Sleepwalk

by John Saul

  “Jump,” he said, making the single word an urgent command.

  Judith took a deep breath, then hurled herself upward, her hands closing on the leather band. Jed grunted slightly as he absorbed her weight. His body tensed and he began slowly straightening up. He paused for a moment, then swiftly released the second rung to grasp the third. Judith was able to transfer one of her hands to the lower rung. Jed kept lifting, and finally Judith’s other hand came to the second rung. Releasing the belt entirely, she hauled herself up.

  Less than a minute later they were on the balcony outside the door in the dam’s face. Peter, with only the bloody screwdriver as a tool, was working at the doorjamb, prying at the wood, slowly splintering it away. At last he got a purchase on the lock itself, and as he leaned his weight against the hardened steel of the tool, the lock broke free from the wood and fell away.

  They were inside the dam.

  “That way,” Jed said. There was a spiral staircase leading straight up, but Jed was pointing down a long, narrow corridor that curved away to the right, following the contour of the dam itself.

  Jed began running along the corridor, and Peter and Judith followed him, Judith’s ankle jarring painfully every time she put her weight on it. Finally they came to a branch in the corridor and Jed stopped. When the other two had caught up with him, he pointed down the corridor.

  “Keep going,” he said. “At the end, there’s another staircase. It’ll take you up to the top, near the south wall of the canyon. Then try to get to the pueblo.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed. “What about you?” he asked.

  Jed took a deep breath. “I have an idea,” he said. “It might not work, but I’m going to try it.”

  Now Peter did argue, but this time Judith intervened. “He knows what he’s doing,” she said. “He’s gotten us this far, hasn’t he?” She gazed at Jed for a moment, then turned away.

  A moment later Jed was alone in the bowels of the dam.

  Otto Kruger glared at Jesus Hernandez. A five-foot section of the PVC pipe had been cut away, and finally the ends of the cut cables were exposed. “How much longer?” Kruger demanded.

  Hernandez shrugged. “Ten minutes. Maybe a little less.”

  Kruger’s jaw tightened but he said nothing. As he turned away, something in the distance caught his attention.

  Far away, off to the left beyond the mouth of the canyon, he saw a flashing red light moving across the desert.

  A moment later he heard a faint siren.

  Kendall, he decided, had finally called the police.

  It wouldn’t be long now before it was all over, and Jed Arnold got what was coming to him.

  Chapter 32

  Jed waited until Judith and Peter were out of sight, then moved quickly toward the main flume. He stopped dead as he came into the control area, for a man was sitting on a bench, chewing on a sandwich. The man looked at him, then frowned, as if searching his mind for some bit of information. Finally he got up and moved toward the intercom phone on the main control panel.

  Jed’s heart pounded. The man was much bigger than he was, and built like an ox. But as Jed watched the way the man moved, he thought he understood.

  “Stop!” he said, his voice firm.

  The watchman froze in his tracks as if some internal switch had been thrown.

  “They sent me to relieve you,” Jed said. “They want you to go home. Now.”

  Unhesitatingly, the man returned to the bench, closed his lunch bucket, and walked silently past Jed, leaving Jed alone in the control room.

  He stared at the large board covered with gauges and switches, and for a moment nearly gave it up. But then he remembered Gina Alvarez and the strange, empty look in her eyes. If he failed, all his friends—almost everyone he knew—would soon look like that.

  Eventually he too would be given one of the shots.

  He shuddered, then put everything out of his mind except the problem at hand.

  He moved to the main shaft and pulled the entry hatch closed, spinning the wheel in its center until it was dogged tight. Then he returned to the control panel.

  To the left, mounted on the concrete wall, was another large wheel, nearly five feet in diameter, connected by a universal joint to a shaft that went straight up, disappearing into a pipe in the low ceiling. A thick chain had been run between two spokes of the wheel and attached to a heavy hasp mounted on the floor.

  A padlock secured the two ends of the chain.

  Jed tried the screwdriver first, sliding its blade through the hasp of the lock, then twisting. But he could get no leverage, and the lock simply twisted out of his grip.

  He glanced around, then saw a toolbox sitting by the wall next to the flume’s hatch. He darted over to it, opened it, and pulled out the top tray. Beneath the tray he found a hacksaw.

  He went back to the lock, tested the saw’s blade against the metal of its hasp, then set to work. After what seemed an eternity, the lock finally gave way, and he ripped the chain free from the wheel. Grasping the wheel with both hands, he applied his weight to it.

  Nothing happened.

  He climbed up onto the wheel itself, but even his entire weight resting on one of its spokes didn’t budge it. Tears of anger and frustration welling in his eyes, he scanned the room for another tool.

  He remembered.

  He darted back to the flume’s hatch, spun its wheel and pushed it open. Inside, the flume was pitch-black but Jed ignored the darkness, stepping into it and groping along the wall until he found what he was looking for.

  It was the same shovel he’d been using most of that day, still where he’d left it, leaning against the wall of the shaft. Grabbing it, he hurried back out of the hatch, dogging it closed once more.

  Back at the immense wheel, he stuck the blade of the shovel between two of the spokes, then jammed it beneath the wheel’s axle. Now, with three more feet added to the radius of the wheel, his weight was enough to break it loose. It moved a few inches, and Jed readjusted the shovel, then applied his weight again.

  A few more inches, but he was almost certain the wheel was moving more easily.

  He abandoned the shovel, grasping one of the spokes of the wheel, and pulled down hard. The wheel began to turn, and far above, he heard a faint grinding sound. A few seconds later, as the floodgate forty feet below the lake’s surface began to lift, opening the inlets to the power flume, Jed could hear the first trickling of water running into the huge chute.

  He kept turning the wheel, and the trickling of water grew into a rumbling, then a steady roar. Finally the wheel came to a stop. The floodgates at the top would be wide open now.

  The noise was deafening, battering at his ears, and Jed was about to start his own dash for the surface when he thought of one more thing he could do. Scanning the control board quickly, he finally found what he was looking for. There was a large lever, and when he pulled it, there was screech of protest before the enormous turbine at the base of the flume began to turn.

  It emitted only a low growl at first, but as it began to pick up speed, its pitch quickly rose until it became a shrill scream floating above the roar of the moving water.

  Suddenly there was a terrifying crash from somewhere within the flume. The sound galvanized Jed. Turning away from the control board, he raced out of the room and bolted down the corridor, turning left as he came to the main transverse that ran through the lower level of the dam.

  His feet pounded on the concrete, but he could hear nothing except the roar of water, the scream of the turbine, and, increasingly, the terrible crashing sounds as chunks of concrete, torn loose from the damaged sides of the flume, struck the whirling blades of the turbine.

  Jed knew what was happening—the turbine was flinging the concrete back, breaking some of it up, hurling fragments of stone and cement against the walls of the flume, damaging them even further.

  Soon the turbine itself would begin to break up, and as its blades tore loose, the spinning monster wou
ld fall out of balance and begin tearing itself apart. And if it should come loose from its moorings before he’d reached the surface …

  He blocked the thought out of his mind as he reached the base of the spiral staircase. His lungs already gasping for breath, his muscles worn first from the long day’s labor in the dam, then abused further by the climb down the canyon wall, he started upward, his hands grasping the railing to pull himself up as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

  Halfway up he tripped, pitching forward as his left foot missed one of the narrow steps, his head smashing against the sharp metal of one of the risers. Stunned, a wave of nausea swept over him and his vision blurred. He sank down on the steps, tears streaming from his eyes and mixing with the blood that was already running from a gash on his forehead.

  Around him the cacophony built, battering at him.

  He could feel the dam beginning to break up.

  Judith stared in shock at the figure standing on top of the dam. She and Peter had emerged from the top of the spiral stairs only a few seconds earlier, and now she stood frozen, hardly able to believe her eyes.

  “Brown Eagle,” she whispered.

  Jed’s grandfather stepped forward. “I was in the kiva,” he said. “I saw …” His words died on his lips as he saw Peter Langston, but then his gaze came back to Judith. “I know what Jed is doing,” he said. Then he smiled. “I want to see it.”

  A puzzled frown formed on Peter Langston’s face. He was about to ask the mysterious Indian who had appeared out of nowhere what he was talking about, when he heard a faint grinding sound.

  It grew louder, and then Judith noticed it too. Instinctively she grasped Brown Eagle’s arm. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  Brown Eagle’s smile broadened. “I think Jed opened the main shaft,” he said.

  “The shaft?” Peter echoed. “Why?”

  But Judith understood instantly. “They’re repairing it, aren’t they? If it’s not ready—”

  “If it’s not ready, then it might tear the dam apart,” Brown Eagle said, his voice placid. “I suspect that’s what Jed is counting on.”

  Peter’s eyes widened.

  The roar of water into the flume was beginning to build, and as he looked over the edge of the dam, he could see water spurting out of the drainage spillway far below.

  Suddenly lights came on, bathing the face of the dam, and at the other end, two hundred yards away, a man appeared, darting out of the control shack.

  “Come,” Brown Eagle said. “We’d better get away from here.”

  He started to move away, his hand on Judith’s arm, but she planted herself firmly. “We have to wait for Jed.”

  Brown Eagle shook his head. “He didn’t want you to wait,” he said. “That’s why he sent you ahead.” But despite his words, he made no move to leave the dam. Instead, he looked over the railing, staring downward.

  Water was roaring from the lower spillway. Then a piece of concrete broke loose, propelled nearly a hundred feet out by the force of the water before it plunged into the stream below.

  The stream itself was already beginning to grow into a river.

  Now they heard what sounded like a series of explosions coming from within the dam.

  But still none of them made a move to leave the dam, their eyes fixed on the hatchway where Jed would appear.

  If he appeared at all.

  * * *

  Jed’s vision cleared slightly and he wiped the tears and blood from his eyes. His head was throbbing, and the roar from within the dam was hammering him with a force that was almost physical. But he struggled to his feet and once more began climbing upward.

  The steps were trembling beneath his feet now, and he thought he could hear the rending sounds of metal being torn from metal. He pushed himself harder, scrabbling up the steps, his legs threatening to betray him at any moment.

  And then, above him, he saw the hatch.

  A surge of adrenaline coursed through his system and he sprang up the last few steps, throwing himself out of the hatchway and scrambling back to his feet even as he sprawled out on top of the dam.

  He was almost blinded by the glare of the floodlights, but then, ahead of him, he saw three people. His grandfather was already starting toward him, followed by Peter Langston.

  “No,” he yelled. Then, when he realized they couldn’t possibly hear him, he waved his arms frantically, gesturing to them to get off the dam.

  Brown Eagle hesitated, and Jed began running. “It’s breaking up,” Jed yelled. “Let’s go!”

  At last the others turned toward the south wall and began to run, Jed pounding after them, his legs burning in protest. Now they came to the end of the dam, where a narrow trail led upward, switchbacking across the face of the canyon all the way to the top, two hundred feet above.

  They started up, but paused to look back.

  Below them a fissure in the dam was climbing steadily upward as the pressure in the damaged flume continued to tear away at the walls of the chute. Suddenly there was a crashing sound, then a hole appeared in the dam as the turbine tore loose from its huge anchoring bolts and exploded through the concrete facing. Then the dam seemed to split, the center section breaking away.

  Judith instinctively shrank back against the stone wall of the canyon, her eyes fixed on the spectacle below as if she were hypnotized.

  The lights on the dam went out as the force of the lake exploded the structure, and a deafening roar issued forth as a wall of water, nearly two hundred feet high, began to move down the canyon.

  “Climb!” Brown Eagle shouted into her ear. “That water will tear this whole wall apart. The path’s going to collapse under our feet.”

  Judith still stood frozen until Brown Eagle slapped her across the face—not hard enough to hurt her, but with just enough force to snap her out of her trance.

  Nodding dumbly, she started scrambling up the steep path, Brown Eagle behind her, followed by Peter and Jed.

  Elsie Crampton was standing near the window in Cabin Five. On the floor the body of Lamar Walters still lay exactly as they had found it a few minutes ago when she’d led the two officers, Billy Clark and Dan Rogers, along the path from the main building of the sanitarium. Rogers, the blond one who didn’t look old enough to be a cop, had immediately checked the corpse for a pulse, and though she hadn’t said anything, Elsie thought it was a waste of time. The man’s head was half cut off from his neck, and there was blood all over the place. Couldn’t have been more than a pint or two left in his body, from the look of things.

  Billy Clark opened his notebook and began scribbling in it, asking Elsie questions every now and then. Elsie didn’t mind the questions, since it was already obvious they didn’t think she was involved in whatever had happened to Walters. Even sprawled out on the floor, his empty eyes staring up at the ceiling, he looked dangerous, and anyone could have seen right away that there was no way Elsie could have done this to him.

  “What about Dr. Moreland?” Clark asked.

  Elsie shrugged, ground out her cigarette on a plate on the lamp table, then immediately lit another. “I don’t think so,” she said finally. He’d be in enough trouble, and right now Elsie figured she’d better stick to the truth. “He wasn’t hardly here long enough, and he sure didn’t act like he’d done it. I mean, he wasn’t even paying any attention to me, and he sounded real upset when he told the other guy Walters was dead. Besides, Walters was a lot bigger than Moreland, and he sure wouldn’t have just stood there and let someone cut his throat. You ask me, it must have been at least two people, and they must have been waiting outside when I came out for the dinner tray.” She shuddered slightly. “Guess I’m lucky to be alive, huh?”

  “Guess so,” Clark commented.

  Then, in the distance, they both heard a sound. It was a low rumbling, almost like thunder. Elsie cocked her head, then looked out the window.

  Her eyes widened as she gazed up the canyon, where a wall of water, toweri
ng up the chasm’s walls and glinting strangely in the moonlight, was bearing down on them.

  She uttered a choked scream and stepped backward. Now it was Clark who looked out the window, freezing as he instantly realized what had happened.

  The wall of water was only a hundred yards away now, and even though a part of Billy Clark’s mind knew it was already too late, he still bellowed a warning to his partner. “The dam!”

  Dan Rogers, startled, looked up just as the raging flood hit the cabin. The walls burst instantly, the roof collapsed, and all three occupants of the cabin were crushed beneath a maelstrom of rubble, part broken concrete from the dam itself, part trees that had been jerked up by their very roots as the deluge roared down the canyon. In a split second the cabin and its occupants had vanished into the flood.

  In her own cabin, Reba Tucker had been sitting in her chair by the window all evening, staring out into the night, waiting for the next attack of the demons that always seemed to come in the darkness.

  When the first faint rumblings of the raging torrent drifted down the canyon ahead of the flood itself, Reba wasn’t even aware of them. But as the noise built, it finally penetrated her failing consciousness, and in her lap, one of her hands twitched.

  The rumbling rose to a thundering roar, and then Reba’s dull eyes perceived the furious wave bearing down on her, its spume glittering silver in the moonlight.

  For Reba those last instants of her life passed slowly, almost as if she were looking at old pictures, studying them one by one, savoring them.

  She never understood precisely what had happened or knew how she was going to die.

  But images burned into the remnants of her mind.

  A tree, floating strangely, its roots up, its branches pointing toward the ground, flashed into her sight, then disappeared, lost forever in the roiling foam.

  A block of concrete as big as the cabin suddenly rose up in front of her, and Reba gazed at it mutely.

  It came closer, and then her window was filled by it, the foam suddenly gone.