“What do you do for the Natural Resources Department?” she asked.
“Coastal ecologist for the department’s Forestry Service,” he replied, steering around a logging ship chugging down the center of the channel. “I work mostly with industrial concerns in the northern British Columbia coastal region. I have been fortunate to base out of Kitimat, since the ongoing port expansion provides plenty of activity.” He turned to Summer and smiled. “Tame stuff compared to what you and your brother do for NUMA, I’m sure.”
“Collecting plankton samples along the Inside Passage isn’t too wild and crazy,” she replied.
“I would be interested in seeing your results. We’ve had reports of concentrated marine mortality in a few areas around here, though I’ve never been able to successfully document the occurrences.”
“Be only too happy to work with a fellow disciple of the deep,” she laughed.
The boat snaked through the winding channel at high speed, gliding easily over the calm water. Green fingers of land laden with thick pines jutted into the sound, a series of scenic obstacles. Following their progress on a navigation chart, Summer instructed Trevor to slow as they entered the main cross channel of Hecate Strait. A brief rain shower pelted them for a few minutes, leaving them in a gray gloom. As they approached Gil Island, the rain lifted, increasing visibility to a mile or two. Looking from the radar to the horizon, Summer could see that there were no other vessels around them.
“Here, let me steer,” Summer said, standing and putting a hand on the wheel. Trevor gave her a reluctant look, then stood and stepped aside. Summer angled the boat toward the island, then slowed and swung north.
“We were situated about here when we noticed the Ventura running from the northwest, a mile or so off. She made a lazy turn, gradually coming up on our beam. Would have struck us if we hadn’t jumped off her path.”
Trevor stared out the window, trying to visualize the scene.
“I had just taken a water sample. We saw no one at the helm, and a radio call went unanswered. I brought us alongside, and Dirk was able to jump aboard. That’s when he found your brother,” she said, her voice trailing off.
Trevor nodded, then walked to the stern deck and gazed across the water. A light drizzle began to fall, streaming his face with moisture. Summer left him alone with his thoughts for several minutes, then approached quietly and grabbed his hand.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said softly.
He squeezed her hand but continued staring off in the distance. His eyes suddenly sharpened as he focused on something nearby. A white cloud had materialized on the water a few dozen yards off the bow. The vapor grew rapidly until it encroached upon the boat.
“Awfully white for a fogbank,” Summer said with a curious look. She noted that the air took on a pungent odor as the mist drew closer.
The cloud had billowed to the tip of the bow when the light drizzle overhead suddenly thickened into a downpour. Trevor and Summer ducked into the wheelhouse as a deluge of rainwater pelted the boat. Through the window, they watched the approaching white cloud disappear under the gray canopy of falling water.
“That was odd,” Summer remarked as Trevor fired up the motor. He aimed the boat toward Kitimat, applying a heavy throttle, as he noticed a scattering of dead fish whir by in the water.
“Devil’s Breath,” he said quietly.
“Devil’s what?”
“Devil’s Breath,” he repeated, turning a troubled eye toward Summer. “A local native Haisla was fishing in this area a few weeks ago and washed up dead on one of the islands. The authorities said he drowned, possibly run over by a vessel that didn’t see him in the fog. Maybe he had a heart attack, I don’t really know.” The rain outside had let up, but Trevor kept his eyes on the boat’s path ahead.
“Go on,” Summer prodded after a lengthy pause.
“I never thought much about it. But a few days ago, my brother recovered the man’s skiff while fishing out here and asked me to return it to the family. The man had lived in Kitamaat Village, a Haisla settlement. I had done some water studies for the village, so I was friendly with a number of residents. When I met with the family, the deceased man’s uncle kept crying that Devil’s Breath had killed him.”
“What did he mean?”
“He said that the devil had decided his time had come and cast down a cold white breath of death that killed him and everything around him.”
“The reported fish and marine life kills?”
Trevor turned and gave Summer a half grin. “I’m pretty sure the old guy was drunk when he told me that. The Haisla have no shortage of supernatural deeds in their storytelling.”
“It does sound like an old wives’ tale,” Summer agreed.
But her words didn’t stop a sudden chill from tingling up her spine. The rest of the journey was made in silence, as they both contemplated the strange words of the Haisla native and how it fit with the things they had seen.
THEY WERE WITHIN A few miles of Kitimat when an executive helicopter whisked across their bow low overhead. The chopper angled toward a protruding chunk of land on the north bank, where an industrial facility was nestled in the trees. A wooden pier stretched into the sound, berthing several small boats and a large luxury yacht. On an adjacent grass clearing was pitched a large white party tent.
“Private hunting lodge for the rich and famous?” Summer asked with a tilt of her head.
“Nothing that glamorous. It’s actually a prototype carbon sequestration plant, built by Terra Green Industries. I was involved in some of the site approval and inspection work as it was being built.”