Northern Lights

Baltimore-Washington, he'd resigned himself that he was heading to the end of his life in any case.
    The department shrink had warned him about making major decisions when he was suffering from depression, but he'd applied for the position as chief of police in Lunacy for no reason other than that the name seemed apt.
    And he'd accepted the position with a who-gives-a-shit shrug.
    Even now, reeling with nausea, shivering with his epiphany, Nate realized it wasn't so much death that worried him, but the method. He just didn't want to end the whole deal by smashing into a mountain in the fucking gloom.
    At least if he'd stayed in Baltimore, had danced more affably with the shrink and his captain, he could've gone down in the line of duty. That wouldn't have been so bad.
    But no, he'd tossed in his badge, hadn't just burned his bridges but had incinerated them. And now he was going to end up a bloody smear somewhere in the Alaska Range.
    "Gonna get a little rough through here," Jerk said with a drawn-out Texas drawl.
    Nate swallowed bile. "And it's been so smooth up to now."
    Jerk grinned, winked. "This ain't nothing. Ought to try it fighting a headwind."
    "No, thanks. How much longer?"
    "Not much."
    The plane bucked and shuddered. Nate gave up and closed his eyes. He prayed he wouldn't add to the indignity of his death by puking on his boots first.
    He was never going up in a plane again. If he lived, he'd drive out of Alaska. Or walk. Or crawl. But he was never going into the air again.
    The plane gave a kind of jerking leap that had Nate's eyes popping open. And he saw through the windscreen the triumphant victory of the sun, a wondrous sort of lessening of gloom that turned the sky pearly so that the world below was defined in long ripples of white and blue, sudden rises, shimmering swarms of icy lakes and what had to be miles of snow-draped trees.
    Just east, the sky was all but blotted out by the mass the locals called Denali, or just The Mountain. Even his sketchy research had told him only Outsiders referred to it as McKinley.
    His only coherent thought as they shuddered along was that nothing real should be that massive. As the sun beamed God fingers through the heavy sky around it, the shadows began to drip and spread, blue over white, and its icy face glinted.
    Something shifted inside him so that, for a moment, he forgot the roiling of his belly, the constant buzzing roar of the engine, even the chill that had hung in the plane like fog.
    "Big bastard, ain't he?"
    "Yeah." Nate let out a breath. "Big bastard."
    They eased west, but he never lost sight of the mountain. He could see now that what he'd taken as an icy road was a winding, frozen river. And near its bank, the spread of man with its houses and buildings and cars and trucks.
    It looked to him like the inside of a snow globe that had yet to be shaken, with everything still and white and waiting.
    Something clunked under the floor. "What was that?"
    "Landing gear. That's Lunacy."
    The plane roared into a descent that had Nate gripping his seat, bracing his feet. "What? We're landing? Where? Where?"
    "On the river. Frozen solid this time of year. No worries."
    "But—"
    "Going in on the skis."
    "Skis?" Nate abruptly remembered he hated winter sports. "Wouldn't skates make more sense?"
    Jerk let out a wild laugh as the plane zeroed in on the ribbon of ice. "Wouldn't that be some shit? Skate plane. Hot damn."
    The plane bumped, skidded, slid along with Nate's belly.Then glided gracefully to a stop. Jerk cut the engines, and in the sudden silence Nate could hear his own heart tattooing in his ears.
    "They can't pay you enough," Nate managed. "They can't possibly pay you enough."
    "Hell." He slapped Nate on the arm. "Ain't about the pay. Welcome to Lunacy, chief."
    "You're damn right."
    He decided against kissing the ground. Not only would he look ridiculous, but he'd probably freeze to it. Instead, he swung his weak legs out into the unspeakable cold and prayed they'd hold him up until he could get somewhere warm, still and sane.
    His main problem was crossing the ice without breaking his leg, or his neck.
    "Don't worry about your stuff, chief," Jerk called out. "I'll haul it for you."
    "Thanks."
    Steadying himself, Nate spotted a figure standing in the snow. It was wrapped in a brown, hooded parka with black fur trim. And smoking in short, impatient puffs. Using it as a guide, Nate picked his way over the ripply ice with as much dignity as he could