Beside it were crates. Barrels. A tall antenna leaning off-center. Caleb’s stomach dropped. Poachers. He’d heard about them over the radio—groups targeting walruses for their ivory tusks, or seals for pelts.
They moved fast, set up hidden camps, and disappeared before patrols could find them. But this camp wasn’t abandoned. There was smoke curling from a barrel fire. A snowmobile, half-buried, sat nearby.