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the-californicationist · 1 month ago

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Ursa Major: Ch. 01

In honor of WIP Wednesday, I thought I’d share Chapter One of my 100k+ word WIP on Tumblr! It’s your responsibility to check AO3 for tags. Thanks for taking a look ✌️🩷

You stood, transfixed, as you saw two bull elk, locked at their antlers, fighting for territory. The wide nares of their snouts were flared and desperate for air, gasping for a breath that they would never take. The taxidermied animals were perched, caught in a perpetual battle above the baggage claim carousel of Whitehorse International Airport. Their big, furry bodies were poorly reflected in the shining aluminum of the bag ramp, scuffed and scratched from years of loose luggage rattling over its gleaming slats. They looked as if they were poised over some frozen lake, their forms distorted in the gray ice, faces blurred so that the battle was even more gruesome than it seemed, every detail between them hidden by the frozen sheets.

You peered down at your phone, checking through your emails once again. Your package of equipment had arrived at your client’s office, and he’d been nice enough to send a confirmation picture. He was standing in front of a mirrored window, and you finally got to put a face to a name.

Mr. John Price, owner of The 141 Logging Company, had great taste in music. His Arctic Monkeys band tee looked well-worn and long-loved, its logo chipping and faded. He was bundled up in his Carhart coat, holding his phone in a gloved hand, and his pants were practically painted with saw dust. You closed the email. You weren’t sure why you kept pulling it up. It wasn’t like his face was going to get any clearer, and you weren’t really sure why you cared.

Okay, let’s be truthful; you knew why you cared. He was absolutely killing your checklist.

Back in the eighth grade, you had lain on your floor with your best friend Martha. Her braided hair with its hot pink bobbles swayed back and forth as she insisted that you make The Checklist. Otherwise, she’d said, how will you know that you’ve found The One? So, with much convincing, you’d finally caved.

He’d definitely have to love animals. You were going to be a vet one day, and that was a non-negotiable. He’d be sort of hairy. Martha had turned her nose up at that, but you’d seen that movie with Hugh Jackman as Wolverine before, and you refused to budge. He’d also love nature. Martha had protested that you double-dipped since you already had animals, but you insisted. You would never live in a city when you were a grown-up. Never.

And he’d need to have kind eyes. What color? Martha asked. But, you shrugged and said it didn’t matter. You knew, though, that in your heart of hearts, that you’d know them when you saw them. They’d be eyes that lit up the room when he smiled. When he wasn’t smiling, they’d be soft and patient. They’d look at you while you spoke, and the edges of them would fold together when he laughed.

You turned back to the elk. Their eyes, distant and unseeing, shone like onyx marbles. The two animals stared at each other as they experienced their terrible, static afterlife, forced to face their mortality every morning when the sun came in through the windows of the small airport. You wondered how their skin had been stretched to fit over their hollow sculptures; you wondered how much of them was real and how much was just an illusion of reality. Perhaps there were more things like these two beasts in the space that surrounded you. Just how much of this world was truly a façade?

He’d left you some voice messages, preferring to send memos instead of typing to text. It was nothing personal, just dates for meetings and practical matters. But, you found yourself replaying them, indulgently, listening to his unique, British vowels rumble around in a deep, dark register, reminding you of your neighbor who used to smoke. It was a raspy sort of tone, full of softness despite the gravelly texture. You listened to him speak his address in your headphones. Then, you played it again. The way he said Alaska Highway was particularly delightful. You tried to stop, a part of you policing yourself, finding it odd that you were enjoying the voice of a strange man. But, what was the harm?

If you listen to the voice of Master Logger John Price, but you don’t tell anyone, will anyone ever know? If a tree grows in a forest, and it dies there, and all of its pieces rot away, and no one was there to see it, was it truly real?

These elk had been real, you were certain of that. Their hooves had crunched through dry grass and fresh snow. Their antlers had shed and grown back again. Perhaps they had even battled when they were alive, their blood pumping through their huge hearts, stirring their muscles and making them whistle their war cries into the frigid mornings.

That was the thing you liked most about working with animals. They made you feel real. In fact, sometimes they made you feel primal, as if you were with them at the start of all of this.

Before the airports and the electricity and the capitalism there had been quiet, uninterrupted mornings where the biggest news was that one elk had bested the other. You would pick winter berries and watch them posture against each other across the frozen field, unhurried in your work, knowing nothing of time or its passing. Nothing had been obscured then; no bodies were posed carefully for your enjoyment. There was only the animal need to eat and mate and sleep. You reminisced about a life you had never lived.

Just when you thought your backpack might never be delivered, and you too would be frozen here for all eternity, just like these elk, the baggage carousel came alive. All the metal clattered together like the opening tuning of an orchestra. The whining and whirring of the machine spinning awake jolted you back to reality where you waited a little impatiently for your colorful Cotopaxi to come tumbling down the slide.

You checked your phone. The inn you had booked belonged to an old friend of yours, and she had promised to send you the address. You sent her a picture of the elk locked in their ritual.

You: made it to the great white north

She took a few minutes to respond. Your bag was still missing from the chute. You shuffled aside and helped an older gentleman with his insanely heavy case. Then, a soft pop notified you of her reply.

Marie: looking forward to having you here!

She tacked on the address, and you pasted it into your map app. The airport, it seemed, was right next to downtown Whitehorse, but you’d need to take a cab all the way around it via the Alaska highway in order to make the loop. Ten minutes. Short and sweet. You hoped the bed would be serviceable.

It wasn’t like you needed to get comfy. You were here to get in and get out. These logging companies never wanted an eco-specialist to stick around for too long. They could only keep up their angelic act for a short period of time before they went back to ravaging the landscape. People like you would just be in the way of their profits. You wondered if Mr. Price was like the rest of them, or if the kindness you thought you saw was genuine.

You were looking forward to seeing Marie, though. She had been Marie LeBeau back in vet school when you enrolled together in the DMV program at Washington State, but she was married now. You hadn’t updated her contact card, yet. It didn’t really matter. You guessed you’d get to meet the husband on this trip. Apparently, it was his inn, and she just helped him run it. As a small animal vet in a tiny little town, you supposed Marie’s spay and neuter jobs weren’t enough to keep food on the table.

A flash of color popped up in the carousel, and your bag emerged. You hoisted it up by the shoulder strap and marched to the car park. Your work boots made sticky little squeaks against the linoleum floor as you made your way outside. It was warm for the Yukon, even for June, and although there was a chill in the wind, the sun beamed down through the 70 degree weather. By all accounts, it was turning out to be a beautiful day.

Hailing a cab wasn’t too hard when they were all parked there, waiting like fish by a dock, knowing they’d be fed. You picked the first one on the line and showed him the address. Of course, in a small town like this, there were only so many places travelers could go, so he wasn’t too surprised.

The drive was short, and you admired the general splendor of the mountains and the quaint little town as you made your way in. Your driver pulled over, grabbed your bag from the trunk, and patiently waited for you to pull out your cash. He left you his card,

“That way you’ll always have a ride, darlin’.”

“Thanks very much,” you smiled, leaving him a tip.

He returned the smile and drove off, back the way he came. You turned around to face the old inn, feeling the afternoon sun kissing your cheeks and the wind rushing to make them pink. The tips of your hair stung them like needles, biting into your flesh relentlessly. You tugged it back with your scrunchie.

The building looked like it used to be a factory of some kind, and its clay bricks told a story of many years worth of wear and tear. The giant buzzing neon sign out front said WHTHRS. All the vowels were out. You wondered about the odds of that before looking up further at a great stallion, bucking in his bright white neon piping, his hair billowing and yet static, captured in an eternal winnie. His rider was struggling to keep his seat, but his hat was held tightly in his hand, blinking sporadically in the dimming sun.

The inn was situated on the corner of 2nd Avenue and Main Street, so there seemed to be plenty to keep you interested, at least for six or seven days. But, you were eager to get to work. Even in a tiny town like Whitehorse, the bustle of cars and people was a little much. You missed the woods, like a feral cat who had allowed herself to be domesticated, and a part of you still longed to be wild.

“There she is!” You heard Marie’s distinct Southern drawl shout from the doorway to the inn.

You smiled, opening your arms wide for a tight hug, burying your face in her long hair,

“Marie! It’s so good to see you.”

It truly was a relief to be with your friend again. You studied her face. She hadn’t changed a bit even though vet school had been nearly a decade in the past. Her dark hair still had that signature white streak in the front. She’d always blamed it on a birthmark, but it wasn’t until you went on a two week trip down to Costa Rica on a field work assignment that you believed her. It was such an elegant shock of white, it looked like she’d dyed it on purpose.

“How was your flight? Here,” she grabbed your bag, “Give me that. Come in, come in! Logan’s at the bar.”

She popped into the inn, and you followed close behind. Once inside, you took in the mesmerizing transformation of the run-down factory. They had done so much work on the inside, it felt like you had been transported to a different building altogether. The high walls stretched up so far that the golden glow from the lanterns and lamplight couldn’t reach the arched ceiling. The metal I-beams that spanned across the large, open space were imposing; it made you imagine how this place had looked when it had been filled with machines.

To the left of the entrance, Logan’s bar was generously stocked with gleaming glass bottles of liquors and wines as varied as you could imagine. The rich amber liquid of a whiskey bottle swirled around like boiling honey as the bartender poured it out into a waiting glass. The bar was wide and inviting, and the bartop itself was made from one long piece of live edge maple, shiny from sealant, showing off a gorgeous grain.

The bartender, who you assumed was Logan, was scruffy to say the least. He had a bit of a mullet, and his sideburns were serious business. But, he was painfully attractive, and his eyes held within them an animal magnetism. His golden irises didn’t even seem real. When he smiled, your subconscious registered how sharp those bright white teeth of his were, but you smiled back, extending your hand.

“Hey, nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” that sharp smile was back, and his voice slid over you like warm honey, “I’ve heard more about you than I’ve ever heard about anyone, so we can skip this part, if you like.” He laughed good-naturedly, and you could see exactly what Marie liked about him.

“I’ve heard so much about you as well.”

“Make yourself at home. Looks like we’ve got you all set up in the loft.”

You peered up the small wooden staircase toward the loft area, shrouded in darkness due to its height, and you noticed two doors. Logan pointed to them and explained,

“We’re on the left, and you’re on the right. Marie will take you up.”

“You live here?” You turned to Marie in surprise, not realizing their inn was also their home.

“Yeah!” Marie shrugged her shoulders, “It’s easy enough. If we really need a break from the crowd, we’ll stay out in the cabin.”

“Mm,” you raised your eyebrows, teasing her, “Romantic.”

She gave Logan a look that stopped your giggling, surprising you with her candidness,

“You have no idea.”

You followed her up the stairs and deposited your bags in your suite. It had a small bathroom and a kitchenette; everything you would need for your stay. It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it would do its duty.

You started to unpack, chatting with Marie and trying to fill in the gaps each other had missed. You’d been on this sort of job three dozen times in the past year, and you were a traveling pro. All your clothes were pretty much the same; wool layers and flannels, waterproof hiking pants and all of your various undergarments. Then, stuffed at the bottom of your pack where he always was: Mr. Claw. Your mom had given him to you, along with some flowers, when you graduated with your DVM, and you didn’t go anywhere without your mini DJUNGELSKOG stuffed bear. You supposed you should feel some sort of shame as an adult woman carrying around an IKEA children’s toy, but you didn’t care. It brought your mom back, just for a moment, and that was all you wanted, sometimes.

After unpacking, you made your way back down to the bar with Marie. You peered over the railing from your high vantage point, admiring the bar’s bustling, homey energy. Then, you spotted him. Your client was talking to Logan. He was much bigger than the barkeep, which you hadn’t really expected from the photo. Aside from his size, he was handsomely made, and just in your taste, too. All of your suspicions about him checking things off of your list were coming true.

He was built with heavy muscles and bone, his posture exuded slick, easy confidence, and his fashion screamed masculinity. His thick, dark hair was cropped short on the sides, and he’d shaved only the chin of his facial hair; it was a unique choice, but it suited him. Even through layers of warm clothes, you could see the outline of mountainous shoulders rolling around in his jacket sleeves. He was also holding a black, full-face helmet by his side, his huge hand tucked into the mask’s hole, clutching it by the plastic jaw. A motorcycle in the Yukon was a brave choice.

Marie’s eyes followed your gaze, and when she realized your fixation, she raised her eyebrows at you,

“Guess you’ll be having fun on this trip, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes were still watching him. He drank. He talked. You studied it all as if it was your new purpose.

“Aren’t you working on an ecological report for 141 Logging?”

“Yeah,” you finally met her eyes, nodding.

She pointed down the stairs from where you stood in the dark rafters,

“That’s the owner; John Price. C’mon, let me introduce you.”

You wanted to tell her that you knew him already, but that wasn’t quite right. One blurry snapshot and a few replayed voice memos wasn’t truly knowing a person. So, you followed Marie down the stairs, trying to fix your face. You coached yourself to be professional, and as he spotted you, you realized just how hard that was going to be. Those bright blue irises of his hunted you like a hawk, tracking you without moving an inch from the bar, pinning you down handsfree. His eyes were alluringly kind but calculating.

“John,” Marie motioned to you, “Meet your new ecologist… and doctor of veterinary medicine… and professional researcher… and –”

“Hey there, Doc,” he interrupted Marie’s generous introduction, “John.”

His voice was even more decadent in person. People usually wielded your title like a weapon, trying to hurt you with it, or sometimes themselves, but not him. He said it with respect and a hint of amusement. His smile was genuine, if not a little aggressively friendly. You tried to ignore the way his hand slid into yours to shake it, engulfing yours with its immense size, as if his palm could swallow it whole. He lingered on you more than normal. It was as if he was testing you, seeing if you would run from him. You held fast, letting the warmth of his fingers melt into yours, comforting you even though it was the hand of a stranger.

“Nice to meet you in the flesh, John. Looking forward to seeing your land.”

“It’s a little late for a tour, I’m afraid. Thought I’d come down to get you around 0400 tomorrow. Take you to the site with plenty of morning to spare. You said you wanted to lay out your cameras? Got that big shipment up at the office with your name on it.”

He finally released your hand, much to your dismay. How was it that you missed a random man’s touch already? You weren’t usually this easy to please, but (you admitted to yourself with a little shame) it had been quite a while since someone had caught your eye. It was always work. That was what you told yourself. The work won’t hurt you. Do it for the animals. People just cause problems. So, you leaned on your old mantra like a crutch,

“Yeah, they should’ve sent you about a dozen trail cams and the wildlife field kits. If it’s okay with you, I’d just like to check the traffic you’ve got in that area. The report that came in said something about a grizzly hybrid? We’re a little too far south for polars.”

He shrugged, being a little more dismissive than you thought he should have been,

“Just some spooked tourists. Sure it was just a normal grizzly.”

His body language shifted from confidence to a reserved protectiveness, and you could almost taste the tension in the air. You eyed him with suspicion now. You knew that a grolar bear would be a problem for him. They were a protected species, and their discovery on his land would shut down his operation in that sector for good.

“Did they get any footage?” You asked, trying to pry a little further.

“No,” he shrugged and turned away from you a bit, going back to his drink and downing it in one go. Clearly, he was done here. You got the sense he was holding back some information from you, but you weren’t concerned. You had a plan.

“Well,” you tread carefully, “Best for you and your bottom dollar if we make damn sure.”

He smiled, but it didn’t spread wide or reach up into his eyes, and that same aggression was back. White, sharp teeth lay all in a row. You’d thought Logan’s grin was wolfish, but John’s was something even more savage.

He was friendly enough, but you needed to remember that he was there to harvest trees and nothing more. These companies were always in it for the profit. Even a logging venture as highly rated on sustainability as his still needed to sell products. You just didn’t want that poor bear to be caught in the crossfire. If he was out there, you’d find him.

“Alright, Doc. See you in the morning, then. Logan,” John reached across the bar to shake Logan’s hand, took one more long look at you, slid on his helmet, and pushed his way through the double doors.

Whatever John Price was hiding, you were looking forward to finding out.

Logan and Marie convinced you to stick around the bar for a couple of drinks, and you watched them dote on each other. There was no mistaking their love. It was as bright as their neon outside, and buzzing with their own unique joy. You weren’t jealous. Jealousy wasn’t the right word. But, just like having curly hair and seeing someone’s bone-straight locks, unstyled and naturally uniform, you knew there were things that other people had that weren’t for you.

You dismissed yourself, slinking up the stairs to lay in their spare bed, and before you slept, you called your mom.

It rang three times, each with its own infinite silence between their chimes, and then, when she picked up the phone, it clattered a bit, getting stuck as she balanced it between her cheek and her shoulder. You had this next part memorized, and your mom's voice came through, loud and clear.

“Hey… uh, hey! It’s Claire. Couldn’t make it to the phone – I know, shocker! Leave me a message. Uh, okay, bye!”

A deafening beep stung your eardrum. You knew it was coming. It always came. But, you sort of liked it now. The pain was familiar, and at least it was something you could feel.

You reached over to the wall, crossing the chilly expanse of your bed, and turned the radiator up a bit. Snuggling down into the sheets, you clutched Mr. Claw to your chest, wishing with all of your heart that he was real and that you could be buried in his fur, warm and very much not alone.

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