Volcano Watch Read online

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  We dragged into the roundabout. We didn’t have the strength to unload Krom and climb the steps to the Inn, so we took shelter beneath the porch overhang and sat in ash. We pulled off goggles and masks. At last, Mike got out a water bottle and passed it around.

  The earth shook.

  Mike said, “Now what?” He was looking at me.

  “Call Bridgeport,” I said.

  Eric was already unpacking the field radio. He got a lot of static but he got through. No, they had not been aware of the blast on the north slope. Static. Still activity at the moat and Red Mountain. Bridgeport told us to maintain position while they investigated further.

  Eric said, “Okay, people, we need to get indoors and…”

  “It’s not o-kigh,” Mike said. His head was bent. He was digging at his thumbnail. “We should go down and take Pika.”

  Eric said, “We just got the official word to stay put.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  We stared at Mike. Whatever happened to his allegiance to the official word? He was caked in ash, he had a two-day stubble, and he humped his stringy frame over his knees and worked furiously at his thumbnail.

  Eric said, even, “We asked for advice.”

  “Then who’s in charge?”

  “Whoever’s in position to call it.”

  Mike squared his frame. “You want her.” It was not a question. “If it weren’t for her, we’d be out of here already.” He turned on me and put his hand on my arm, second time he’d ever touched me. “You’ll tell us not to go down, won’t you?”

  I hesitated. Waiting, I guessed, for Walter to jump in. Walter clutched his pack, and gave me a nod. You’re doing fine.

  “Won’t you?” Mike said.

  I licked ash off my lips, and nodded.

  “Because? Tell them why.”

  “Because the moat’s in eruption. Because Red Mountain might progress. Because nobody survives a pyroclastic flow.”

  “What about Pika?” He shot a look at Krom, a plea.

  Krom smiled at Mike. You’re doing fine.

  “What about it?” I said. “You want to take Adrian by yourself? You can’t handle the sled alone.”

  “I know that,” Mike said, “that’s why we all go.”

  I said, “Pika’s a trap. Maybe a deathtrap.”

  Mike turned to the others. He still gripped my arm: got her, exhibit A. “You all heard that, and that’s just what she said yesterday. Don’t go out Pika, she said, because it’s too slow. We might get stuck. Something terrible might happen.” He lifted my arm, extending it; my jacket sleeve jerked back and exposed my watch. “Ask her how many hours ago that was. Ask her where we’d already be if we’d gone out Pika yesterday when Mr. Krom, who knows about what’s safe, wanted to go. Ask her if we had enough time we could have crawled out on our bellies and still made it. Ask her if she can tell time.”

  Eric said, “It was my call on Pika too.”

  “Yeah but she made us go up here.” Mike’s voice rose. “To find Walter.”

  I fixed on Mike’s hand, on the red angry skin around his thumbnail. He had a killer grip for such a runt, such a little shit. Only a real shit would sit here and say I risked us all to come up here after Walter. I hadn’t. I was surprised as anyone when he appeared. But it was clear enough that if we’d gone out Pika we would not have found him. Everybody had to be thinking it. Nobody said it. I said, tight, “I stand by my call.”

  “After what happened up the road?”

  Eric said, “Shut up, Mike.”

  The words hung in the air. Walter broke the silence. “Cassie couldn’t have predicted that.”

  I was rigid. Lindsay might have. I was racking my brain for the old lessons.

  Mike muttered, “We should’ve gone out Pika.”

  Eric snapped, “Shut up, man.”

  “You be quiet, man.”

  Eric started to move and I caught his arm. “Let him finish it.”

  Mike placed his face inches from mine. He was sweating furiously and his eyes brimmed. “Say we should have gone out Pika.”

  “There’s no point.”

  “Say it.”

  “No.”

  “You better say it.”

  “We…should…not…have…gone.”

  “Say it.”

  “Grow up Mike.”

  “Say it!” Mike screamed. “Say it’s your fault, you bitch.”

  Walter hissed “that’s enough” but Eric already had Mike in a headlock and forced him down into the ash.

  I was shaking. You reap what you sow.

  Krom looked away. “We’re wasting time.” He undid the strap across his hips. He reached for the other straps—across his knees and ankles—but they were out of reach. He was grimed as the rest of us, worn in pain, and above and beyond that he’d endured his exile up the mountain. He regarded his bindings a moment, then folded his arms and took us in. “Let’s get it under control, chums. Mike, you’re out of line. Eric, calm down. Cassie, you’re overwrought. Listen to what he said, not how he said it.”

  Krom was right. I was overwrought. Quite suddenly, I found an icy calm. I said, “Stop hiding behind Mike.”

  Krom’s pain-glossed eyes went flat.

  “Everything Mike knows about evac he knows from you. Everything you tell him he believes. You tell him we can spread our wings and fly out of here and he’ll start flapping. Why don’t you tell him the truth, for once? Tell him who’s responsible for the mess we’re in. You’re the man. You’re it.”

  “You’re overwrought.”

  “You’re the only one with a reason to blow up the 203 evac route.”

  There was a gasp—Mike. Eric got him under the arms and hauled him upright, shooting a look at Krom. Walter’s eyes never left me.

  I said, “That night I followed you, Adrian? You stopped on 203. Right at the bridge. Like you were checking it out. That when you decided where to plant the explosives?”

  Krom laughed. “That’s right,” he said, “I sabotaged my own evacuation.”

  I didn’t laugh. “Yeah, that’s absurd. Except that only 203 got sabotaged. Explosives on Pika were wired wrong. So all of a sudden Pika’s the only way out. You’re going to get us out, all right, but it’s going to be on your road. You fought Lindsay for it. You beat her. And now you have to finish the fight. Your road, against her volcano.” I stared at his slick yellow arm, where the scar hid. “I get the sacrifice thing now. The elders who offered themselves up to save the tribe—it’s a symbol for you. You won’t take it as far as they did, you don’t want to die, but you have to personally intercede with the volcano on behalf of the tribe. That’s why you built your road. That’s why you blew up 203. You had to have the tribe in your hands. If they escaped on 203, you didn’t save them, you didn’t win. It could have been done without you—all the planning and drills could have been done by computer sims. Any good manager could have run that show. But that’s not what happened with the tribe. That was personal. And you know what? I think you’re still in a mano-a-mano with the volcano. And the only way you can win is to get us out on your road. And maybe you’re even ready to risk the ultimate sacrifice, if it comes to that.” My hands, I found, were closed into fists. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to show he couldn’t take the pain. “We all go out your way or we die trying.”

  Mike said, “What’s she talking about?”

  “Cass?” Eric said. His look shifted to Krom then back to me. “You certain?”

  Krom said, “She’s overwrought.”

  “No, Adrian,” Walter said, “I don’t believe she is.”

  Krom turned to Eric. “We’re wasting time.”

  In the silence that followed, Eric called Bridgeport, who advised us again to stay put. Eric shut off the radio. He rubbed his forehead. “Let’s just…figure out where the hell to go. Cassie? You real sure you don’t want to go back down?”

  Could I say yes? Could I say I knew one hundred percent
we could not safely get out 203? Or Pika? Would I be saying the same about Pika if Krom had been a bloodless bureaucrat who went solely on computer sims and data streams? Could I be one hundred percent sure about my call? Because Eric’s made his position clear. He goes with my call. As long as I’m sure. And I’m going on second-hand volcanology and gut instinct and fear of a man who doesn’t count his wins the way I do. I wished I knew more about the volcanic plumbing. If I knew more, I could say with less fear that I’m sure. I was numb with cold and fear.

  Krom said, to Mike, “Get these straps off me.”

  Mike sprang to undo the bonds. “We’ll move you right now.”

  “Where?” Walter asked it of Eric.

  There was a pause, during which time Mike unbuckled a strap and Krom shifted and Eric and Walter got to their feet. A vacuum, and if I didn’t act now someone else was going to fill it. “I’m sure,” I said.

  Eric told Walter, “We stay put.”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “Look, we know the activity started in the moat.” I drew an oval in the ash, representing the caldera, and an ellipse within the oval representing the moat. “And then it diked up to Red Mountain.” I drew a line from the ellipse to the southwest loop of the oval. “So maybe it’s also traveled along the caldera’s ring fracture to where it intersects Mammoth Mountain.” I extended the line northward along the oval, and drew a triangle. “Here.”

  They studied my drawing. My heart pounded. I thought of Lindsay’s drawing at the Inn, on top of Krom’s. All the circles and stars and lines and crosshatches. All the volcanic plumbing. What a mess.

  Krom said, “You’re not a volcanologist.”

  I met his look. “Nobody here is a volcanologist.”

  Eric said, “What are you saying, Cass? The whole mountain could blow?”

  “I’m not saying that.” Any number of things could happen. “All I’m saying is there’s complicated plumbing around here. All I’m saying is there have been phreatics on the mountain before—last time Inyo blew there were steam blasts up here. Lindsay showed me the old craters.”

  Mike’s face darkened. “You knew?”

  I’d known the challenge would come from Mike. “The last phreatics came with the Inyo system—five hundred years ago. Inyo’s quiet, Mike. I didn’t know there was a phreatic up here. Maybe Red Mountain’s stirring things up this time. Maybe Inyo will still go. I don’t know. I didn’t know. But here we are.”

  Eric said, “You expect more like we saw up the road?”

  “Could be.”

  “Could it be more than that?”

  “Could be.” I was dizzy, damp with sweat. “Not likely. Phil was monitoring up here—there’s been no discharge of magmatic gases, no shallow quakes. My guess is anything more will be the same stuff, coming around the old craters where the trees have been dying.”

  “That your guess, Cass?”

  I sought Walter’s counsel. He looked as I’ve rarely seen him in the lab, casting about for the answer. This damned strange mineral. He’s seen it before but what’s it tell him now? He doesn’t have the luxury of time so he’ll have to make an educated guess. How Lindsay would have loved this, the two of us mulling this over. Finally we capitulate—geology is volcanology, honey. At least for now. I said what Lindsay always said, “With a volcano, the past is a pretty decent guide to the future.”

  Walter decided. “I agree. I would expect more of the same. Steam blasts in the old craters, perhaps, but not a fresh magmatic eruption on the mountain.”

  “Cassie,” Eric said, “what do you want us to do?”

  “Go up.”

  They didn’t get it. Even Walter. Maybe they thought I was trying to ease the tension, with a joke. Then Eric got it. Eric, who knows when I’m joking and when I’m not. He stepped away from the porch overhang and tipped his head to look up the two thousand feet to the summit of Mammoth Mountain. “You’d better think again,” he said.

  Mike scooted out to stand beside Eric.

  “We’d be well above the old craters,” I said. “The likelihood of a new blast coming near the summit is less than one coming lower down.” Could I be one hundred percent sure about that? Nothing’s sure. The world is in eruption. I said, “It’s the safest place we can be, right now.”

  Eric came back. “That’s a bitch of a climb.” He indicated Krom.

  “I wasn’t thinking of climbing. I was thinking of taking the gondola to the top.”

  Eric’s mouth dropped open.

  But Mike began to grin, like he’d just learned the secret of life. “You’re right.”

  Mike thinks I’m right? Wrong becomes right, down becomes up, the world flips.

  “She’s right.” Mike windmilled around us. “Oh yah, the machinery is housed inside the gondola stations and we’ll have to see if there’s any ash inside but I don’t think so because it’s solid workmanship from top to bottom. I didn’t just operate the gondola, you know, I also lent a hand with repairs and I’ve seen all the schematics.” He turned to Krom. “It’s gonna work, Mr. Krom. The gondola cars are made in Switzerland and you all know the Swiss reputation for excellence. O-kigh, and the cables are straightforward, simple mechanics, and I doubt if ash has clogged the cable housings but if it has, just running the machinery should be enough to free the cables. We’ll see. I have a lot of faith but I know we’ll have to see.” He halted, grinning at us all. “You realize we have a big generator? The power outtage doesn’t affect us. We’re self-sufficient there. I know where all the keys are. I can get us in. I can get things working and then I think I can guarantee us an event-free ride to the top. You’ll see, Mr. Krom. You’ve helped me and I know I owe you—so you just leave it to me.”

  Krom said, “Mike…” but Mike was already on his way—too wired, too ready to flap his wings and go—to heed Krom.

  I watched my new ally loping off toward the gondola, wondering if having Mike on my side should make me reconsider.

  Eric said, “If you’re sure.”

  Walter said, “We’re sure.”

  Okay Lindsay, I thought, we’re going up. In the gondola. You believe that? Krom believes, Krom knows when he’s whipped. Walter’s signed on. I don’t think Eric quite buys it but we are going up. Last time. Once we get to the top, you know, there’s no place else to go.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  And now it became Mike’s show.

  He cranked the generator and to everyone’s surprise but his own the gondola motor came promptly to life. He ran the lift and stopped it, ran and stopped it, ran and stopped it with the brio of a conductor running an orchestra through its paces.

  Satisfied that the gondola ran, he supervised the loading of items into the cars, checking weights and distribution and balance. There was a lot of stuff; he’d finally gotten into the ransacking spirit. He bossed us until one car was filled with gear, and the rental ski equipment he’d appropriated was stowed on the carrier. He placed us in the car behind, Krom reclining on one bench, Eric and Walter and me crushed together on the other, packs on the floor. He handed the operating manual to me, his onetime assistant. He lashed Krom’s sled to the outside carrier, taking his sweet time.

  Krom watched with a half-interested frown and I wondered if, against all evidence, he had accepted the need of going up.

  I didn’t worry long about Krom. I worried about the volcano, the unpredictable chum. I could hear the distant cannonade and feel the quakes that ran from the ground up through the cable machinery and down to our car. Forget the pre-flight check, I wanted to tell Mike. You’re going to busybody us into oblivion. But Mike perversely fussed with the sled until it clung like a baby to the gondola’s back. In truth, I was afraid to interfere with Mike’s zeal and Swiss excellence.

  Finally, his rough face beamed at the window. “I’m going to start her up. Cassie, you hold that door wide open. Eric, you be ready to take my hand when I say now.” Mike bustled over to the switch.

  I held the door. I had a horror, in the dark and
suddenly noisy gondola station, of Mike missing the car, running after us, screaming for us to wait, but he just loped easily across the floor and paced the car as it scuttled around the track. And then, slick as though he’d practiced the move on lunch breaks, he caught Eric’s hand and leapt inside and folded himself onto the floor amid the packs. Seconds later, the car gained lift and sailed out of the station into the ashy sky.

  “Shut the door, Cassie,” Mike snapped.

  We swung skyward. Mike went over the operating manual, patiently paging. Krom closed his eyes. Walter and Eric looked out the windows. I followed suit.

  Always an incomparable view from the gondola. Lodge and Inn and gondola station fast dropping away below. Jagged peaks of the Minarets to the west, stubby domes of the Inyo chain to the north, caldera to the east just coming into sight. This is how I remembered the view: the most faraway features incised. Didn’t look that way now. In the perpetual twilight, landmarks were uncertain, distance was lost. The eye telescoped to the near view, to the gondola window where particles of ash already clung, themselves incised as snowflakes.

  The thunder was louder but in motion we could no longer feel the quakes.

  I looked east, down toward the caldera. The south moat did not appear to be currently in eruption. The caldera walls were identifiable but the floor lay in murk. If the ground down there were rotting it would look like this. Liquefaction. Soup.

  No one spoke. It seemed we were going to rise stoic to the summit.

  I scanned the mountain below as it dropped away. No fresh explosion pits, no evidence of activity. It was as it had always been, but for the ash. I knew these runs: St. Moritz, Bowling Alley. Skied them. In snow, not ash. Wouldn’t enjoy skiing this. Snowboarders the only ones crazy enough to ride this. Ash? Awesome, dude. I suddenly giggled.

  Incredulous silence in the car.

  We swooped toward the mid-station and as we passed through the dark lift building I wondered what degree of shelter this might afford.

  We rose, and rose.

  “There it is,” I said.

  Mike came up on his knees, Krom braced to a sit, Eric and Walter turned. To the southeast, the folds of the mountains embracing the Lakes Basin came into view. Red Mountain was venting, a fat smokestack of ash. Boom boom. Boom.