Arctic Thunder Read Online Free PDF Page A

plane. The terminal was a single-storey, two-tone brown building, and he wasn’t sure what kind of a tunnel they would use to walk from the plane inside. The airport worker stopped swinging his wands and crossed them above his head. The plane lurched to a stop without a tunnel in sight.
    Mike blinked as the cabin lights flashed on. The sound of metal clacked throughout the plane as people hurriedly undid their seat belts, jumped up, and anxiously pulled carry-on luggage from the overhead bins. Mike watched as his father stepped into the aisle and stretched to full height. Reaching into the overhead bin, he pulled down a duffle bag that Mike had barely noticed when they boarded the flight. Ben zipped open the bag and methodically pulled out three dark blue parkas with fur-trimmed hoods. He unfolded each one and fluffed them into full size and shape. After dropping one into Jeannie’s lap, he passed one over to Mike.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding,” Mike said, snorting. “I don’t need this. It gets real cold in St. Albert in the winter, and I’ve never worn one of these.” Before his father could answer, a clank and hiss pulled Mike’s attention to the front of the plane.
    One of the flight attendants had unlocked the front door and was now swinging it open. A blast of frigid air and fog blew through the opening and filled the front of the cabin. The attendant’s face instantly turned pink, and she threw her hood up to cover her head. A few seconds later the cold hit Mike where he sat by the window. Lowering his gaze, he silently pulled the parka over his jacket and zipped it up.
    Mike followed his parents to the front of the plane and stepped out the door. A gale struck his face and momentarily sucked the breath from his body. He gulped and gasped before he was able to breathe properly again. As he walked down the stairs that extended from the side of the plane, the cold pierced his jeans.
    When he exhaled, each breath hung in the air like a cloud of smoke before it was swirled away by the wind. The cold stung his ears, and he quickly pulled up the parka’s hood and held it against his cheek.
    Walking close behind his parents, Mike quickly hopped up the steps of the terminal and pushed through the doors to the welcoming warmth inside. Flipping down his hood, he put the palms of his hands against his cheeks and felt the cold drawing away from his skin. In the terminal people stood in small groups, smiling and excitedly speaking to loved ones and friends. When Mike gazed at the room full of unfamiliar faces, a surge of homesickness swamped him.
    â€œSergeant Watson!” Mike glanced up and spotted the owner of the voice. A thin, red-haired man in an RCMP parka and dark blue uniform pants with the familiar yellow stripes down the sides approached through the crowd.
    â€œHe means you,” Jeannie whispered in Ben’s ear, lightly tugging at his parka.
    â€œI know he means me,” Ben said, slightly stooping as he waved and held the man’s gaze.
    Jeannie giggled. “I know. It just sounds so nice after all these years.”
    The move to Inuvik had been contingent on a promotion for Ben from corporal to sergeant. Ben had done his time, and it felt good.
    â€œCorporal Thomas Fitzgerald, sir,” the man said, extending a hand.
    Fitzgerald was tall but slightly shorter than Ben and lighter in build. He appeared to be in his early thirties, which would make him a bit younger than Mike’s father. His hair was wiry and cropped so close to his scalp that it almost seemed painted on, like that of a GI Joe Mike had played with when he was younger.
    Ben shook the man’s hand firmly. “Call me Ben.”
    The corporal grinned. “They call me Fitz.”
    Ben turned to his family. “This is my wife, Jeannie, and my son, Mike.”
    Fitz smiled warmly and shook Jeannie’s hand first, then Mike’s. “Nice grip, son.” He turned to Ben.