I became aware of a low hum that pervaded the area, seeping into my bones so that my body joined in the vibration. A massive mainframe computer stood protectively in the corner of the room like a glowering samurai warrior. Blinking angrily at us, its screen spat out a flurry of red numbers in dizzying succession, protesting our brazen intrusion. A multitude of umbilical cords sprang from the electronic brain’s back, connecting it to every gadget in the place, which contentedly fed off their host. Additional wires from each instrument ran into conduit attached to the wall, leading back into a tunnel like the beckoning tail of a dragon.
“Eureka! We’ve just hit the mother lode,” Noah murmured, following me inside.
Noah’s fingers wandered lovingly over every piece of equipment as though they were long-lost friends, cooing to them softly. When he saw the conduit his body suddenly jerked and he quickly turned and followed the cables into the tunnel, disappearing from my sight.
My own attention had been lured to a chalkboard that held an array of phone numbers, each followed by a person’s first name. I hurriedly began to scribble down as much of the information as I could, before Noah’s voice brought my writing to a halt.
“Porter, get back here! There’s something I want you to see.”
My breath came in short, rapid bursts as I headed off, afraid that his voice would carry through the tunnel, past the mine, and up to the front office, where the gang was probably even now gathered about the coffee machine. The tunnel wound further and further back until the outer room was no longer in sight, the only source of light a row of tiny bulbs that illuminated the way. My eyes were drawn to irregular clusters of white fungus that haphazardly dotted the walls and ceiling like a secret government mushroom farm.
I spotted Noah at the end of the tunnel, standing next to an enormous block of cement. Looking like a massive, squat peg, it rose two feet above the floor. Studded into the slab were the hundreds of cables and wires that had snaked their way back through the tunnel, connecting the mainframe directly with the giant block. It was the ultimate computer nerd’s dream, strewn with a wide assortment of gauges and screens. Endless streams of numbers flashed from some, while other screens danced as if possessed, kinetic green lines high-kicking and swaying like a chorus line of alien worms.
“What the hell is this?” I asked in astonishment, wondering if we’d just blundered upon a cousin to the monolith in the film 2001.
“My best guess?” Noah rubbed the stubble on his chin against the back of his hand. “I’d have to say that this is where some of the rods are buried.”
I felt the hair bristle on the back of my neck. “Inside this slab?”
“No. Underneath it. They would have buried them and then poured this cement block on top,” Noah explained. “Either that, or they’ve got hot waste encased down there.”
“Hot waste?” I asked, astounded at the thought of what lay beneath our feet.
“Sure. Heavy water—the waste water from nuclear storage, Porter. That stuff will keep generating heat and radiation long after it’s been removed from a power plant. All these gauges and instruments are probably measuring temperature, compression, expansion—that sort of thing,” Noah elaborated.
I must have looked like I was about to be left back in science class.
Noah sighed and tried it again. “In other words, scientists are studying to see how any rainwater that might trickle through cracks in the tunnel would behave and if the rock chemistry then changes. The theory is that heating this block will keep the waste and rods dry for thousands of years to come. So that if water does seep through, this block here will act like a big old percolator, turning it into steam,” he clarified.
“Theoretically, what would happen if the waste managed to get wet?” I queried, paddling as fast as I could to try to keep up.
“Then you make tracks the hell out of Nevada on the first plane you can catch. If this stuff cools down, water will condense, seep through the rock and into the containers that hold those nuclear rods and fuel. When that happens, waste will begin to leach out and your groundwater becomes contaminated. That’s the time to start buying stock in Evian water. Consider it a hot tip, Porter.”
I stepped away from the huge block as Noah pulled a Geiger counter out of his backpack.
“Here we go,” he said, holding it out in front of him.
“What are you doing with that?”
“This little beauty is going to let us know if there’s any kind of radiation leak in here,” he grinned.
I watched as Noah’s smile abruptly disappeared, his face turning grim.
“What’s up?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.
Noah silently turned the Geiger counter in my direction so I could see the dial. The needle had swung clean off the scale.
Noah stuck the counter in his pack. “Time to haul ass, Red. We probably started to glow in the dark about two minutes ago.” He quickly headed out the tunnel.
I ran to keep up with him, surprising us both as I slammed into the back of his pack in the main room. Noah had stopped dead in his tracks.
“Shit, Porter! Will you watch where you’re going? At this rate, I won’t have to worry about radiation when I’ve got you to scare me to death!”
He pointed toward the chalkboard he’d been studying before our collision. “I know these people and I can damn well read their equations,” he said angrily. “What they’re doing is more than just a little testing. It looks like they’ve decided to permanently leave in the rods that they’ve buried here.”
I felt sure Noah had to be wrong. “But Alpha’s planning a housing development that will probably come right up alongside the mine.”
“Yeah. Real thoughtful of Garrett and the gang. Not only do you get a house, but enough radioactivity to light it for free. Let’s go check out what our friends at DOE have planted in the tunnel below this one.”
“There’s another?” I asked in alarm.
“Well, there’s a second steel door the next level directly down from here, and I have a feeling it’s not the entrance to the employee cafeteria,” Noah retorted.
Noah ran outdoors and then barreled down the side of the mountain like a runaway train, his weight propelling him past the lower level. Unable to stop, he finally fell on his butt, flinging his arms out as he grabbed onto handfuls of gravel. After watching his performance, I chose to sit on my rear end to begin with. I slowly slid my way down, digging my heels in and braking to a gentle halt.
“That’s impressive, Porter,” Noah sarcastically observed as I stood up and brushed off my pants.
“I’m bowled over by your fancy footwork, too,” I retorted.
Noah dumped his backpack on the ground and pulled out a flashlight as we examined yet another steel door. A thick chain was stretched across the metal, secured by a heavy padlock. I got down on one knee and immediately lost my balance, sliding into a deep depression that had formed beneath the doorway.
Noah flashed his light on the gully and shrugged. “Probably rattlesnakes living inside. Or maybe a coyote.”
I jumped up and backed away until I heard Noah begin to snicker. Cursing him under my breath, I straddled the hole, focusing on picking the lock. But the catch wouldn’t budge.
“Fuck that,” Noah snarled, stuffing the end of the flashlight into his mouth.
He pulled out his metal snips and cut the chain as easily as a knife slicing through butter. Then, stepping around his backpack, he pushed open the door. The flashlight prowled the subterranean walls like the eyes of a nocturnal cat, pouncing upon the power switch that came into view. Noah flicked it on, and a row of bare bulbs sprang to life, dimly illuminating the tunnel before us. We walked a short distance, the rough-hewn, craggy walls our only guide, until we came to a corridor that branched off to the right. Noah aimed his flashlight down the unlit passage and turned into it as I followed behind. I tried to peer around his massive frame, but my eyes remained glued to the bright Hawaiian flowers on his s
hirt, which undulated in psychedelic lunacy, their fluorescent gleam appearing to mutate in the dark.
We had only gone about twenty feet in when Noah came to an abrupt halt. The small tunnel had ended, cut off by an airshaft that revealed the night sky. Glancing up, I saw a peek-a-boo moon wink as it escaped from behind a cloud, a silent co-conspirator to our break-in. My eyes followed a ray of moonlight back down and came to rest on the ghostly skeletons of a pair of raptors. Spotting them at the same time, Noah knelt beside the remains of the birds, their bare bones shimmering as though illuminated from inside.
“They must have flown in here and then evidently became too sick to fly back out,” Noah softly said.
“Too sick from what?” I queried, the words forming like heavy lumps of clay in the back of my throat.
Either Noah didn’t hear or he was too engrossed to answer. Scouring the area, his searchlight focused in on yet another open burial site. The small frame of what had been a coyote lay quietly on its side, its perfectly intact skeleton settled in for the night, not expecting to be caught by uninvited guests. A shiver formed at the base of my spine, snaking up through my body until my teeth began to chatter.
Noah retraced his steps without a word as we connected once again with the main tunnel. By now, the shaft exuded the closeness of a tomb. My arms pressed protectively against my sides as my clothes clung to my body in a moist layer of fear. I had always sworn I’d be cremated, fearing the suffocating confinement of a coffin and the impenetrable darkness of night. Now I wondered if this was what it felt like to be buried alive.
My senses heightened, I glanced around, noticing large patches of the same white fungus I’d seen in the passageway above. But this time the formations appeared to erupt from glistening crystals that grew out of the walls of stone. Eerily fascinated by their shimmering gleam, I reached out, wanting to caress their crystalline surface, as if that would somehow reassure me that I was still alive.
But Noah grabbed onto my wrist in midair. “Don’t touch that, Rachel. Don’t touch anything inside this tunnel,” he sternly warned. “I’ve never seen formations like these before. But I can sure as hell tell you they aren’t your normal everyday crystals. The less physical contact we have with anything in here, the better off we’ll be.”
I found myself wondering what the consequences were of just being in the place, but didn’t dare ask. Having come this far, neither of us planned on turning back now. We continued on our trek, pushing further into the shaft.
“We should be right below that concrete slab about now,” Noah informed me.
But I barely listened, suddenly aware of the sharp smell of ammonia that had begun to fill my lungs. My stomach performed a series of skydiving somersaults as the odor continued to grow. I brought my hand up to cover my mouth, then remembered where I had smelled that same scent before: at Annie’s house.
Noah noticed the odor as well. “That’s the smell of death, Porter. Something’s decomposing in here.”
Noah focused the flashlight into a corner, where the decaying carcass of a coyote lay, an odd puddle of liquid on its side shining in the light. A short distance from the carcass lay a couple of large shells from which leg, neck, and head bones protruded: the skeletons of two desert tortoises.
Noah slowly raised his flashlight from the disintegrating corpse, up along the tunnel wall, one maddening inch at a time. The focused rays picked up tiny fractures that sparkled in the stone, their surfaces slick and shiny, the crystals growing out of them gleaming with dew. Noah’s flashlight continued its upward journey, the beam traveling still higher, until the source of the moisture was finally found. A small stream of water dripped with a silent, steady beat from the uneven ceiling, the drops obscenely muted by the cadaver below.
“Shit. The damn place is leaking! That’s why they’re moving out,” Noah whispered in a hoarse rasp. He looked like a living corpse, his usual sunburned complexion transformed into a pallid mask of gray.
“But what about that heated block?” I said frantically. “I thought that was supposed to keep water from reaching any of the waste.”
More than anything, I wanted to shake Noah as hard as I could, forcing him to say he was wrong, that this was all some ludicrous mistake.
“It had to be that earthquake,” he muttered, half to himself.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, even as I remembered the tremor that had rocked my kitchen, breaking my few pitiful secondhand dishes, only a week ago. “What would an earthquake have to do with any of this?”
And then the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. “The radiation poisoning those tortoises died from! Their water source must have been here, inside the mine. They were just the ones that got out alive.”
But Noah didn’t answer, his mind already moving ahead at warp speed.
“I left my pack outside the tunnel. I need to take a reading on this place. I’m going to get it and you’re coming with me. I want you out of here now, Porter.”
Noah swiftly turned around to leave, then he came to an abrupt halt and stiffened. I drew alongside him and looked down, furiously exploring the dark without any clue as to what I was searching for. Until I heard the whisper of a sound, and my eyes latched onto three tiny pack rats huddled together, their bodies pressed tightly against the rough tunnel wall. Fearing our attention, the rodents drew closer still, pathetically whimpering as they tried their best to hide from our sight.
Noah carefully knelt down and flashed his light on their quivering bodies, and I heard a sharp cry. The sound echoed in my ears, and I realized that the cry was my own. A steady trickle of blood wept from their eyes, their noses, and their mouths, transforming them into a perverse science fiction version of the three blind mice.
“Take a good look, Rachel,” Noah whispered, his voice sounding a thousand miles away. “What you’re seeing is radiation poisoning. Let’s get the fuck out of here now.” Noah quickly retraced his steps toward the exit. I immediately began to follow when another sound, coming from further back, reached my ears. Halting, I watched Noah’s retreating form pass under each bare bulb, the brilliant colors of his shirt fading like the last rays of sun on a hot summer night. My mind told me to run as fast as I could, to think of nothing but getting out of the tunnel. But my feet had a mind of their own. Knowing I had little choice, I found myself turning away from Noah and heading deeper into the shaft.
The bulbs became fewer, the light more dim, and my head pounded with each step, the air pungent with death and decay. I heard the cry again, though I tried not to listen. I told myself it was nothing more than my demons toying with me, mocking my fear. But by now my body was on automatic pilot. Noah’s voice called to me from off in the distance, but I didn’t bother to answer, knowing I had to face whatever it was on my own.
Wrapped up in my thoughts, I was caught off guard by the rock that jutted in front of me. I tripped, and a sharp jolt of pain shot up my leg as my ankle twisted and I went down. I called out in dismay, angry at my foolhardy pride. But Noah was no longer there. I pulled myself up and hobbled a few steps, deciding I’d had enough. It was time to head back. Then a loud whimper stopped me dead in my tracks, turning my blood ice-cold.
I continued on, limping slowly toward the sound, my eyes focused on the form that was beginning to take shape under the shaft’s shadowy light. Trembling, I moved in closer. My breath caught in my throat, and a wave of nausea surged through me.
Pilot lay on his side, a rivulet of blood streaming from his mouth. He tried raising his tail, only to have it thump weakly down to the ground. Then he looked up at me and let out a cry, as if to tell me he was hurt, trusting I would make it all better. My knees buckled beneath me and a sob racked my body, my cry blending in with his. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his fur. Then, grabbing a tissue from my pocket, I tried as best I could to wipe away the blood, my vision blinded by tears. But the flow wouldn’t stop, staining his muzzle a deep crimson red.
&nbs
p; “Oh, no, Pilot, not you,” I whispered, knowing I couldn’t leave him.
My prayers were answered when I heard Noah call my name, followed by a gunshot that rang out in the distance. In my desperate relief to hear from the man who was fast becoming my guardian angel the sound didn’t register.
“I’m back here! I’ve found Pilot. We need to get him out!”
Noah didn’t answer. But his footsteps echoed down the long hall, raising my spirits as they drew closer. It was only as my rescuer came into view that I knew all of my hopes had been dashed.
Brian Anderson stood before me, a .357 Magnum held in his hand. I stared at him through my tears, continuing to stroke Pilot’s fur, as the dog let loose a low growl.
I didn’t ask about Noah. I already knew what had happened.
Brian shook his head in dismay, his eyes looking first at Pilot and then back at me. “I’m so sorry, Rachel.”
I truly believed him, and for the briefest moment, I felt as if we still might be saved.
“I didn’t want things to end like this. I tried to warn you,” he said gravely.
It was then that I finally knew where Brian’s allegiance lay.
“But why?” I asked, barely able to form the words over the sob that was lodged in my throat.
“It’s simple.” Brian shrugged. “We’re dealing with a public that wants cheap energy, but no one wants nuclear waste buried in their own backyard. As it stands now, DOE already has to ante up damages for coming in behind schedule.”
Brian looked tired, as if dealing with the issue had taken its toll.
“Yucca Mountain would have solved the problem. But your friend Noah put the brakes on that when he brought in the press. So we set up the Golden Shaft mine. The idea was to prove our case here—that Yucca Mountain could be made safe,” he explained. “Unfortunately the earthquake last week was centered in this area. The waste canisters came loose, and some leakage occurred.”
Tortoise Soup (Rachel Porter Mysteries) Page 28
