CHAPTER TWO
A Hint of Trouble
The big U.S. army transport touched down at the R.C.A.F. military airstrip at Fort St. John, British Columbia, shortly after dawn on December 23. Dr. Steele and his party were groggy after spending a restless night of fitful slumber on the hard, uncomfortable canvas seats that were slung along the walls of the plane’s huge, drafty cabin. But the first bite of the dry-ice bitter air of the Canadian winter snapped them wide-awake and alert.
“Wow!” Jerry exclaimed, bundled up like a bear in his hooded parka. “It must be at least one thousand degrees below zero.”
Dr. Steele smiled. “You think this is cold? Just wait until we get farther up north.”
Lou Mayer, Dr. Steele’s assistant, groaned. “When does the next plane leave for California?” He broke into a fit of uncontrollable shudders. A dark, mild-mannered young man in his late twenties, Lou had been born in Texas and spent half of his life in Southern California. He consequently had little tolerance for the cold.
Sandy grinned superciliously. “You guys should have been smart like me. I wore my long red flannels.”
“That’s a good point,” Dr. Steele said. “In this country, proper clothing is essential to survival. It’s as vital as sufficient food and drink. You must start conditioning yourselves to think about it.”
Abruptly, they all became aware that Jerry was staring with hypnotic fixity toward the edge of the landing field.
“Hey!” Sandy asked. “What gives with you? What are you looking at?”
Jerry’s eyes were glazed. Dumbly he raised one arm and pointed at the mountains of snow banked at the sides of the field. Finally he managed to mumble, “Snow. That’s snow?”