by Linda Jacobs
“Hey, Kelley,” she called to the gray-haired mom of the family operation. “All your meat out?”
Kelley’s age-spotted hand selected another golden apple from a box and added it to the pyramid she was building.
“Skinny New York strips aren’t what I want for Wyatt’s first night home,” Alicia said. She planned to wait for him at his house, clean sheets on the bed, the salad ready to toss, steaks seasoned to grill. When he came in, tired and dirty from the trail, she’d draw a hot bath and pour him a drink. “No rib-eyes hidden out?”
Kelley smiled. “You might try up at the Firehole Inn. Edith bought all my rib-eye and filet, but she might sell you some.”
“At a premium,” Alicia grumbled.
She started to maneuver and found a traffic jam blocking the aisle. A baby started to squall as her mother’s cart knocked cans off a piled up display. Above the cash registers, helium balloons began a gentle sway.
Alicia went still.
An elderly man in coveralls came into the store, looked with dismay at the empty cart bay, and stumped down the aisle to grab and balance three large jugs of water.
Kelley put down the apple and wiped her hands on her apron. “What’s up, Harry? Didn’t know there was a drought.”
“Earthquakes coming. Gotta lay in emergency supplies in case we lose power or the water mains break.”
Kelley raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell when an earthquake’s coming.” She stopped and mused, “Unless … did Brock Hobart make another prediction?”
“No, siree.” Harry set the jugs on the floor beside the checkout. “These are mine,” he told the pregnant woman in line.
Alicia glanced up at the corner TV tuned to Billings Live Eye. At this midmorning hour, they would normally be broadcasting some network talk extravaganza. Instead, the local anchor was speaking over a banner, “Breaking News in Yellowstone National Park.”
“Kelley!” Alicia called. “Turn up the TV.”
“That’s what I saw,” said Harry, as Kelley ran to her glass-fronted customer-service office and pointed a remote at the television.
“… Startling news from Yellowstone this morning,” said the spectacled Clark Kent type anchor. “In the wake of the 6.1 magnitude earthquake here, scientists have warned of,” he consulted a paper, “more and stronger earthquakes and a volcanic eruption at Nez Perce Peak.”
Alicia watched the expressions of the people in the store. Those who had already heard the news redoubled their determination to lay in supplies. The others wore a shocked look that gradually shifted to a mental assessment of the contents of their shopping carts.
The anchor went on, “After Carol Leeds, our roving reporter in the field, filmed an interview with Ms. Iniki Kuni of the Yellowstone Resource Center, the Park Service issued an official release.” He smiled. “I won’t read it to you in its entirety, but it does conclude with mention of September 26’s magnitude 6.1 event.” He consulted his copy again. “I quote, ‘Following the quake, there has been an unusual lack of aftershock activity. The Utah Institute of Seismology, the USGS, and the Park Service will continue to monitor the situation’.”
Though the official version was less ominous, no one in the store put anything back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SEPTEMBER 28
Kyle, Wyatt, and Nick rode down the canyon from Nez Perce Peak. They’d skirted the area of poison gas where the deer had died and avoided the fault line in case of new seeps. Nobody had much to say.
She wondered if the others were as jumpy.
Probably not. Steady Wyatt wasn’t above admitting to fear, but she had faith he’d never give in to it. Her view ahead was of his brimmed hat and the back of his jacket, as well as Thunder’s broad flanks and flicking tail.
Nick, bringing up the rear atop docile Gray, no doubt thought leaving the mountain cramped his style. She wasn’t happy about abandoning their fieldwork, either. Hollis Delbert was going to be livid that they’d left all the equipment that wasn’t part of a permanent station.
Well, just because she was paranoid didn’t mean the mountain wasn’t a pressure cooker. She could hardly wait until they’d put some miles behind them.
Without warning, Thunder shied. Strawberry planted her feet. Gray lifted his front hooves in an uncharacteristic display of pique.
“Hey!” Nick sawed on the reins. Gray bucked.
“Earthquake.” Wyatt’s thigh muscles bunched beneath his jeans as he brought Thunder under control.
The rocking disorientation and Strawberry’s unease transmitted through the horse’s trembling flanks. Tamping down a suicidal impulse to spur her to a gallop, Kyle waited for the worst.
Instead, the shaking diminished and died. Fortunately for Nick, who had little control over Gray, all three horses settled. Against silence, the clacking of rocks marked small landslides in the canyon.
“At least a 4.0,” Nick observed.
Kyle tried not to transmit her anxiety to Strawberry.
Wyatt turned in his saddle and looked at her. “Okay?”
Nick groused, “I’m all right, but old Gray’s never showed that much spirit.”
“Kyle?” Wyatt said.
“Let’s go on.” She tried to sound steady.
Wyatt gave Thunder a nudge and he moved along. Kyle and Nick followed, riding side by side where the trail widened.
“You doing all right with Gray now?” she asked.
Although the morning was still cool, Nick’s coat was tied around his waist and his hair dark with sweat. He’d talked about walking back to their trucks and trailers at the Pelican Creek trailhead, but finally admitted it would take more than one day to hike the twenty-plus miles.
“Horses.” Nick gave his once-more sedate mount a wary look. “When I was a kid in Ventura, my father took me to a ranch in the mountains near Ojai. I was scared as soon as I saw the huge chestnut he expected me to ride.”
A surprise; Nick’s tales never featured fear.
“The big ox stepped on my foot. I bit my tongue and tried to shove him off. He leaned and put more weight on that hoof until I screamed for Dad.”
“And that’s kept you away from horses?”
“I tried again at a country birthday party when I was fifteen. An old nag like Wyatt gave me, not that Gray’s a bad sort.” Nick patted the horse’s neck. “That one was startled by a rabbit in the brush. I tried to keep my seat and my pride … fell off and broke my nose.”
“So that’s how you got that bump.” She remembered tracing its contour with a fingertip. “I’m surprised you didn’t get back in the saddle.”
“You mean because I work on active volcanoes?”
She nodded.
“I find volcanoes both irresistible and frightening. I’m never more alive than when I’m on a crater rim watching a hail of stones or a river of lava. I know I can’t stay long because I’m gambling with death, but I can’t help wanting to go again and again.” His eyes glowed the way a man’s might when speaking of a woman he loved or his children.
What must it have been like for his wives, left at home while he spent three quarters of the year in South America, the Philippines, or Japan? Waiting for letters and phone calls instead of sharing a life that included going to the grocery store, doing the dinner dishes, and snuggling together in bed.
As if he heard her thoughts, Nick lowered his voice. “Living the way I do plays hell on relationships.”
“You were a free spirit before you ever set foot on your first volcano,” she said evenly.
He looked away as though to check whether Wyatt was in earshot. “We all make choices, Kyle.” He maneuvered Gray closer. “But you know, there was a lot more shaken up the night of the new moon than you might realize.”
Her face grew warm at his declaration. Knowing his attentions had been more than liquor talking put her back in a quandary.
How simple it had been at twenty. Nick had only to crook his finger and she’d been all over him. The way
she’d described that feeling of first infatuation to Wyatt, how she’d fallen for Nick with no doubt, no fear, and no concept that either could ever pull back from the other.
She wasn’t twenty anymore.
When they rounded the next bend, Kyle caught a whiff of something foul, so faint that it took a moment to recognize the stink of rotten eggs. In the same instant she realized it, Nick shouted, “Gas.”
From about ten yards ahead, Wyatt called, “I don’t smell anything.”
“Behind us,” Kyle decided. This was different from the stench the other day, with an added acrid tang.
She nudged Strawberry forward and heard the shamble of Gray’s hooves as Nick got him moving. Wyatt cleared the way by directing Thunder ahead. Kyle held her breath until after she passed the place Wyatt had been. Then she sniffed and could no longer detect any aroma.
Nevertheless, they all rode as fast as the trail would permit until the seep was well behind. On the wide spot of another bend, the three drew rein.
Nick lit a cigarette with hands that looked unsteady and looked back toward the mountain. “We’ve come down quite a ways, but we’re still along the east-west trend of the Saddle Valley Fault. That gas is probably part of the same plume over a magma column.”
Wyatt touched Thunder’s neck in a reassuring manner. “That confirms it is bigger, not some narrow neck under the peak.”
Nick turned to Kyle. “Did you get a good whiff back there?”
Her pulse began a slow and deliberate thudding. “You mean the sour?”
“Along with the hydrogen sulfide rotten-egg odor, I caught some hydrogen chloride. Usually seen close to eruption time,” Nick offered for Wyatt’s benefit.
“I know that,” Wyatt bristled.
“But what kind of eruption?” Kyle asked. “The map we made this morning showing a broad area of swelling’s got me spooked.”
Nick smoked and considered. “There was significant overlap between the last three great eruptions in the region. If Nez Perce is hooked up to the last caldera, all the way back to Yellowstone Lake, such would measure nearly thirty miles … over a thousand times greater than Mount St. Helens.”
Wyatt gathered Thunder’s reins. “Then may I respectfully suggest we get the hell out of here?”
Ahead lay the worst part of the trip, a narrow canyon where the trail followed a shelf above a rushing stream.
“Just this little stretch, boy.” Wyatt stroked Thunder’s neck. “Then you’re home free.”
The footing looked treacherous. In places, the trail was no more than a few feet wide due to cave-ins. The hillside bore the scars of prior landslides with scattered islands of outcrop and trees.
Nick peered ahead. “I don’t like the looks of this bastard any more than I did the other day.”
Wyatt turned to Kyle. “Ready?”
Unease ate at her and made her feel too warm in the canyon shade, but she nodded.
Ten feet, fifty, a hundred, and they were out on the middle of the shelf. Thunder moved placidly, Strawberry with her customary care, and Gray was once more slow and stolid. Kyle tried not to grip the reins too hard with her sweat-slicked hands.
She could hear Nick’s quick breathing behind her. A glance over her shoulder, and their eyes met.
“Be careful, Nick.” Her voice wasn’t steady.
“Always.” Gray stepped on a rock and Nick took a second to adjust his balance. “Thinking about volcanoes … I’ve lost friends to the beasts. When it happens, I… we all in the community remember that every one of us addicted to volcanoes would rather die on one than anywhere else.”
“Throw some salt over your shoulder, quick,” Kyle admonished. “To ward off bad luck.”
“Sorry, babe. Fresh out.” Nick gave her a sad smile.
“Halfway,” Wyatt marked from ahead.
Suddenly Thunder lifted his muzzle and snorted. Strawberry stopped. Gray shuffled to a halt.
With a faint rattle, pebbles loosened and skittered down the slope.
Kyle watched the dancing grains, mesmerized. She’d never felt so vulnerable, stuck in the middle of an avalanche chute on a path too narrow to turn around on.
Before she could urge Wyatt to hurry, before she could have more than a hair-raising premonition, a huge jolt struck.
She slammed forward and jerked back, as though she’d been rear-ended by an eighteen-wheeler. The coppery taste of blood spread in her mouth.
Thunder went onto his knees. Wyatt slid off him. Kyle couldn’t see where he landed. Strawberry danced and somehow managed to stay on her feet. Gray gave a shrill scream.
With the next shock, the horse and Nick fell into the canyon.
Cameraman Larry Norris drove while Carol Leeds rode shotgun in the Billings Live Eye van on their way from Yellowstone to Billings. The Paradise Valley unfolded on either side of the highway. Although flat and relatively treeless, the land was nonetheless surrounded by a ring of mountains and billed as the gateway to Yellowstone. After being discovered by the rich and famous, it sported multimillion-dollar retreats, resorts, and overpriced retirement homes.
This morning Larry was too preoccupied to enjoy the scenery. In order to keep up with Carol’s schedule, he’d had to leave the house while his eight-year-old son Joey was in the middle of an asthma attack. His wife Donna was going to be late to her job again, and that wasn’t fair.
Through his fog, he heard Carol. “This could be as big as the fires of ‘88. And right now, it’s all ours.”
She snapped and unsnapped her jeans jacket, and he figured she was scheming. Larry thought that at forty-seven she should give up hoping for an anchor slot, but this morning’s exclusive story warning of earthquakes was a fine scoop. Maybe she was thinking the new station manager would consider a promotion.
Larry steered with one hand on the wheel and turned to look at her. That probably drove her nuts wanting him to keep his eyes on the road. “I keep thinking about our source,” he said. “That little Goth at the Resource Center. You suppose we did the right thing breaking without hearing from Park Management?”
“We’re never going to make everybody happy.” Carol flipped back her thick hair. “Why don’t you take the pictures and leave strategy to me?”
Her cell phone rang. The voice of station manager Sonny Fiero sounded loud enough for Larry to hear. “Bad news. Seems the latest Park Service release doesn’t mention doom and gloom.”
Larry smiled as Carol said, “What time did it come out?”
“Right when we went on the air with your video. Look, I hate to say this, but that gal with the pierced nose and black fingernails isn’t exactly an official source.”
“Hindsight, Fiero,” Carol blustered. “If you didn’t think email straight from scientists in the field was reliable, you should have killed the story.”
There was a little silence from the other end.
“So what do you want us to do?” Carol asked.
“Get back to the park and find out who’s right on this,” Sonny ordered.
“U-turn, Clyde,” Carol told Larry.
“Roger.” Covering the park required a lot of road miles; recently they’d been back and forth more than once some days.
Larry braked and found that the van began to swerve. “Uh-oh.”
“For God’s sake, do I have to drive, too?”
“It’s not me.” Larry fought the wheel with both hands.
Carol grabbed the chicken bar above the passenger
door and braced on the dash. The van left the highway
and bounced into the ditch.
Superintendent Janet Bolido’s desk leaped up and landed with a thud.
What in the name …?
She watched her computer monitor go over backward and heard it smash. A rising rumble came from all around her. With a white-knuckle grip on the arms of her chair, she managed to stay seated and upright.
From the hall outside, she heard someone shout, “Get outside!”
The floor co
ntinued to roll, and she wondered if she could walk.
A book fell from the shelves and hit the floor beside her. And another. Then one hit a glancing blow to her shoulder. An ancient copy of How to Lie with Statistics that she’d kept because she liked the concept.
Janet struggled to her feet. If you couldn’t get out, a doorframe was supposed to be safer than the middle of the room. A book hit her elbow, square on the funny bone. The corner of another crashed into her cheek. She brought her hand up and rubbed the place where it smarted.
She needed to move, but her desk slid toward her. Blocked in a triangle formed by the L-shaped workstation, she decided get back in control by climbing over.
An avalanche of books began.
Janet raised her arms to ward off.
From the corner of her eye, she saw six shelves worth of solid oak come loose from the wall, fully loaded with the office’s collection of park history, lore, and goddamned science.
As the shelves swept down behind a hail of sharp-edged hard covers, Janet dove into the kneehole of her desk.
“See you next time, Kelley,” Alicia told the owner of the Pic and Sav while she pushed her cart away from the checkout. In addition to some staples, she’d bought more than she’d intended for her and Wyatt, fresh oranges, premium bacon, and $6.99-a-pound baby spinach. Now all she needed was to stop at the Firehole Inn and talk Edith out of a couple of well-marbled rib-eyes.
Suddenly, it felt like the store jumped up and then crashed down. The lights flickered.
Though she tried to clutch the handle, her cart rolled free. A bag she’d balanced in the child’s seat tumbled to the floor.
With the next shock, Alicia fell to her hands and knees. Above a grinding rumble, she heard the thud of falling canned goods and the sharper shattering of glass.
God, not again. Even with the thought, she knew this was not a repeat of the tremors they’d been having. More and stronger earthquakes.
Her kneecaps went numb from repeated impact with the worn linoleum floor. She cut her palm on a broken jar of Major Grey’s Chutney, the sticky brown concoction of mango and ginger mixing with her blood.
