Badwater (The Forensic Geology Series) Page 25

  Gravity finished the job.

  I wished for veils of rain to shield us from the sight of the spew from the mill. Resins ran free, carpeting down the slope. It was only at the end of the resin-fall that the mill disgorged Milt, who seemed to have momentarily jammed the works, but then the beads like ball bearings greased his way and carried him along with the avalanche.

  The avalanche threw off a dust cloud—golden resin fines going aerosol.

  Walter bowed his head. I did not and so I witnessed the recapture of the resins in the stone reservoir at the bottom of the hill. Some ran wide, some stopped short, some spilled over the concrete lip, but when the final bead had come to rest, the reservoir was topped.

  Milt lay on his back, legs half buried.

  I watched the poisonous cloud settle over the reservoir, powdering Milt. His right hand lifted, then fell. I held my breath. Unlike Hap—still masked, still breathing canned air—Walter and I were without protection. I worried about that poisonous brew down there, about those unshielded gammas. We were a good long distance and I’d learned by heart the inverse square law—radiation intensity decreases as the inverse square of the distance from a point source—but I nevertheless edged behind Hap, putting him between me and that point source. He did not appear to notice. His attention was riveted on the scene below.

  Walter whispered, “Keep your head.”

  I turned to ask why.

  He jutted his chin. “Above that pile of rock...”

  I lifted my face.

  “Don’t look.”

  But I already had.

  45

  “Almost there,” Hap said, softly.

  I barely heard him over the hiss of his breather but as he unmasked I fixed my gaze squarely on his drawn face, taking scrupulous care not to look up at the hillocks of waste-rock ore tailings so as not to direct his attention toward Pria, who had appeared from who-knows-where and then disappeared behind the nearest hillock, and who knew where she’d turn up next. Miss Alien Apparition. I had trouble believing she’d been there at all.

  Hap peered up at the sky. The clouds were closing back in.

  In that micromoment, Walter’s eyes met mine and we settled upon a plan.

  I said, “Why are you checking the sky?” and when Hap’s focus drifted back to me, I tried to hold it. “You need more rain?”

  He eyed me and then his attention shifted again, to the reservoir.

  And now there was a feathering of black hair at the base of the nearest ore heap and Walter shook his head and lifted his feet in a mime—run Pria, run to tell Soliano and then run home to hide under the bed—but she had already disappeared again so she didn’t catch Walter’s drift.

  Hap was now scanning the hillside above the reservoir.

  I said, “Hap.”

  Mercifully, he turned.

  Walter said—as if he did not think my theory was hogwash—“You need a flood, Hap?”

  I thought, it is hogwash. This may be a floodable canyon but how is Hap going to summon a flood? Here? Now? Walter and I were correct with our first scenario—the rains will wash the nuclides down to the aquifer. That’s bad enough. I took my turn: “I’ll play your game, Hap. I know what else the ring means. Means you’re going turn clean water into bad water.”

  Hap listened, like he had listened to Walter’s counsel.

  I caught Walter angling for a look up the hill. I angled too. Had Pria run, after all?

  Hap shifted to look.

  I said, “Milt’s legacy, right? Crap up the virgin. Like he crapped up your sister.”

  Hap’s attention snapped back to me.

  I saw Pria then, sidling out from behind the ore tailings hillock. She put her finger to her lips. I tried not to flinch and give her away. Walter started in again, yammering about the aquifer, voice rising in outrage, covering the sounds of Pria’s approach. She came in a low crouch, straight and true, right for us.

  Walter braced, as if for a blow.

  She straightened and cocked her arm. She held a rock the size of a softball and she pitched it in a skilled overhand pitch and it didn’t have far to travel. Hap turned, unslinging the subgun but it was too late to do anything but catch Pria’s rock full in the chest. The gun slipped out of his hand and he came down hard on his back, turtling on the air tank. He rolled to his side, gasping. Before Walter or I could begin to come alive, Pria had dashed forward and snatched up the subgun.

  I watched stunned. She comes out of nowhere and saves the day. No, she comes in her aunt’s truck and drives to point D and hikes from there only how in the world does she find this place? Some alien magic. I didn’t care. I wanted to hug her.

  She shouldered the weapon and went to Walter, untying the knot that bound his wrists. Hap started to rise. She yelped “don’t move, you” and came back at Hap, aiming the weapon at his chest. “You used my mother.”

  Hap froze.

  Walter caught my eye, and tipped his head. He wanted us to stand in her way, some kind of blocking maneuver. I had no faith in that. She’s defending her mother—if that didn’t amaze Walter, it sure amazed me. What I don’t know about daughters could fill an ocean. I didn’t know if she could operate an MP-5 but if she could we had to stop her from shooting Hap. That’s a heavy burden for anyone to carry, much less a fourteen-year-old, and in any case Hap was no threat right now. I watched her fingers playing on the gunstock. Walter had edged in close to me, untying my wrists, but I could not have curbed a kitten right now, much less this girl. I said, “Pria, you can’t do anything for your mom now, but look. Look down there, that’s Milt down there and he’s still alive.”

  She looked.

  I said, “You saved us, you’re a hero, and you can help us save him. There’s a phone in the mine—we can call Soliano. He’ll send help for Milt. He’ll arrest Hap. So you can give Walter the weapon now.”

  She said, still looking at Milt, “Is he sick?”

  “Whoa,” Hap said, “Milt’s not the victim.”

  She turned to Hap. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s your mom who’s the victim.”

  Walter said, “Pria, listen to...”

  “In a minute, Grandfather.” She jabbed the gun at Hap. “Say about my mom.”

  Hap plunged ahead. “She had no idea what she was getting into. My partner was scouting for a place, she surprised him, he bought her off. I never even met her, Pria, until a couple days ago at her mine. Next time I saw her was this morning. Never dreamed she knew about this mine, much less she’d come up here. And I’m real sorry she sent you.”

  “She didn’t.” Pria lifted her chin. “I figured it out. About the ranger fuck.” She flushed. “Chickie calls it that when they say what we can’t touch. Like bat nests. And drawings on rocks. And Grandfather said what kind of rocks we’re looking for so I figured it out.”

  Walter looked stricken.

  Pria glanced at me. “In your bathtub. I liked your bathtub.”

  I nodded, faint, in reply.

  “Chickie showed me drawings on that kind of rocks once, up here. But it was a long time ago so when I got here I had to go looking.” She nodded at an outcrop downcanyon. “Then I had to go find something to show that policeman, so he’d let my mother go.”

  I blurted, “You went inside the mine?”

  “You think I’m stupid? I was looking for footprints. Only then I heard you guys come out, and all that noise, and I hid.”

  “Not stupid at all,” Hap said, “just trying to help your mom.” He cautiously sat up. “I tried help her myself, when she was sick. Remember?”

  “No Pria,” I said, “he wanted to give her the medicine to put her out, so she couldn’t talk.”

  “I wanted to stop the torment,” Hap said. “I saw my sister go through that.”

  Pria looked stunned. “Is that true?”

  “Yeah that’s true. Thanks to Milt.”

  “Is your sister sick?”

  “She’s dead.”

  Pria
’s hand went to her mouth. The weapon bobbed in her hand.

  “So how about a little justice? For my sister and your mom. The victims. Let me go and I’ll tell their story.”

  “You just did,” Walter said. “You’re done. Pria, whatever Milt did, he’ll account for. But now he needs help. That’s radioactive material down there—same thing that hurt your mom. Hap did that. And he’s the only one in position to undo the wrong. So I need you to let me take care of this.”

  I went cold. Take care of this how?

  “Give me the weapon, dear.” Walter put out his hand, and when Pria didn’t pull away, he took possession of the gun. He said, “Get up, Hap.”

  Hap, wary, got to his feet.

  “Take off that belt bag. Set your facepiece. Connect your breather.”

  I said, “Walter no.”

  “I’m with Buttercup, Walter.” Hap’s face was white. “You got a conscience. Use it.”

  “I am.” Walter leveled the muzzle at Hap. “There’s human life at stake down there. Go get him.”

  Hap was rooted.

  Walter thumbed a lever, cocked the weapon, and fired. Dirt sprayed at Hap’s feet.

  Hap flinched. Then, astonishingly, he smiled—that curbed toxic smile I’d seen in the RERT van the night he warned me to go with low dose. “Guess I lose.” He unclipped the bag and tossed it to the ground. He masked up and his smile disappeared behind the polycarbon shield.

  I grabbed the belt bag and yanked open the zipper and rooted inside but there was no cell phone, and I considered running back to the mine to try to find my way to the tunnel where I’d left the pack with the satellite phone, but how long would that take on my rubber legs? And once I’d brought the phone back out and called Soliano, and Soliano and Scotty and his RERT team got themselves up here, how long would that take? Too long, for Milt anyway. I remembered Scotty’s words to me, two days ago at the borax mine: time equals dose.

  I dropped the belt bag.

  As I watched Hap trudge down toward the reservoir, my veins seemed to fill with poison. There was no clean way out here. This was the hopeless frontier between wrong and more wrong. I moved to stand beside Walter.

  Pria folded herself down to an Indian-sit, hugging her chest, watching.

  From where we stood it looked like a real rescue, a real hero in PC wading into the spent-resin pool to aid his unlucky coworker, plunging his hands into the poisonous beads to hook Milt under the arms. Sending up a new cloud of resin fines. All the while ticking off seconds and sucking up dose. If there’d been a health physicist on radiation control, counting the gammas, he would have surely screamed get out. Hap was trying. Milt was feebly protesting, not understanding. Hap tried to drag Milt to the rim but he sank with every step. It must have been like walking through quicksand. At last, he just dropped to his knees in the shit and got Milt around the waist and humped him over the shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He levered to his feet and staggered out of the tub.

  We watched in silence as Hap carried Milt up the hill, well clear of the reservoir, well clear of us. He went down on his knees and unshouldered Milt, laying him out flat. He rose and started to move away.

  Walter shouted, “You’re not finished yet.”

  Hap looked at Walter. At the gun. He turned to finish the job. He brushed himself free of beads that still clung, hood to boots. He bent over Milt. He thumbed away the resinous crust on the gash on Milt’s skull. He whisked Milt’s eyebrows and lashes. He scoured Milt’s ears. He wiggled a forefinger between Milt’s lips and swabbed inside his mouth. Milt gagged, then lay still. No protest now. Hap sat back and examined his gloves. They glistened with beads. He wiped them clean on Milt’s torn shirt.

  Pria spoke. “What’s he doing?”

  “Decon,” I said.

  Hap untaped Milt’s wrists, unbuttoned his shirt, cradled his torso, and stripped him to the waist. He laid out the shirt, stuck the tape to it, wiped his gloves on it. He moved down to untape Milt’s ankles. Milt’s loafers were gone. Hap rolled off the socks. He undid Milt’s horseshoe buckle and snaked off the belt. He lifted Milt’s hips, unzipped the slacks, and tugged them off. Milt’s black bikini briefs stayed snugly in place. Beads nested in the elastic waistband. Hap yanked off the briefs and tossed them in the pile.

  Pria looked at the sky.

  Hap turned to the pile of crapped-up clothing, wrapping it in Milt’s shirt. He wiped his gloves clean on his own suit. And then, scrupulously clinical, he whisked Milt’s body, head to toe. He examined his gloves. He held up his hands, showing us. The latex shone clean in the fading sunlight. Decon finished. He hooked Milt under the arms, dragged him away from the decon zone, deposited him in the uncontaminated soil, then walked away.

  “That’s far enough,” Walter yelled.

  Hap halted. He took off his SCBA gear and heaved it toward the pile of Milt’s castoffs. He untaped booties and gloves, stripped off his suit, balled it, tossed it. He turned to face us across the fall line. “Walter,” he called, “I did what you asked and I got me a dose so let’s call it even.”

  Walter held the gun steady.

  “Nobody’s life at stake this time.”

  Pria leapt up, edging close to Walter. “That’s true Grandfather.”

  Walter said, “Pria, stand back.”

  Hap shifted. “Way I see it, Walter, you’ve got no reason to shoot me now.” He lifted his hands and slowly turned and set off in a measured walk upcanyon.

  He gave us his back like he was putting his trust in us, believing we’d see it his way, and like he’d programmed me I started ticking off reasons why we had to let him go—he’s done his worst and the priority now is to undo the damage—and that was true but what got to me was Hap giving us his back, and Walter with the gun, Walter trained eons ago shooting National Guard targets only now it was a man in his sights, and Walter was going to have to shoot him in the back to stop him. I hissed, “You can’t.”

  Walter said, “We surely can’t catch him.”

  There was a moment when I calculated distance, the two dozen yards or so between us and Hap and the likelihood of me covering that distance, but now he was into a sprint and he sprinted as well as he swam. I said, “Soliano will get him.”

  “And he’s gonna get sick,” Pria said, “so it’s even-steven.”

  I said, “There’s nothing more he can do.”

  Walter glanced at the reservoir.

  I said, “We need to get Scotty here fast.”

  “And help,” Pria said, “for that hurt guy.”

  Walter grunted. “You two can save your breath. I’m conversant with the concept of appropriate force.” He thumbed the lever near the trigger until it clicked onto safety.

  I sagged. Relief, resignation, I did not know.

  “Then here’s what we’re going to do,” Walter said. “I’m going into the mine to retrieve our sat phone. And the first aid kit. Pria, we have another injured man, in there. I’ll attend to him. You and Cassie are going to wait here. If Milt revives, reassure him.” Walter considered me a moment, and then held out the submachinegun. “Dear, you’re going to keep this. Should Hap return.”

  I stared at the thing. Should Hap return, I point it at him and tell him to stay put? Should Hap not obey, I shoot him? I said, “I don’t know how to use it.”

  Walter showed me.

  And then I was left with Oliver’s subgun slung over my shoulder and Pria eyeing me skeptically. I watched Walter head up the switchbacks, and then shifted my attention to Hap’s retreating back.

  He was still heading upcanyon.

  It was raining again, the kind of storm cell that goes from drizzle to downpour in seconds. Rain curtained Hap. As he moved up the mine valley I tracked him by the orange flag of his parachute pants. He was approaching the alluvial fan. He turned to glance up at the ridge, where we’d come in. I thought, he’s going to access it from the rising fan, escape to Cherokee Canyon, maybe hotwire our Jeep. No matter. Soliano will track him like a dog.
Scotty will come and take charge of the tub full of beads. I wished Walter would hurry. I turned to watch Walter trudging up the last switchback to the top level, where Dearing’s body guarded the mine entrance. I hoped that Oliver, inside, would benefit from Walter’s help. I shivered in my sodden clothes. And now the storm cell was passing and the rain eased off and sun shafts punctured the clouds. I looked again for Hap and found him halfway up the fan, following a deeply incised channel. You could hide in a channel like this—the way Walter and I had hidden in our deep channel on another fan. But Hap wasn’t hiding. He glanced back at me and then climbed out and crossed the fan, catching the faint trail up the canyon wall to the ridgetop. The sunlight intensified and I began to sweat. My mouth was horribly dry. I wished for a pebble to suck on. I turned to the fan yet again, studying the channel Hap had taken and then abandoned. Something was off. There were no gray pebbles. The pebbles up there were too dark. This channel was not, after all, like the channel Walter and I had hidden in. I whispered shit.

  “What’s wrong?” Pria asked.

  Me. For believing Hap had already done his worst. What was I thinking letting him go? My sweat turned to chill. I snatched up his belt bag and dumped the contents—detonator, wire spool, remote control, keys, flashlight, wristwatch. I picked up the keypad remote, the one he’d used in the mine. Wondering about lines of sight. Wondering about range. Wondering what the hell I think I’m doing.

  “What’s that for?” Pria asked.

  I said, tight, “I think he’s not done.”

  “He’s went. What can he do? If he needs that clicker he doesn’t have it.”

  That was precisely the problem. “When Walter comes out, tell him to tell Soliano if he has search teams down at the springs to get them out of the way. Tell him to have Soliano send choppers up there.” I pointed to the top of the alluvial fan, and the unseen canyon above.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Up there.”

  “Grandfather said wait here.”

  Now, she obeys. I thought, with brutal calculation, if Oliver is dead, if Milt is beyond first aid, then Walter has no reason to stay here. I said, “Just try to keep Walter from following.”