~~ Kobuk, Alaska, 2075 ~~
The woods were quiet, still except for a gentle breeze from the Northeast that caused the pine trees to rustle and sway slightly. It was getting late in the season, but Kevin knew it would be all right. He'd been laying up meat for several months already. It helped that he'd spent an absurd amount of his accumulated Marine Corps salary on upgrades to the cabin - solar cells to power extensive battery networks that kept key appliances running, a satellite dish that would allow a little communication with the outside world even though it was rarely used, and a piece of equipment he would be using today.
Sighting down the barrel of his rifle with the scope, he brought the unsuspecting deer into his sights. He watched it for several moments, then took a breath and let it halfway out as his finger found the trigger of the rifle. Slowly he squeezed the trigger, the custom mechanism something he'd modified himself. When it hit the required force there was a crack and the deer went down. Smiling to himself, he slowly got down out of his portable tree stand, then dismantled it. Walking away from the deer about thirty more feet, he came across one of the more useful tools that he'd purchased - a solar-powered, battery-operated, semi-tracked wagon. Tucking the tree stand into a slot he'd made on the side just for it, he started the wagon and it followed him with the remote control as he walked out to the deer.
He gutted the deer efficiently, having done so several hundred times in his life, then hefted it into the wagon before slowly walking with the wagon following back toward his cabin. The sun was getting lower in the sky. It was almost nighttime, and it would be getting cold soon. Cold, he chuckled to himself. It was fucking Alaska. It was cold all the time. Cold, barren, and hardly anyone was stupid enough to live here. Perfect for a soldier that didn't have any business being around people anymore.
It was a forty-five-minute walk back to his cabin and it was almost dark by the time he got there, a single, photosensory light beckoning him home. Leading the wagon out behind the cabin to his dead shed, he unhooked the meat hook that was attached to a pulley hanging from an I-beam connecting two poles that had been sunken into cement. He hooked the head of the deer and used the pulley to lift it until it was hanging free. Then, sliding a massive metal bucket underneath the carcass, he moved the wagon out to the back of the house again where he locked it up, closed and locked the dead shed, and went inside. He quickly built a fire in his cast-iron stove and the house warmed up easily. Leftover bear stew was the order of the day and he fixed himself a small pot on the stove.
The cabin wasn't much. A small living area that had a single small couch with one of those pull-out beds and an end table with an LED lamp. That area had a kitchen off of it with a small breakfast table, the two areas sandwiching the cast iron stove. There was a single bedroom with a small bathroom and that was all there was above ground. Only a single other door was in the cabin with a set of stairs leading down. Below was where he kept all of his freezers and storage of supplies. His other useful purchase was a small smelter to make his own ammunition and save some cost that way. He had gunpowder flown in once a year in the summer and scrap lead and he used them to refill his food-generating supplies - bullets.
Two weeks later, his radio beeped, "KL7BQV, Kevin Billings. This is Dead Goose Launch flying H170 Black Drop Mesa. I'll be landing in about thirty minutes with your monthly delivery. Come back." The voice was not the normal grumpy male he expected. Instead, it was a cheerful female.
He walked over, his head cocked to the side slightly and picked up the microphone for his Yaesu HF Civilian radio. "Dead Goose Launch, KL7BQV. I read you five by five. Thirty minutes out. The landing area is clear and winds are currently West at 5 miles. How copy?"
"Loud and clear, Landing area spiffy and the wind is West at 5. See you soon."
That was most definitely not Denny. But, supplies were supplies and so he slid on his overalls and boots and coat and then trudged out back to get the wagon, making sure it was charged up. In addition to its own small solar charging pad, it plugged into the main batteries that drew from the heated cells on the top of the house. With a full battery, he set the remote to follow and he began the walk to the area that he had cleared away for such deliveries. That had not been a fun month. There are not many things Kevin enjoyed less than pulling tree stumps, but he'd gotten it done and filled in with dirt taken from elsewhere. Now he had a decent little, mostly-level spot for a chopper to land in where it didn't have to worry about its rotors hitting vegetation. The only other adornment: a tall pole with an orange wind-sock.
He arrived ten minutes earlier than schedule and sat down on the rim of the wagon to rest. Through his thick beard and black stocking cap, he stared up at the sky. The clouds were thick. It was starting to get colder. Of course, September was like that here. He'd see snow by the first of October again, he was sure of it.
Caitlan eased into the clearing, she circled the spot as she had been directed, then put the helicopter down without a hop. She killed the rotors and hopped out, pulling the back open to climb inside. "My my, cherry pie, cool drink of water such a sweet surprise." She moved behind the crate, dropped her shoulder, and started shoving it forward. It rolled slowly out of the back of the helicopter and then onto the ground, she pushed it further forward. "And final delivery is done, next up, home for brews. Hidey Ho Neighbor!" She greeted enthusiastically when she caught sight of him.
He blinked several times, then got up and walked toward the chopper and the crate. "You're looking a bit strange, Denny. You feeling all right?" he asked in an even voice, neither upset nor 'flirty'.
"Ah well, you know, sometimes you get older, then bam, everything changes, and poof you're a chick." She flashed him a peace sign, "I'm Caitlan. I'll be your delivery pilot for a bit. Dennis the Menace has regretfully retired to the sunny swamps of Florida."
Kevin pondered that for a moment, then grunted, "Bastard." Leading the wagon over to the crate, he bent, flexed, and lifted it smoothly, dropping it into the wagon. "Thank you, Caitlan, the new Denny. I guess I'll see you next month then? You flown one of these in the snow before?" he asked, pointing at the chopper.
"Yes, sir," she said with a snappy salute, "I can fly in wind, rain, sun, and snow." She smiled, then turned to start locking the back of the chopper up once more. "And yeah, you'll be seeing me, every month for at least the next..." she trailed off, "Two years maybe? Dunno yet depends on the old man."
He nodded. "Well then," he paused, "I'm nobody's sir anymore. It's just Kevin now."
"Alright, whatever your pleasure be," she said, then pulled out a tablet from her leg pouch, "Old man said for me to make sure you got everything, so... I'll wait here while you check the goods and can sign off."
He unlatched the crate and peeked in, glancing at the items inside. Everything looked about right, so he relatched it and then took the tablet to sign it. "Thank you, Caitlan," he said, carefully handing the tablet back.
"Happy to serve," she smiled, checking it, then tucking the tablet back in her pouch. "Have a good month." She climbed back into the helicopter as he led the powered wagon away, and waited for him to be well clear before she fired it back up and headed back to town.
Every month, she was right on time, bright, cheerful, and happy. She landed and unloaded, he checked the cargo and hauled it away and she left. Then January came, and he got a call, "KL7BQV, Kevin Billings. I'm coming in a couple of days early. There's a nasty white-out snowstorm kicking up and I'm going to need to drop my load and skedaddle. How copy?"
"KL7BQV, Caitlan I copy. HAM traffic's been talking about the storm for the last couple of days. You all right?"
"Peachy keen with a hankering for some pie," came the quick response, "Oh for fucks sake. Hang on, I'm going to come in hot." She dropped the radio and he heard the sound of clattering and then the howl of the wind. When he looked out the window, he could see the helicopter almost dancing, then it dropped into the cleared space with a thud. "SON OF A MULE-SOAKED CAMEL!"
He got the wagon and raced out there, the wagon struggling to keep up. "CAITLAN!" he called in a low, booming voice as he ran. "Are you all right?!"
She had killed the rotors and hopped out of the helicopter. She turned and slammed her shoulder into the side of the helicopter with a grunt, "Peachy, just fucking peachy." When he got closer he could see where a large branch had slammed through the passenger glass of the helicopter. She had a scratch on one cheek that was oozing blood when he got closer. "Hi, Kevin!"
He sized up the situation, looking her over, then moved quickly to her side, feeling along her limp arm. "This is going to hurt. A lot," he warned.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and nodded, "Do it." He straightened out her arm, before gripping tightly and giving it a quick jerk and slight twist, rolling it back into its socket with a loud pop. "FUCK!" She dropped her head, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, "That stung."
He looked at the chopper. "You aren't going anywhere in that," he said. "I'll get the crate, and we'll go back to my place. We've got maybe...," he trailed off looking up at the sky and squinting, "thirty minutes before this area's a total white-out."
"Sorry," she offered softly. "Didn't mean to crash your bachelor pad." She unlocked the back of the helicopter so they could get the crate. She dropped the rollers so the crate could be slid out, then walked further up to grab a backpack. "Thanks."
"Of course. Sorry about your chopper," he said softly as he picked up the crate and put it on the wagon.
"Shit happens. I'll need to call my Dad so he can get insurance done. I'll probably be able to limp it back down to the station after the storm passes. I've limped worse."
He nodded, taking her bag and putting it in the wagon as well. "Come on. It's about a fifteen-minute walk to the cabin."
"On your six," she responded, moving to follow them, not wanting to take a chance on falling, her shoulder hurt like a bitch but she wasn't going to complain.
With her walking slower, it was just over fifteen minutes. He opened the door for her and set the bag inside, then the crate. "Go on in and make yourself at home. I'm going to put the wagon away and I'll be right behind you."
"Yes, sir," she murmured, easing into the house. She waited a few minutes then dropped to a knee to rest her forehead on the other one to breathe through the pain.
He was back in about five minutes and closed the door. Looking at her and then the couch, he murmured, "You do realize that there's a fully functional couch right there. You don't have to kneel on the floor..."
"Need a minute," she grunted out. "If I sit, I won't be able to get back up. If I can't get up, I can't get shit done."
"What exactly are you planning on getting done?" he asked. "You're not fixing the chopper today. If they're right, you're looking at three days minimum on this storm. You might as well rest. I can take care of things well enough. Been doing it a few years now..."
