Primal Gambit

Chapter 33: Vikhr Lands

Giant industrial crates were removed from the ship by a large crane that overlooked the teamster's shack and the frigid bay itself. The Scidora rocked gently, cracking the ice that ambushed her hull. The path taken by the captain was clear, as it was the only area in the bay where Vikhr could see the water. Alaska was much colder than the war-torn areas of Siberia that the native had grown accustomed to. After throwing the rucksack over his shoulders, Vikhr crossed his arms and looked back at the entrance to the sea one last time. It would be a long and trying time before he would get to leave the country with the resources he required.

The cascading mountain range loomed behind; a crisp wind cut through the area. Slowly walking up the docks, the Siberian struggled to decipher the muffled voices of deckhands and marina attendants that shouted in tongues to one another. The captain was nowhere to be seen; most of the private contractors stood huddled around their equipment near the shack. A disheveled warehouse sat at the top of the hill, loose scaffolding smacking against the skeletal pylons where they should have been nailed in. The sun cast shadows before the buildings, rich clouds lingering amongst the snowcapped summits. When the same limping privateer noticed the loner ascending the docks, he adjusted his baseball cap and broke off from his group.

"Hey, Victor, right?" He gave a tip of his cap. Vikhr nodded in return.

"Cheers to our safe passage. I'll have a drink later on for ye'." The aged man wheezed mechanically.

"Thanks. But before we part, tell me what happens of this oil." His broken English did little to help his cover.

"These guys are going to spend the morning breaking their backs and loading the oil crates onto the big-rigs. That's what happens 'of this oil'." The privateer motioned to the nearest marina worker.

"Then the haulers drive east until they hit some railroad yard. From there they get loaded onto trains going all over the country – long as they don't use too much of the product in doing so. They stop at some points to dilute the oil with some other shit. If you're looking for a ticket to The Dark City, it's in the empty car on one of those trains." The man shifted his step, growing bored of the conversation.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." Vikhr could see the smirk behind the man's mask, his pronounced cheeks lifting cheerily.

"Enjoy your visit to Talkeetna." The Siberian remembered everything. The man laughed as he continued walking back to his group.

"Always do, but she will more!" He lifted a hand into the air.

The lone wolf stepped up a hill of crunching snow, following the neck of the crane as it swung a crate around to what he expected to be one of the hauling trucks. When he finally crawled over the embankment, the crane swooping overhead – he was met by the sight of a lineup of trucks. It was in one of the crates he would find passage to the east, granted there was enough room.

Down by the trucks, men stood with clipboards and tablets. When the crates were lowered onto the flatbeds the drivers and various employees would unlatch the doors and inspect the cargo. Vikhr snuck down the hill, sliding toward the back of a small building. Picking himself up, the wolf peered around the corner lithely. He waited for the opportune moment to move. A faded blue crate descended from the mechanical beast onto one of the rigs, strapped into place by shuffling drivers. They opened the metal box to view the oil drums and count the haul to ensure it was up to par.

Just then a call rang out across the valley from another driver who needed assistance with buckling the crate down to his truck. The door to the steel box was left ajar, the driver running across the snow to help the man. The time was now. Vikhr skulked from the building to the flatbed, where he quickly surveyed the area to make sure no one was around. Hoisting himself over the drums and into the farthest clutches of the crate, the wolf tried to stay as silent as possible. Shimmying between the oil proved difficult enough for the massive man, whose rucksack kept getting caught between the drums. When he was nestled deep into the crate, he ducked down and removed his equipment. It wasn't going to be a comfortable trip, but it was a small price to pay.

He wished he had taken some consumables with him from the ship. There was deep regret in him for not looting the kitchen of canned goods during the night, as at this point in his journey the hunger was beginning to fester within him. It was a rookie error, but it was one that he would have to live with. Perhaps the drive to the railroad yard would not be too long or taxing on his aching joints and he'd be granted the opportunity to scavenge for food before the train left for the far eastern portion of the States.

He could hear the crunching of snow just behind him as the driver approached the opening of the crate. The light shined through the cargo, bits of which illuminated Vikhr's camouflaged body. Without falter the wolf remained still, listening as the driver spoke to one of the marina employees – jotting notes down onto the clipboard before swinging the door shut and locking it down. What followed was the cracking rustle of a tarp being thrown over the back. His concealment was simple enough, he would simply need to think of a way to exit the crate without being noticed. Luckily for the Siberian, he had time to plan it.

When the flatbed grumbled to life, vibrating violently underneath, the wolf closed his eyes. With no light and no food, Vikhr figured he might as well try and get some rest. As the massive truck pulled into place, double-clutching its way forward into the assembly of ready rigs, the Siberian knew he was in the clear for another day.