Chapter 1

Sept 27

Movies get the sound of a human head all wrong, at least if you are hitting it with an oar.

It was not a dull thud so much as a stunning thock that you felt as much as heard. Not exactly the life lesson Quinn had hoped to learn on this trip to the ass end of nowhere.

Those oars now chewed at her hands with each stroke, driving splinters in so deep she imagined them piercing bone. Her body was completely drained. She had lost any form when putting the blades in the water and half the time they were slapping across the surface uselessly.

 Surely she should see land by now, one of the other islands at least even if it was the wrong one. The putrid grey sky made it hard to tell time, but she had counted two days since she lost track of her route, when Mike went overboard with the only compass. She really should have grabbed it from his vest before shoving him over the side.

Quinn expected the wave of guilt to wash over her again, she had left the man for dead but she couldn't muster anything past the pain in her hands, her stomach, and behind her eyes. Her tongue over cracked lips reminded her she had run out of water yesterday, or maybe it was the day before? All the shows had castaways capturing rainwater, they didn't tell you what to do when the rain was laden with ash. It coated her skin, pulling it tight whenever it had a chance to dry.

She was never doing a mud mask again. She wasn't even sure she would ever use the massive bathtub that had been a major selling point on the condo she had yet to see in person. She giggled, unable to keep the sound in. Thinking about a bathtub in a condo she hadn't even fully moved into before this trip, and would likely never see. She laughed harder, pulling the oars in so she didn't accidentally drop them in the ocean.

She had done that once already, and recovering them when she knew what lay waiting under the waves had left her dry heaving from the adrenaline dump. She had thrown up the last of the cookies, literal cookies, once the stray tool was back in the boat. At least cookies tasted about the same in either direction?

The coverage of cloud and ash kept her from seeing any stars at night. This far north the sun barely set, but when it did, the darkness was suffocating. She knew she didn't have much time until sunset left her with only the sounds of an unsettled ocean and the smell of her own fear. There was no point in rowing at night since she could easily go in circles, doing nothing but tiring herself out even more. She had one protein gummy pack left and the last of the Chips Ahoy cookies. Fucking. Cookies.

Pulling the oars all the way into the boat, she tucked them on either side of the hull under the bench. Looking at her hands, she saw her blisters had ruptured, blistered again, and now her hands looked like poorly cut sushi. She slid her butt off the bench, moving on elbows and knees crablike to where the two backpacks sat tucked under the bar at the bow. A little creative maneuvering and she had her pack open, the backpacker's first aid kit out and in her lap. She glanced at the second pack, Mike's, trying to remember if he had a better kit.

It seemed like too much effort to flip her body around again to get it. Instead she took the last of the gauze from her kit to carefully wrap her hands. She didn't bother trying to disinfect them, what was the point? She almost stopped wrapping her hands altogether because what was the point of doing that either, she was just going to wreck her hands again in the morning. The sticky burning of her palms radiated up her arms until she felt it behind her eyes, the headache making it hard to see.

Pushing her pack behind her, she grabbed the rumpled silver emergency blanket that was her only shelter from the world and lay down. The mylar material was painfully loud as she pulled it up over her head, rolling on her side to draw her knees up towards her chest. She missed her favorite blanket, lost somewhere in the Cove or at the bottom of the sea. Funny how in these moments, instead of thinking of home, or Izzy, or her family, she was thinking about bathtubs and blankets. Stifling another fit of giggles, she shut her eyes drawing in long slow breaths hoping for the escape of sleep. Just a little bit of sleep and she could keep going in the morning.

The slapping suction sound of something against the hull woke her, they were here. They were coming over the hull-- soon she would feel them on her. Then she would feel nothing even as they feasted before she drew her last breath. She would be awake, knowing what they were doing, unable to stop it.

"Hellooooooo! Quinn! Quinn Carrick?"

Great, now she was hallucinating that they could talk and they knew her name. She lay there, curled in the fetal position, waiting to feel the slimy touch that would end in her being left as an empty husk. She started to shake with giggles again; to go on a journey to find herself, only to end up quite literally empty. She wished she believed in an afterlife.

The mylar was pulled from her face, her hands going up defensively against the bright light that stabbed her eyes. The smell of fish and fuel was the last thing she took in before the world snapped to black as her body was lifted from the small battered row boat.

Chapter 2

Dutch Harbor was named so because Russian explorers believed a Dutch ship was the first European vessel to anchor in the harbor. It is a part of the larger Unalaska Bay. Shows like the Deadliest Catch call the port their home, as the site brings in the majority of king and snow crab caught in the United States. They also have a lot of dumpster diving assholes known as the bald eagle.

Sept 14

Fish. The whole world smelled of sun-warmed freshly gutted fish. Quinn tucked a dark auburn curl into her grey fisherman beanie, regretting the spinach and Dungeness omelet she had for breakfast at the "best little dinner in town." Not the coffee, there was nothing in the world that could make her regret the four cups of black coffee she had chased the egg and crustacean with.

Hoisting the larger of her two duffle bags higher on her shoulder, she took a deep breath and held it, making her way down the longest of the docks in the fishing port of Dutch Harbor, heading for the small seaplane at the very end. The weight of the bags had her waddling under two weeks' worth of supplies. She kept a wary eye on the bald eagles sitting on just about every available surface, knowing that the All-American National Bird was a dumpster-diving asshole who would snatch at anything resembling food.

Making it past the feathered menaces and the fishing vessels that were offloading catch, she took in the seaplane waiting at the end of the dock. It had been a long time since she had been on a plane that small, but it was the only way to get to Whale Cove. The last stop on her journey around the world waited. Moving quickly to get away from the gutting stations she realized just how much she had let herself get out of shape during the pandemic.

Before she had settled into New York and weddings, two duffles and her backpack with all its camera gear would have been no big deal. Now? She could feel the sweat dripping down her back into her underwear and the precursors to the pain she'd be feeling tomorrow. Luckily, because she was wearing layers, she wouldn't be pitting out her flannel under her coat by the time she reached the little green prop plane. Not that she had anyone to impress.

Mentally shaking herself, she remembered that this trip was about reminding herself that she was impressive. She was supposed to be trying to get back into the game not just for her work but emotionally.

Perfectly boring. Perfectly average. Perfectly drowning. She had put her life on hold to be the one with stable work while Grant got to keep going around the work doing the photography work that had brought them together in the first place. When after 5 years they were engaged, he was talking about wanting children, and her friends were settling down, it had been the thing to do-- buy a condo and put down roots.

After a year of the high-paid wedding photographer to the ultra-wealthy life, just married, and suffocating in a small trendy condo in Manhattan, she was so filled with resentment and loathing her therapist had told her there were no more meds to fix her situation. She had to do something herself.

Fuck Grant. Sure she couldn't prove he was cheating on her with the writer he had supposedly reconnected with on one of his National Geographic trips, but it wouldn't have shocked her. Really, it would have just made leaving him easier, not on her but on everyone in her life who couldn't understand why she would leave something so perfect.

Luckily the apartment had been in her name. She had always been the money maker in their relationship, so after kicking him out she sold the Manhattan flat to buy a place in Seattle she hadn't even seen yet and spent the year traveling the world. It was just what she had done when she left her fresh out of college job in tech. Said fuck it, sold everything packed up and gone around the world. On a much smaller budget, with just the refurbished camera her Dad had given her when she graduated high school.

She had hoped that these travels would help her forget a guy she hadn't really been in love with for some time but had felt comfortable settling with. It was a great ass mind you, but no set of man cheeks was worth the way he had changed once they became a couple. She had changed too and she hated who she had become, so compliant and resentful.

Paying him a lump sum to just go away had been worth it. He had continued to text and try to FaceTime her during the trip, convinced that she was just having a midlife crisis and would come to her senses. Then again, he had also thought that he could get in any room he wanted as a professional now without her connections. That wasn't going well for him.

Quinn had ditched her old phone during her trip and had a new one with a new number in her backpack. A few select pre-Grant friends and her Dad were the ones who had the number. Other than her Instagram and blog to post her photos while she traveled she didn't check any of her socials other than a once a week scan.

Squinting her green-grey eyes behind her aviators, she looked over the man leaning against the moored plane, talking to a couple decked out in some of the most expensive just stepped out of a magazine outdoor gear Quinn had ever seen. She couldn't guess the age of the couple as they had their backs to her, but she could tell the woman had perfectly blond hair curling from under her bright pink winter hat, and the man had silver fox hair.

They also had at least six large bags between them, as well as backpacks. Frowning slightly, she remembered the note from the camp saying that there was a maximum of two bags and a pack per person. That pile of bags had to be over the weight limit for a plane that small, especially when you considered needing to fit people onboard.

Her heart sank as she drew closer and heard the silver haired man explaining to the pilot that since the flight wasn't full, there was no reason they couldn't load all of their bags. The pilot smiled politely, then really smiled as he noticed her approaching behind the couple.

"Welp, here is the other passenger I was talking about," he said in a deep voice, tipping his chin in Quinn's direction. "And she has her allotted baggage. So we will be able to bring some of yours over now, but the rest will have to wait for when the boat comes out."

The couple turned and looked at Quinn. She couldn't entirely see their expressions because of the sunglasses but she could see the immediate displeasure on the man's face and the once-over the woman gave her. She also noted that the woman was likely 20 years younger than the man. To each their own. She had flawless skin and an appearance that only money could maintain. Quinn wondered idly if she could get some tips on maintaining such a perfect manicure while at the far edges of the earth. 

The man was silver-haired sure, but his face was chiseled without many signs of aging, and the kind of handsome that turned heads and ruled board rooms. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking back at the pilot having already dismissed Quinn's presence entirely.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," Quinn said, mentally smacking herself for the apology habit she was trying to break.

"You are right on time! You must be Quinn" the man said side-stepping the couple to grab the larger duffel from her hands. "I'm Jake."

Jake was the perfect Alaska man that you'd put on the cover of a romance novel. A close-cut brown beard, shaggy brown hair, a red flannel, and beige cargo pants with a utility knife at the belt. Well-worn hiking boots rounded out the outfit, but his hand when it brushed hers was not as callused as she would expect from a mountain man. In fact looking at it, she could see it was as well manicured as it was soft. Relinquishing her bag she grinned back.

"That's me, hi!" She directed the greeting to the other two passengers as well as Jake with her smile never wavering. Her mother would be so proud.

"Hi, I'm Sarah," said the blond in a sweet slightly southern accent, she stepped towards Quinn offering her hand. "This is my husband, Mike, we are heading out to meet with some of our friends and I am just so excited I have never been to Alaska before isn't it just a dream?"

"It's one of my favorite places," Quinn told her as she handed her second duffle to Jake before grabbing Sarah's hand. "Though this will be my first time to Whales Cove."

"I can take your pack too," Jake said reaching for her backpack but Quinn shook her head.

"I'd like to keep it with me if that's okay." She gave him a wry smile. "Photographers paranoia about her equipment."

He chuckled and moved to the pile of bags by Mike. As they entered into conversation Sarah took Quinn's arm and said in a faux whisper "Let's leave them to wrangle the details and get settled. Have you ever flown in a seaplane? I have but only once when we were on a trip to St Lucia it was incredible and Mike said..."

Quinn had long ago learned to tune out the chatter of overly friendly women, especially as a wedding photographer. Her face maintained a polite smile as the small talk ran past her like rain on a windshield. She wasn't trying to be rude it was just that being social and small talk had always rubbed against her brain like a cheese grater.

Moving towards the open side door of the plane, she let Sarah climb in first. Preparing to climb into the very back of the passenger seats to stay out of the way, she froze when Jake called out to her "Go ahead and grab the front seat by me if you want to get some good shots on the way."

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Jake's grin and Mike's look of annoyance changing into a glower. Jake noticed the glower too and told Mike in a jovial tone "It's not often I get to fly a prize-winning wildlife photographer with me ya know."

Quinn felt her cheeks heat. She hadn't expected anyone to know who she was; her awards were not something most people recognized her for, even though it was the photography that she loved the most. It as rare enough someone recognized her for her wartime photography even though she had been in almost every national newspaper and on the cover of countless magazines, and won a Pulitzer. Most people just knew her as the photographer for this starlet's wedding photos or that rockstar's engagement shoot.

War, as much as the pressure from Grant, was what had driven her to photographing weddings. She had never planned to work in a war zone, but when Russia had invaded yet another country, she felt like she had to do something. She had been sent into the field by a major new network, when they thought that having journalist on your vest would mean something. It hadn't meant shit, as the scars on her legs showed. She should have stuck to her happy place, wildlife. Truth be told photographing lions eating a zebra wasn't all that different from trying to shoot weddings.

"Damn, I thought out here no one would know that... but that would be great thanks." She chuckled and hopped in the front passenger seat, tucking her bag at her feet. She closed the door, only hearing the beginning of Mike telling Jake how he had planned to sit in the front seat of the small plane because he was "a bit of a photographer himself."

She felt the plane shift as the two men loaded the rest of the bags-- apparently Jake had decided it wasn't worth arguing about the overage. As the plane wasn't full, only three passengers instead of the six it could take, she wasn't too concerned about the decision. The welcome email said the flight would last just a little over three hours. The Aleutian chain was remote and the best way to get to the cove was by plane. Otherwise, the boat trip could take more than a day if the weather wasn't cooperative. Since this was her last stop on the trip, she decided to splurge and take the flight.

The splurge included staying for almost two weeks at the glamp site. She could tell from the correspondence with Lacy, one of the owners, that this was not something a woman traveling on her own usually did. She was kind of used to doing things that a single woman didn't usually do on her own.

According to Grant, that was part of the problem, how often she went off on her own for projects and didn't take him along. Sam, her best friend, had always told her that Grant planned to make his career by piggybacking off of Quinn's own-- being the videographer to her photographer. Once Grant had gotten what he wanted, landing two major documentaries, he wanted her to stay home. At least Sam wasn't one to rub Quinn's face in her mistakes, she was the kind of best friend who just raised one elegant eyebrow over her latte. She had done just that when Quinn had seen her in Rome at the beginning of the trip.

Quinn took the headset Jake handed her, adjusting it carefully to sit snugly over her ears. Pulling the microphone down, she leaned back in her seat, clicking the 5-point harness in place. The harness surprised her, most seaplanes she had been in made do with the standard over-the-lap belt.

For a moment she had a vision of Jake pulling a barrel roll in the plane as the side door opened throwing the two in the back into the sea with their baggage. Man, intrusive thoughts were entertaining. She pictured Mike clinging to the pontoon shouting about how he knew how to fly planes better than Jake as he was "something of a pilot himself."

The props roared to life as Jake started the plane and slowly pulled it away from the dock. The water was smooth as glass in the early morning sun. The heat from the light was forming a slight marine layer over the top of the frigid water giving the harbor a spooky feel as the plane picked up speed. Quinn leaned back in her seat, leaving her camera nestled in the bag at her feet as she looked at the mountains surrounding Dutch Harbor. A large white ship with the distinct red and blue U.S. Coast Guard stripe up the bow took up one of the piers, with fishing vessels and crabbers taking up the smaller docks.

Using her phone she snapped a quick picture of the docks, then leaned back in her seat as she felt the sea plane lift from the water. She would wait until they leveled off a bit before pulling out her camera, there was plenty of time.

 Chapter 3

The Aleutian Islands form a remote, windswept chain stretching over 1,200 miles from Alaska toward Russia, dividing the Bering Sea from the Pacific Ocean. A part of the Pacific Ring of Fire, they are home to over 40 active volcanoes--more than any other U.S. region. These islands are rugged, often fog-bound, and prone to earthquakes and eruptions that can disrupt air traffic and marine routes.

Sept 14

The mountains around Dutch Harbor are a collection of rugged peaks that emerge dramatically from the sea, the very definition of majestic. The view just kissed by the rising sun didn't disappoint. Covered in a crust of snow year-round hardy grasses and wildflowers cling to the lower hillsides, creating vibrant splashes of color against the rocky ice kissed backdrop.     

Spotting the herd of the wild horses that ran the area, Quinn grabbed her camera, swept it up quickly, and snapped a few shots of the shaggy ponies. She had read about them on pretty much every website on Dutch Harbor, some people loving them others calling them chubby menaces.

"Let me know if you'd like me to get closer to anything," Jake's voice came through the headset like a radio announcer. "That's one of the bigger herds in the area, the stallion who runs with them is mean as shit though."

Quinn found herself laughing, "And how do you know that? Get to close to one of his mares?"

"Naw, all of Dutch knows, he'll make a run at your truck if you get too close." His voice warmed with humor. "Me, I prefer working with Kyle and his whale watching."

"Kyle is one of Lacy's boys right?"

"Yeah, he is getting his PhD in Marine Biology, we study together at the University of Washington. I'm just a lowly grad student, same field. Come up here for a few months a year to make money, help his folks out, and get some research done."

"So you're a flying academic?" Quinn teased.

"Just like Indiana Jones," He quipped and she found herself greatly liking Jake. Too bad he wouldn't be staying at the cove, but if he worked with Kyle from time to time, maybe he'd be out for a bit during her stay.

"Mr Riker, Mrs Riker, if you look to your left, that is Makushin Volcano. She is about six thousand feet, and last time she was moving and shaking was in 1995, but she just spit a little steam and ash." Jake began to play tour guide as the plane soared past the mountain and its bowl-shaped crater.  "We have had a few small quakes lately which could mean she is waking up, but nothing to be concerned about." 

He banked the plane to give them a better look at the volcano, which was in fact, sending up a small stream of stem into the air.

"There has been a lot of interest in using our volcanoes geothermal energy and recently-- Trantor Hadal has been up poking around to see if she is viable for it. Of course, they are looking for mineral deposits and such too, but I guess that's to be expected."

"Oh I know," Mike's voice interrupted. Quinn fought not to grit her teeth as he continued in the grating tech bro tone that reminded her why she left the industry almost immediately in her 20s. "My company has a contract with them, applying AI and LIDAR technology to do deep probes into the ground to..."

As Mike went into a detailed explanation of the groundbreaking work (Mike laughed here at his own pun) his company was doing with Trantor Hadal, Quinn glanced at Jake. Making eye contact, reached up and turned the volume on her headset all the way down. He winked at her but continued conversing with Mike.

Soon they were outside Dutch Harbor and over open water, Jake kept the plane low enough that she could see the spindrift dancing off the top of the waves. Turning her headset back up she heard Jake explaining:

"...going to keep us low as long as the turbulence let's us give you all a better chance of seeing some of the wildlife. What with it being September whales might be kind of harder to spot as many have already migrated."

Keeping her eyes locked on the water with patience taught from years of sitting in the field waiting for the perfect shot, Quinn waited for the telltale spray of a surfacing whale.

There were, of course, mammal species that spent their entire life in the frigid waters of the Bering Sea, beluga, and a few species of dolphins. Those were some that Quinn hoped to see, but she knew that it would be a long shot as those species tended to stay farther out to sea and the boats the Whale Cove camp had were made for close-to-island excursions or fishing.

Sea lions and seals tended to stay local, so she knew she should see plenty of those this trip. She was trying not to put any pressure on herself to get any marketable photos on this trip, though she had managed to sell a shot from her safari in Kenya. The little boost that she hadn't lost her eye had done wonders to her overall mood.

She was supposed to be relaxing from what her agent called "massive burnout." She had done a decent job so far this trip, mostly because generally when she picked up her camera she just stared at it blankly. The Kenya shot was irresistible though, a small boy playing with a baby elephant at the sanctuary she had visited.  Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and sighed, for everything she had found on this trip, her artistic inspiration was not anywhere to be seen.

Quinn jumped as the plane jolted with its water landing, her eyes snapping open. There was a slight grease smudge from where her forehead had rested against the window as she slept. Embarrassed, she wiped at it with her sleeve. She couldn't believe she had fallen asleep and missed most of the flight what kind of photographer was she anyway? Broken, she heard her mother's voice in her head tell her.

A photographer who had barely slept in the last few weeks while time zone hopping to avoid her feelings, trying to prop up her exhausted system with coffee and adventure. She had spent way too many nights this trip in hotel rooms, dwelling on bad decisions she had made well before Grant, like saying goodbye to her college sweetheart Izzy to chase the dream of being a photographer instead of asking her along. Then when she got a chance with Izzy again at the beginning of the whole thing in London she had, once again fucked it up.

"Welcome to Whales Cove, I will let Lacy give you the Unangax name and the story of her family in these islands...but this island is where her family had lived for millennia before Russian fur traders for lack of a better word-- fucked it all up," Jake said as they motored towards a well-appointed dock with a fishing boat of about 20 feet and a big space clearly for the plane awaited. Two men and a woman stood waving at the plane. As they got closer, Quinn could see that the woman was Lacy. She assumed the men must be her husband, Ken, and one of their sons. 
 
As soon as the doors slid open Quinn smiled at the friendly shouts from the two men as they tied lines to the plane. A blast of crisp air smelling of pine trees and saltwater kissed her face, the props fading to silence. Sure people were talking and making some noise at the various yurts, or from the small group of kayaks further in the cove, but there was this sort of quiet you couldn't get without abandoning society as a whole. No background hum of electricity or cars, no distant horns or whines of planes overhead. Just the water and sky and the feeling that she could breathe for the first time in way too long.

Quinn fell in love on the spot. This place was heaven and maybe 2 weeks wasn't going to be enough. She tucked away her camera and hopped onto the dock. It swayed as both Jake and Mike jumped out at the same time. Sarah followed, her husband completely ignoring her in favor of checking on the bags as they were tossed from the cargo space on the plane to the wood of the dock.

"Hi everyone, I'm Lacy, this is my husband, Ken," Lacy pointed to the man who was half in the plane pulling out bags, "And that's my son, Chris, and somewhere around here is my other son Kyle."

Lacy had one of those faces where she could be anywhere from her late 40s to her early 60s. Judging by a son who looked to be close to Quinn's own age of 41, she guessed Lacy was probably in the 60s range. She was dressed in classic outdoor attire, warm well-worn coat, L.L.Bean fleece-lined jeans carefully cuffed, and sturdy boots. Her black hair was liberally streaked with white and was cut to just above the shoulder and held back from her face by a pair of sunglasses she had pushed up to reveal warm brown eyes that crinkled at the edges with her smile.

Mike moved to grab a couple of the bags from Ken clearly not thrilled that the bags were being tossed to Chris then to the dock, no matter how careful they were being. Sarah practically skipped over to Lacy and embraced her in a hug, leaving the older woman looking mildly startled.

"I am so happy to finally meet you, Lacy!" Sarah gushed. "I have so been looking forward to this trip, you were such a delight in helping me get things sorted."

"That's no problem dear," Lacy said, gently prying herself from Sarah's embrace. "Your friends are already here settling into the cabin next to yours. Let me think, Rebecca and Jeff are in Otter and Connor is here on the rock in Orca. Ken will take you and your husband across the bridge to your cabin."

Quinn wasn't surprised as Sarah had bounced like a toddler in excitement as she turned to look at her husband. It was actually kind of adorable. He just grunted with a nod picking up a third bag, then walked past her following Ken. The last two bags on the dock were left forgotten as Sarah trailed after the two men carrying just a small duffel. Quinn's heart sank for the other woman, she knew that feeling of being ignored all too well.

Chris turned towards Quinn, giving her her first good look at his face, no beard to her surprise, she thought that was a requirement for men in Alaska. Beard or not, did they just have a factory up here printing good-looking mountain men? His eyes were a cutting dark blue, surrounded by lashes that frankly made her hate him a little and probably made more than a few girls swoon when paired with that smile he was giving her.

As he reached for her second duffle bag, she noticed the glint wedding band on his hand and mentally checked herself. She was not here for a fling of any kind, let alone getting tangled up in any way with a married man, no matter how he looked at her. She was off men. The only romance at all she had indulged in this trip was the time with Izzy. A chance to rekindle something that she had panicked her way out of and likely messed up for good. There was no way the beautiful, talented, take no nonsense Izzy would give her a third chance.

"Thanks, I can take those," Quinn told him, reaching for the bags needing just about anything to take her mind off her fuck up. Chris only relinquished one.

"Part of my job is helping you to your cabin," he said with a cheeky grin. "I hear you'll be staying with us for almost 2 weeks. Quinn right? I'm Chris."

"Yep 12 days of quiet, maybe some photography, get a hike or three in." she replied, following him up the ramp to the next platform.

The glamping site was set up in a small cove with the main building and a few yurts on a massive rock in the water. It was connected to the mainland of the island by an arched walking bridge. Looking out from the cove you could just make out the next island over and in the far distance snow covered peaks. There were five yurts tucked up against a steep cliff that stretched up behind them to the main part of the actual island. 

With nine yurts, each holding a maximum of four people, even when packed the site was small enough that Quinn expected it to stay quiet. Since it was towards the end of the season and she was staying until the week before they closed down to winterize the site, she didn't expect the site to be at capacity.

"You should be able to do all that, it's been a slow year. A lot of people cancelling on account of the shakes we have had over the last month," Chris said, continuing quickly, "It's nothing to worry about though, we get them all the time. Really, long as you are okay away from the internet for 2 weeks, you'll be fine."

Quinn laughed and shook her head, almost stumbling over an uneven board. "Get me away from it all for as long as possible."

She of course had a Garmin messenger tucked into her backpack, her parents and friends had given her a stern talking to more than once about her penchant for falling off the face of the earth. With the tiny device she could send a text to the worry warts at home first thing in the morning and just before bed so that they knew she was alive.

Apparently when there was a chance you were at the edge of the earth or, you know, in a dangerous situation with your camera, people wanted you to check in from time. She had promised her parents that she would text every morning with her coffee. Sam and her other friends weren't as neurotic but she would likely ping them once or twice too to spare her the long suffering looks over dinner the next time she saw them.