“Alaska,” I say, wondering how many times I’m going to have to clarify that. In my clan no one questioned our names. The children were all named after Alaskan towns. It bound us to the past. “You are your own little cities of the Promised Land,” my father used to say. “The hope for the future of the earth.” My chest constricts as I remember this—just one brick in the wall of lies they built to keep us from discovering the real world. I still don’t understand, I think, and exhale deeply before noticing that Tallie is watching me with a concerned look on her face.
“Are you tired? Hungry?”
“Both,” I respond.
“Let me see what I can get together,” she says, and heads toward a door on the river side of the house. As she opens it, I hear flowing water. I turn and lean over the couch to see that the room over the river is the kitchen, with a sink and counters, cupboards, and a wall full of knives and utensils. Tallie opens a trapdoor in the floor and winds a crank beside it, pulling up a metal cage filled with food.
She turns her head to me, and with a quirky smile says, “Best refrigerator a girl could ask for.”
My mouth drops open. “That is ingenious!” I say.
“Why, thank you very much,” she says, flipping her hair back over her shoulder as she leans in to pick some things out of the cage. “You’re not vegan, are you? Vegetarian?” she calls.
“No,” I yell back. Vegetarian? I think, smiling to myself. If only she could see me skinning and gutting a caribou.
After a few minutes Tallie returns with a tray. “How about a couple of cheeses, some homemade bread, and cured ham?” she asks.
My mouth is watering, but I just stare at it and search her face once more.
She puts the tray down with an amused expression and pops a piece of cheese in her mouth. “See? Not poisoned. Not even spoiled.”
I relax. “Sorry. I’m not in the most trusting mood lately. Honestly, this looks like the best meal in the world.” I spread some butter on the bread, lay a piece of ham on it, and raise it to my mouth, but then freeze at the sound of a knock on the front window. “Oh no!” I whisper, dropping my food in panic. But Tallie is up in a second and walking toward the sound.
“Don’t worry, Juneau. It’s just a raven. It’s probably hungry.”
“Don’t let him in!” I yell, and rise to my feet before crumpling back down to the couch, gasping with pain and holding my ankle. But it’s too late. She opens the window to place a piece of bread on the sill, and he squeezes past her and into the house.
“Well, aren’t you cheeky?” she says, putting her hands on her hips.
“Tallie, you have to get him out of here,” I urge. “He has some kind of location device hooked to his leg.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” she says, and putting both hands out, traps Poe on the ground and rolls him over. “There’s nothing on his legs.”
The flashing red light is gone. I breathe a sigh of relief, but my stomach still churns with anxiety. “Come here, Poe,” I say. Tallie releases him, and he hops over to me.
“So you know this bird, like, personally?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
I pick Poe up and comb through his feathers, but there is nothing attached to him: no note, no tiny machine. Someone must have removed the bracelet. But why?
“He’s going to have to stay in here. We can’t let him go now that he’s seen where we are,” I say, pulling him onto my stomach. I pet him like a cat, and he nestles his head against my arm.
Tallie stares at me with knitted brow, finger posed pensively on her lips. “People often call me strange. But your bird paranoia problem”—she gestures with her chin toward Poe—“takes the cake.”
“It’s not—” I begin.
“Shh,” she urges, shaking her head. She closes the window, flicks the lock closed, and lowers the wicks of the oil lamps, dimming the room’s light to a warm flickering glow that reminds me of nighttime in my yurt. “You eat. As for me, I’m usually in bed by now, but I’ll wait until you’re done.” She walks over to the bedroom corner and pulls some clothes out of a dresser drawer. “I never have guests, so I have no use for walls. Which means if you’re overly modest, you might want to turn around, ’cause I’m about to get naked.”
I focus on eating, giving her privacy, and in a few minutes she walks back wearing flannel pajamas. She catches me smiling and says, “Like I said. No guests. I wear what I like.”
I swallow my bread and nod toward a rifle resting in a rack over the door. “Is that for hunting?”