my five-four frame wasn’t nearly as intimidating as his six-plus feet of solid muscle, even if I was dressed in all black and he looked like a giant orange popsicle. “What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to ask you for the past ten minutes?”
He mumbled something I couldn’t hear (and probably didn’t want to) as he stomped across the aluminum deck to a small metal box mounted at the other end. “Put these on,” he said as he tossed me a pair of knee-high galoshes.
They were hideous, but at least they were black and matched my outfit. And since they were four sizes too big for me, I had no trouble slipping them on over my own boots with plenty of room to spare.
While Captain Bailey and I had been arguing, the lone figure had cleared the stairs and was now expertly navigating the wet rocks. The woman in the navy rain jacket and matching puckered pants stopped at the end of a group of boulders that jutted out into the water, forming a natural jetty. “You must be Sydney,” she called.
With her legs apart and her hands cinched at her waist, she looked like a female Jack LaLanne about to launch into an energetic set of jumping jacks. “Yes, I’m Sydney Green.”
“Jill Landers,” she replied. “Welcome to Wilde Island.”
