Gloria Skurzynski - Mysteries in Our National Parks - Buried Alive - A Mystery in Denali National Park

Ashley grew excited and added, “And the three words start with the same letters.”

“C-I-A!” Jack yelled. “Your dad’s with the CIA.”

Nicky leaped forward, slamming his hand over Jack’s mouth. “Keep it quiet,” he hissed. “Keep it quiet.”

Jack looked out the window of the plane and let the scenery wash thoughts of Nicky out of his mind. Beneath him was the frozen Toklat River, a winding, silver-white braid lacing through mountains that looked like sleeping dragons. Having traced the thin spider vein of the Toklat along his map, he knew it would flow out of the Alaska Range to join the Kantishna River, which would eventually flow into the Tanana River then to the mighty Yukon, which emptied into the Bering Sea. But the scene below couldn’t be translated by the ink scribbles on his map; this park was too immense, too beautiful, too vast. At six million acres, Denali National Park and Preserve covered three times the area of Yellowstone, and here there were no highways threaded with bumper-to-bumper traffic; no miles of walkway crisscrossing the forest like scattered pick-up sticks.

The wilderness beneath him was an untouched pattern of tundra and kettle ponds and spruce forests. His mother had told him that parts of this landscape had never felt the tread of a human foot, and that knowledge made Jack glad. In a way it took the edge off the uneasiness he’d been feeling about Nicky.

Ever since Nicky had pointed his finger to pretend-shoot the snowman, Jack’s distrust of him had grown. Saying that he couldn’t tell Jack and Ashley about his life or they’d be in danger—how phony it all sounded! Of course the version Nicky told did tie in a little bit with what Jack’s parents had said—that up in Alaska they were “thousands of miles away from any kind of danger.” And yet he had to be faking it. Vows of silence? That stuff about the CIA? What was that all about? Jack wished his folks would just tell the whole story straight up so he could figure out what was going on. Instead, he was forced to make sense from whatever scraps of information he could stitch together, a line here and a bit there, like tiny patches on a quilt.

Pressing his forehead against the small window, he felt the plane’s vibration run straight through his skull and into his jaw. In an odd way it felt good because something else was bothering him. He wasn’t quite sure how to put words onto it. Maybe if the throb of the engine filled his head, he wouldn’t have to think.

He watched the mountains unroll below in a rhythm of peaks and valleys, the tops of them treeless and bare, the valleys empty sugar bowls of snow. From his books he knew that the summer would bring wildflower carpets and willow thickets that hid 37 species of mammals. Concentrate on those, he commanded his brain. Instead, his mind kept flashing back to Nicky, and he realized what else was gnawing at him. It was Ashley. When they’d sat at the picnic table, her wide-set eyes had watched Nicky’s every move in a way he’d never seen before. Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way her face lit up when Nicky talked about his life. He especially didn’t like the way she swallowed Nicky’s every word, gulping down his story like a baby bird. Yeah, exactly like a baby bird. In his mind he hatched a picture of her with a beak-mouth opened wide as Nicky fed her one fantasy after another.

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