“In our world, it is found in trace amounts,” Mr. S explained. “By the time you reached the river, you were no longer in our world, or you were transitioning from our world to this world. I believe plutonium is much more plentiful in nature here.”
Camm gasped. Now she understood. “That is why the mansions were built in the first place, to mine plutonium in this world and bring it back to our world. Right?”
“At some point, that was definitely one of the purposes,” Mr. S agreed. “We can now manufacture plutonium, but the demand exceeds the supply. Our nuclear power plants produce only a fraction of what we need. For example, the NASA space program has given up trying to find enough plutonium and is looking for other power sources to use in its long range missions.”
“Oh no!” Martha’s eyes got wide, and she placed her hand over her mouth. She stared at Camm. “We were irradiated by plutonium when we went through that cave!”
Camm stared in alarm and turned to Mr. S. “Is that true? Should we be worried?”
“You probably received the same amount of radiation you would receive through common medical x-rays. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Wait.” Now it was Mr. C’s turn to look worried. “Why didn’t Granny come with you? What did he think of all this? Why did he let you go through the cave by yourselves?”
Martha and Camm exchanged anxious looks. Each waited for the other to explain.
Mr. C persisted. “Where is Granny?”
* * *
Ah, Granny thought, this is going to be good!
He peeled a ripe banana with several bruises on it and sliced it into the bowl with his mixture. He mixed it in, but not too well. Next, he dumped in a handful of fresh blueberries.
“Boys, this is going to be delicious!” he called over his shoulder.
Granny loved the huge kitchen in the Trona mansion. It was archaic, but stocked with everything anyone would ever need. Well, anyone, who was a gourmet cook. Stirring carefully, he could tell the mixture was just right. Next, he tested the griddle. If he loved the kitchen, he adored the griddle, larger than a baby’s playpen. Holding his hand above the hot iron, he could tell it was just right.
He poured the mixture from the bowl into a pitcher, and from the pitcher onto the grill in perfect flapjack size puddles. Nearby, bacon sizzled, and fresh eggs waited to go on over-easy.
“Boys, I hope you brought your appetites.”
His two guests peered back, perplexed. They sat crossed legged on the stone floor in near nakedness. They would not sit in chairs and did not understand a single word Granny said. They were not stupid, however, and clearly understood that something to eat was coming their way.
Granny guessed they had grown up in a culture where you ate whenever you could. And, you ate as much as you could when you had the chance, because you never knew for sure when your next meal was coming.
Granny placed a fine porcelain plate in each of their laps. Carefully depositing just-off-the-griddle banana-blueberry flapjacks onto each plate, he cautioned, “Hot! Hot!” Granny gestured with his hand indicating the pancakes were hot to the touch.
His guests looked amused.
“Here, wait. Try this.” Holding up a bottle of real maple syrup, he indicated each should extend a finger to try the sugary liquid. Tentatively each tasted a drop of maple syrup. Their looks of apprehension turned to expressions of pleasure.
“Oh yeah.” Granny could read their expressions clearly. “That’s the good stuff!”
The three of them enjoyed a breakfast containing way too much fat and sugar. It was exquisite. The guests ate everything, including the perfectly cooked eggs, with their fingers. They followed Granny’s movements with ill-concealed mirth as he ate with fork and knife.
It had taken Granny some time to figure out what to call them. Every name he considered was either not applicable or awkward, like Native Other Worldians.
After giving it way too much thought, it occurred to Granny they already had names. With gestures, he identified himself as “Granny.” Once they understood that, they told him their names: Boeno and Framtum. So that is what he called them, when he didn’t just call them “the boys.”
To be sure, upon their first meeting, Framtum, the larger of the two, had placed a sharpened butter knife to Granny’s neck. They had worked through that little misstep and become fast friends. The two were essentially peaceful by nature and as curious about Granny as he was about them.
Granny chuckled to himself, at the thought of Boeno and Framtum being his friends. But there was no other way to put it, and this was turning out to be a mutually beneficial friendship.
They had worked out a simple form of sign language to communicate. Once Granny realized Boeno and Framtum already used hand gestures as part of their workday lexicon, he quickly figured out what most of those gestures meant.
Through hand gestures, Granny had determined a few basic facts. They were familiar with and afraid of the massive-sized snake. They knew about the giant green rat, but were not as familiar with it as they were with the snake. Regarding the mansion, they were extremely reluctant to go inside. Only when they realized they would be served food in the mansion, would they enter.
As best Granny could determine, they had no idea how they had arrived in this Trona world, or what had happened to the alternate one they had lived in before. How to get back to those they had left on the other side, they did not know, but they were clearly anxious about the fate of their friends and families.
One interesting fact Granny discovered was that they were not only wary of the mansion, but also of the nearby chemical plant. At first, Granny thought it was because of the smell that emanated from the plant, but he soon suspected it was more than that. As with the mansion, they rarely went anywhere near the plant, and it didn’t matter whether the smell was strong or weak.
Before they returned to their own world, Granny knew he needed to get more information from them. For one thing, while Granny was an expert hunter and tracker, he suspected Boeno and Framtum were even better. He intended to enlist their help in tracking down the rat.
While Granny’s main focus was on finding the rat, Camm and Martha’s absence had not gone unnoticed. He could have locked them both in the mansion, but he trusted them. It annoyed Granny that wherever they had gone, they had not left him a note telling him about it. Of course, Granny had himself been gone a couple days, but still, they should have left him a note.
It was possible the rat had eaten them. If so, Granny was sure he would eventually find some personal artifacts or other remains. So far, he had found nothing. In the meantime, there was nothing he could do, except search for them. But that would interrupt his hunt for the rat. Mr. C had been very clear that above all else, Granny was to find that rat. If Camm and Martha hadn’t been eaten by the rat, they were probably safe and would check in with him when they were ready.
It had also occurred to Granny that they might have taken off and squealed to the press about the Trona drama. But Granny didn’t think so. He knew that Camm had previously made unauthorized use of NSA vehicles, but currently, all cars were present and accounted for, and he was sure they wouldn’t hitchhike. Besides, Granny knew that Camm understood it would not bode well for her boyfriend and herself, legally speaking, if she exposed Swift Creek and its operation in Searles Valley. More importantly, Camm didn’t seem like that kind of person. Granny trusted and respected Camm. He would just wait for them to come back.
Boeno and Framtum had cleaned their plates. Literally. Every crumb and drop of syrup had been licked off. Granny rubbed his hands together. He was ready to try and communicate to them that he needed their help in tracking down the rat.
Before he could introduce the subject, Boeno held his plate up to Granny with an expectant look on his face. Framtum did the same.
“So, you boys want seconds, do you?”
Granny smiled to himself. “I suppose that is the bane of being a wonderfully good cook.” He was anxious to begin tracking the rat, but the look on the faces of his guests was just too compelling.
“Why not? We have time. Seconds it is.”
XXI
“Aren’t there ecological concerns we should take into account?”
Camm considered Martha’s inquiry as she picked her way down the steep, rocky slope. Misters S and C had proposed a new plan for the mansions, which included finding and killing the giant Mojave Green rattlesnake. Truthfully, when Camm weighed the pros and cons of the new course of action, the ecology of this world was the least of her worries.
Camm, Cal, Martha, and Lenny were headed back to the mansion after hiking into the foothills west of the mansion to scout for signs of the snake. The foursome had followed an animal trail on the hike up the hill, but had struck out on their own for the return trip, covering new ground.
“Dude, exactly.” Lenny spoke from the rear, behind Martha. “We can’t mess with the ecology of this world. It is so pristine and pure. Let’s not mess it up.”
Lenny paused to study the valley below. “I still say we tear down the mansion on this side, and then go back to our own world through the cave, leaving this world in an untouched state. If we stay here, our presence will corrupt its normal development.”
Camm rolled her eyes. Lenny was still Lenny. “You’re not going to start quoting Star Trek again, are you?” Camm jumped down into a small wash, glad to be on even ground.
“Hey, dude, you can’t ignore the Prime Directive.” Lenny effortlessly vaulted the last few boulders to land by Martha in the wash. Camm was relieved that Cal had persuaded Lenny to wear a pair of pants on this outing. “Advanced civilizations should not interfere with or influence the development of more primitive or newly developing civilizations.”
Camm was not going to argue that point, so she held up both hands in surrender.
“You know, Lenny,” Cal said thoughtfully, “if we could confine the snake to this world so it couldn’t transition to our own world, you and Martha would have a point. But since the snake has found a way to transition without the mansions, it comes into our world and eats people anytime it wants. That alone is messing with the ecology of this world. I mean, it brings back stuff, like dead bodies with everything they’re wearing, from our world to this world. Tearing down a mansion won’t stop the snake from coming into our world. The only way to stop the snake is to kill it.”
Cal hitched up his pistol holster into a more comfortable position and resumed his search for signs of the Mojave Green. He had gone into full hunter mode, hoping to be the one to find the snake. He had regaled Camm with the gory details of fighting the scorpion. She could tell he had enjoyed eating the scorpion and would enjoy eating the rattlesnake.
“I have heard that snake is good white meat,” he had said, as if that was a key point.
Glancing up at Cal, Camm smiled. From the time they were little, Cal had imagined himself a great hunter. Now, he carried his pistol everywhere with extra clips on his belt. Given recent events, he had also been entrusted with a semi-automatic assault rifle and extra clips for it too. Camm knew this made Cal happy, and if Cal was happy, Camm was happy. For Cal’s sake, she had pretended to be interested in firearms since their grade school days together.
In the valley, they could see Mr. C and Agent Allen coming across the open desert to meet them. Mr. C’s health had drastically improved while he had been in the alternate world. For some reason, Mr. C had been expecting this result. He could walk with the aid of an improvised cane, but someone, like Agent Allen, always accompanied him, in case he needed help. Mr. C yelled something and waved his hand over his head to get their attention.
Lenny had been walking beside Martha, quietly discussing ecological considerations, and was ready now for another round. “Dude!” This time the word was a reprimand. “We don’t need to kill the snake. That’s what the mansions are for, to keep it from coming over to our world.”
Cal shook his head, but Camm had had enough of Lenny’s circular reasoning. “Lenny, there are two things wrong with your arguments. First, using the mansions to control transitions is faulty, since the snake can now transition freely in spite of them. That reptile has found a way to eat people and cause general havoc in our world any time it wants, as you well know. If your memory fails you, just ask Mr. C. The mansions have not stopped the snake.
“Second, you’re the one arguing we should tear down the mansions and give the snake free reign. You can’t have it both ways. Do the mansions control the snake or not? Besides, even if we don’t tear down the mansions, someday someone will tear them down, giving the snake the unlimited ability to transition whenever it wants. The only sure way to stop the snake from crossing over into our world and eating our kids is to kill it once and for all.”
Camm saw the issue as black or white, with no gray whatsoever, and she was tired of the debate. Once Mr. C explained the plan for killing the giant snake, it had made eminent sense. She remained protective of Trona’s children and believed anything threatening them should be destroyed. She had no patience for those wanting to protect monsters that fed on children.
Lenny did not look convinced, but Camm’s intensity silenced him for the time being.
Making sure the peace continued, Martha pointed ahead. “Let’s go see what Mr. C wants.” She started off at a trot toward Mr. C and Agent Allen, pulling Lenny along willingly by the hand. Camm shook her head at how easily Martha could control Lenny. Even when Lenny wasn’t able to hear anyone else, he always heard Martha.
Agent Allen stopped and knelt on one knee, tying her shoes. Mr. C continued walking toward them, waving one hand over his head. A shadow passed over them, but Camm didn’t give it much thought. Cal hesitated a moment before exclaiming, “Oh crap!”
Taking off at a full run, he raced toward Mr. C. As he ran, Cal removed his pistol from its holster and held it up in the air. Camm stared around confused. She could not see the danger.
“Get down! Get down!” Cal yelled to Mr. C as he scanned the sky.
Camm looked up too, but all she saw were white clouds in a blue sky, lit up by a blinding bright sun. Whatever danger Cal saw was not apparent to Camm.
Martha and Lenny also stopped to gaze around, confused.
Agent Allen perceived Cal’s concern and remained in a kneeling position as she un-holstered her gun. By the expression on her face, it was clear she did not see the danger either.
Cal halted, but continued scanning the sky, turning from side to side, his gun held tightly in both hands. Whatever he searched for above them was apparently not there.
Camm caught up with him and placed her hand on his arm. “What is it Cal?” His demeanor worried her. Normally, Cal stayed calm no matter what.
“What are you . . . ?” she started to ask when a low, rumbling noise, like thunder, sounded in the distance. Only white, billowy clouds filled the sky. The rumble was not thunder. Then, the rumbling was followed by shaking. The ground rolled and jumped. Standing out in the open at the base of the foothills with the wide valley below, Camm could see the actual waves of the earthquake rolling across the desert valley as the ground heaved and contracted.
Panic set in, but Camm brushed it away. Nothing could fall on them where they stood, except the sky itself. An earthquake was easier to endure in the open than it was in the dark cave where thousands of tons of rock could collapse, crushing and entombing her.
The earthquake continued on and on. It was so severe Camm staggered back and forth. Eventually the rumbling faded into the distance. The ground settled. The shaking stopped.
Camm turned to Cal. “Did you know that earthquake was coming?” Without realizing it, Camm had grabbed Cal’s shirtsleeve to help keep her balance.
Cal furrowed his brow. “No. How could I know an earthquake was coming?�
�
A shadow crossed over them again. Cal looked up.
“Then what were you yelling about?”
“In the sky, a giant hawk is hunting us.” Cal pointed up, yelling again.
Lenny shouted, “Heads up everyone! Get down! Hit the ground!” Lenny clutched Martha’s arm tightly. Though nothing seemed to threaten them, he pulled her to the ground and held her close. Her panicked face stared up into the sky.
Agent Allen, still down on one knee, also stared up in the sky, an expression of absolute horror on her face. Camm’s head twisted back and forth. She could not see the danger.
Where was Mr. C? Camm could account for everyone, except Mr. C. Where was . . . ?
Holy crap! Camm saw him. He was up in the air. His slender, crippled frame had been seized by a giant bird. It was the biggest bird Camm had ever seen. It grappled with Mr. C, its giant claws piercing his shoulders as it lifted him off the ground. The bird flapped hard, finding it difficult to gain elevation. Mr. C kicked and twisted, trying to get free of the bird’s grip.
Cal raced toward the bird and the struggling Mr. C, his pistol in both hands, pointed upward.
Agent Allen also ran after Mr. C. Holding up a warning hand, she called, “Don’t shoot Mr. C! Don’t shoot Mr. C!” Neither one knew what to do.
Cal hit on a plan. “Shoot the wings!” he yelled.
Cal immediately shot at the wing on the left. Agent Allen shot at the one on the right. It was impossible to tell if any of the bullets were hitting flesh and bone. The bird’s flight became erratic as it struggled to rise more than a dozen feet off the ground.
On the run, Cal and Agent Allen shot repeatedly into the widespread wings. Finally, the bird of prey decided it would rather escape the gunfire than hang on to its anticipated meal.
Unceremoniously, the monstrous bird dropped Mr. C. He fell limply, slamming into the desert floor. Everyone raced to where his crumpled frame lay in the sand and sagebrush.
Fatal Green Page 17
