was now sizzling on a length of willow next to the fire. Steam rose from their wet woolies. Orange firelight flickered off their faces and hands. The dogs had wolfed down the half frozen offal from the caribou gut pile and were now all gathered round, lying on their bellies in the snow, noses toward the warmth.
“He must have been planning to head back tonight,” Birdie said, throwing a granola bar wrapper into the flames. Smudge lifted his head at the movement, hoping for a scrap of food, and then relaxed when he didn’t get one, nestling in beside a very tired but now-dry Smoke. “Probably caught this bull and decided to quarter it and bring it right home, otherwise he’d have set up a better camp.” She shook her head. “This wood’s not gonna last us long. There’s a sleeping bag in the trailer and another tarp. We can make a burrito if we have to, maybe coax the dogs to stay next to us for warmth.”
“We could,” Cutter said. “How far is the cabin?”
“Maybe a mile,” Birdie said, nodding in thought. “It would be warmer in there than a sleeping bag burrito in the snow.”
“No doubt,” Cutter said. “But Donna mentioned there was someone else with her husband. They’re not likely to move out without a fight. If we’d met them half an hour ago, I’m not sure I would have been capable of holding a gun, much less pulling the trigger.”
Birdie used her knife to cut off a piece of very rare but hot caribou loin from the willow skewer. She ate a bite and offered the rest to Cutter. His eyes fluttered involuntarily as he chewed the savory meat. She gave him an approving nod.
“Good, huh?”
“I think caribou cooked over two-by-four lumber scraps might be my new favorite food,” Cutter said.
“It is good,” Birdie said, gingerly cutting off a steaming chunk and tossing it to Smudge. She cut another and handed it to Cutter. “But what we need is fat to keep us warm.” Her eyebrows shot up and she smiled. “Wait here,” she said. She took her knife and the headlamp to crouch over the caribou’s head. Smudge followed her. She was less than six feet from where Cutter waited so he could see perfectly when she used her knife to pry out one of the caribou’s eyes, and then, using the blade of her knife as a spoon, dug around in the socket, coming up with a dollop of white flesh almost as large as a golf ball. A further search got her almost as much again in smaller portions from the same side. This she set on a clean spot of snow while she repeated the process with the other socket. A few moments later, she returned with two handfuls of gleaming white fat from behind the caribou’s eyeballs.
Realizing he wasn’t getting any of this prize, the husky resumed his place by the fire, snarling to move one of the other dogs so he was closest to Birdie.
She held one hand toward Cutter while she began to nibble at the contents of the other.
“Eat this,” she said. “It’ll warm you up as good as the fire.”
“And I thought the agutaq was unique,” Cutter said, turning up his nose. “I’m gonna be just fine with the backstrap.”
“No,” Birdie said. “You’re not. Your body needs fat out here in the cold. A lot of fat. Especially after what we just went through—and what we are about to. If we had time I could crack the leg bones and we could dig the marrow out with a stick. It’s good stuff on pilot bread.” She took another bite of the eye fat. “I used to beg for this part when I was a kid. Jolene loves it. Try it. Tastes like—”
“Chicken?” Cutter joked, holding the greasy blob up to his nose. Surprisingly, it had no odor.
“No,” Birdie scoffed. “I was going to say bread dough.”
Intrigued at that, Cutter took a small bite. She was right. The damned stuff did taste like bread dough. It had the same texture too. Cutter swallowed it all like medicine, feeling warmth radiate through his body as the rich fat hit his belly.
Birdie threw the last four pieces of lumber on the fire. Hands and legs open to the flames again, arms resting on her knees, she looked over at him and smiled. Her chin tattoo shimmered in the firelight with a coating of fresh grease.
“I’ve known you for what, eighteen