Project Hannibal by Kathryn Hoff (books suggested by elon musk .txt) 📕

“The cold in winter . . .”

“It can’t be worse than New Orleans in summer. Please, Aunt Estelle. I just have one year of high school left. All I need is a place to sleep and to be left alone.”

Before Estelle could think of further objections, her satellite phone rang—Alaska Eagle Med’s dispatch line. Merde.

“Estelle, are you still in Wrangell-St. Elias? We just got a call from the park rangers about a visitor with chest pain. I know you’re still on leave, but since you’re right there . . .”

Estelle sighed. “It’s all right, Robin. I’ll take the call.” The ranger station was literally within sight in this tiny outpost. “I’ll call back in fifteen.”

CHAPTER 4

Always on call

Sera—wide-eyed with excitement—ran to fetch Estelle’s medical bag from their room while Estelle hustled to the historic school that housed the park’s visitor center.

The park ranger who met Estelle at the door looked hardly older than Sera. “You’re the doctor? I’m so glad you happened to be on site.”

Estelle fished her Alaska Eagle ID from her pocket. “Is that the patient?” Next to a display of guidebooks and maps, a senior citizen sat on a folding chair massaging his left shoulder. Although the afternoon was comfortably cool, his pale face was damp with sweat. A woman in a pink cardigan hovered at the man’s side, her pinched expression more exasperated than worried.

The ranger nodded. “He started the tour, but he and his wife had to come back.”

Estelle pasted on her professional smile to kneel beside the man. “Sir? I’m Dr. Dupris with Alaska Eagle Medical.”

“Oh?” He peered at the badge, checking to see that her face matched the photo. Maybe her jeans and hiking boots didn’t fit his image of a doctor—not to mention the brown skin.

“Please excuse the attire. Are you dizzy? Any chest pain?”

Sera slipped in the door and handed over Estelle’s bag, a many-pocketed first responder kit in bright red canvas with the Alaska Eagle Med logo emblazoned on the side.

The badge and the med bag seemed to reassure the woman in pink. “He was a little winded. I told him to come back and sit down. It’s the altitude, isn’t it?”

“I’m feeling better now,” the man said, trying for a smile. “Felt a little nauseous and my shoulder started to hurt. Probably strained it, carrying the luggage.”

Pulse weak and rapid. A glance at the ankles below his cargo shorts confirmed swelling. Estelle slung on her stethoscope to listen to the man’s heart. “Are you under a doctor’s care? Taking any medication?”

“Not me. I’m healthy as a horse.”

Only if the horse is elderly, overweight, and has an undiagnosed heart condition. Estelle poured on the Southern charm. “I hope so, sir. But if you were my husband, I’d be sending you to the hospital. Those symptoms—pain in your chest or shoulder, feeling weak or nauseous, sweating, and light-headedness—could be signs of a heart attack. Alaska Eagle can have a plane here in an hour to take you to Fairbanks Memorial. They have a fine cardiology unit there.”

Cargo Shorts made it to his swollen feet, Pink Cardigan lending him a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I appreciate your checking on me, but I’m fine now.”

Estelle exchanged a glance with the ranger. Can’t force a man to be sensible.

The ranger drew herself up, arms folded. “Where are you staying, sir? Did you fly in?”

“We’re at the lodge. We’re booked on the ten o’clock flight tomorrow.”

Estelle was glad the couple wasn’t planning to drive out: the only road to this part of the park was sixty unpaved miles—with no services and no cellphone coverage—over what had originally been a train track.

“My niece and I are at the lodge, too,” Estelle said. “You can call on me during the night if you feel worse.” She gave them her card with the Alaska Eagle emergency number on it and added her room number.

With Pink Cardigan at his side, the man shuffled out.

The ranger turned to Estelle as she repacked her med bag. “Sorry to have bothered you. Will he be all right, do you think?”

Estelle shrugged. “Until next time. You were right to recognize the symptoms and make the call. I’ll see them at breakfast tomorrow and urge him to get a thorough checkup.”

After a quick call to Robin—possible mild heart attack, patient refused transport—Estelle walked with Sera back to the lodge. The couple were a hundred yards ahead, walking slowly, with Pink Cardigan fussing at Cargo Shorts the whole way. Good. She’d make sure he got that EKG.

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” Sera asked.

“Getting my leave interrupted by an emergency? Not very, although technically, I’m always on call. Have someone swear they’re fine when they’re obviously not? Happens all the time.”

Estelle had come to Alaska fifteen years ago, looking for change after a mind-numbing year in a Chicago emergency room. Change was what she got: in Alaska, she loved the soaring scenery and a medical practice with a pace that reminded her of a Louisiana after-church social hour. How’s your mom an’ them? Been fishing lately? Let’s see how that blood pressure’s doing today. Estelle’s down-home social skills paid off in health dividends as the fiercely independent Alaskans unbent enough to reveal their problems. Doc Dupris, I don’t want to bother nobody, but these days I’m not feeling . . . walking . . . seeing so good. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I got an ache in my ear . . . my arm . . . my belly . . . my heart.

Sera gazed at her, brow furrowed, as if seeing her aunt in a new light. “How old were you when you knew you wanted to be a doctor?”

Estelle smiled at the memory. “About your age, I guess. Your mom got knocked out in basketball practice. Your