Fault Line In The Sand

by Linda Mackay

  “Her granny couldn’t kick a toothpick across the room.” Todd looked at Mac, “She’s about four feet tall, weighs less than the flamingo in her front yard, and wears a parka around the pool.”

  “I take it that means Amanda is the one with the cold genes,” Mac said.

  “No way. Todd is the weenie,” Amanda insisted.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “You started the fire this morning,” Todd said.

  “You told me to,” Amanda slapped Todd on the back of the head.

  “Don’t mess up my hair.” Todd swatted back at Amanda.

  “Make me stop.”

  “Anyone like a mimosa?” I asked.

  “Make mine a double.” Mac rubbed his temples. “Amanda, get the champagne and I’ll get the juice.”

  “I’ll get the glasses.” I set four glasses on the kitchen island and was grateful we’d managed to avoid a brawl before breakfast.

  Todd finished cooking, while the rest of us sipped mimosas around the kitchen table. He set the platter of food in the middle of the tabletop and we all reached for it at once. I slathered butter and homemade chokecherry syrup on my waffle and took a bite of decadence.

  “I need you to bring the ROV.” Mac said chewing a bite of the bacon-egg casserole.

  “No way!” An ROV is a remote operated vehicle. Mine is used underwater to research Lake Yellowstone. While it isn’t the newest or biggest it’s still not for my personal use. I know what he wanted to use it for and in this situation bigger was better. And that bigger and better was the size of a washer and dryer, and was being used by the team working at the bay.

  “Come on boss, you know you want to see what’s at the bottom of the bay,” Todd said.

  “It could be the technology that helps prove the president was assassinated,” Amanda added. “We could be famous.”

  “You would look so good on the cover of Earth Magazine,” Todd said.

  “I bet we’d even make the cover of Time.”

  “Okay, Tata, that’s enough dreaming.” Mac called them Tata for Todd, Amanda, Todd, Amanda, because when they get going it’s a non-stop back and forth conversation.

  “You’re not going to be on the cover of any magazines after using my ROV for personal gain, you’ll be in USGS jail,” I said.

  “What the hell is USGS jail?” Todd asked.

  “I don’t know. But, I’m sure there is one.” And I’d bet it was located at the unemployment office.

  “No one’s going to jail,” Mac said. “Let me worry about any unauthorized use of government property.”

  Easy for him to say with his big boy spy credentials. “I’ll never work again if we misuse the ROV.”

  “I thought you said you were sick of working for the USGS?” Mac said.

  “Yeah, all their politics and fudging on research findings. You said after this grant research was completed you were quitting,” Amanda said.

  “It was a bold statement based on the situation at the time, and not taking into consideration future endeavors.” Even to me, that sounded like a load of bureaucratic bull.

  “What does that mean?” Amanda asked.

  “It means the boss is wimping out and taking the safe and known road,” Todd said.

  He was right. I was almost forty years old, with a good paying job, and great benefits. Why rock the boat? Even if it was sinking, it was easier to just go down with the boat. “If I quit what would you two do?” There you go, Jorie, pretend you’re doing it for them.

  “By next year, I’ll hopefully have my PhD, and we can start our own company,” Todd said.

  “I’ll work for you,” Amanda smiled.

  “They aren’t going to let you off the hook, Dr. Clark.” Mac patted me on the head. “And I’m pretty sure your future endeavors will turn out just fine. So let’s get back to how we move the ROV without drawing too much attention.”

  If I’m already sinking, I might as well throw out the bailing bucket. “The ROV can be transported in the small trailer behind my truck. We’ll need a travois-on-wheels to pull behind one of the packhorses. The only way to hopefully avoid too many ranger questions is to leave Fishing Bridge early in the morning, and by that I mean three a.m.”

  “We will run into a ranger somewhere, so what’s our story?” Mac asked.

  “I have no freaking idea.” Ball is in your court, Special Forces, let’s see if you can figure that one out.

  Chapter 5

  Mac figured it out.

  He said it was a simple plan. Something my academic-based brain was incapable of actuating, since simple doesn’t acquire grants. According to Mac, government agencies habitually keep each other in the dark. If a ranger asks too many questions, Liz would show her DIA credentials and ask if they had TS/SCI clearance. If they argued with her—well let’s just say I don’t want to know what she’d do if a park ranger argued with her.

  I was afraid to ask what all those initials meant. Mac, however, freely informed me it stood for Top Secret/Sensitive Compartmented Information clearance, and if any of those dudes had it, Liz would probably just shoot them. The whole plan was too much muscle and not enough brains, in my opinion. However, Mac was threatening to shoot people, so I kept my brain and my opinions quiet.

  Mac and Todd put themselves in charge of finding something a horse could use to pull the ROV. After lunch they left for town, taking Amanda and a large grocery list with them. Soon after they left I saw Dad and Gramps return in the old pick-up. Neither came to the house and it was a relief not to deal with Dad. I love my dad, but he is a curmudgeon most days, and an ass on others. His attitude comes from too many years being treated badly at the USGS, with a dose of my mother’s job taking her away from home eight months a year.

  The dryer buzzed and I left my lazy position on the porch to change a load of laundry. With my jeans in the dryer, I went back to enjoying the afternoon sun. I picked my phone up off the table and scrolled to the pictures from July. Staring back at me was the new Yellowstone. This one created by humans, not by a volcanic eruption 600,000 years ago, or any other natural occurrence when the earth below is a magma hot spot. The park service hadn’t decided on a plan to rebuild a road around the new bay or a bridge over it. Either would be costly, which made the bureaucrats incapable of making a decision.

  I’d loaded all the photos from the July events onto my computer and also to a USB drive. All were in a safe deposit box at the bank in Jackson, along with other tangible evidence Mac and I held in reserve. He’d gotten no argument from me on not turning over all the evidence. Insurance is a valuable commodity and I had a feeling we were going to cash in this policy soon.

  Todd promised to bring back pizza from town. I promised to be sure the ROV was cleared of any research and ready for its new adventure. I looked at the barometer inside the front door. It was falling. Dark clouds were visible over the mountains, and the temperature had been dropping since lunch. I checked the NOAA forecast. Snow. A winter weather watch had been issued with up to a foot of snow expected above 8000 feet over the next 48 hours. It was mid-October and winter was about to make her first appearance of the season.

  “That feels so good.” Amanda held her hands in front of the wood stove in my cabin.

  “You make that sound erotic,” Todd said.

  “Being warm is erotic.”

  “Oh, baby, baby, depends on who’s doing the warming.”

  “That’s enough, just throw in two more logs.” I looked out the window at the snow covering the ground. It began snowing last night as we finished off three pizzas. Todd had returned from town with six pizzas of different varieties, and tonight we were reheating the leftovers as the six of us - dad and gramps finally made an appearance – crowded into my cabin. The temperature hovered around thirty degrees and the skies remained cloudy, leaving the several inches that fell overnight still on the ground.

  “It’s snowing again.” Gramps said walking up next to me at the window.

/>   “Winter is going to lay down early and stay,” I said.

  “That’s my feeling too.”

  “Gramps, we’re going back.”

  “It’s the right thing to do.”

  We watched the snow increase and the wind toss it sideways. “NOAA issued a winter storm warning a couple hours ago lowering the heavy snow level to 7000 feet. We could be in for a long night.”

  Gramps nodded and pointed out the window. “There are two wolves just up the hill.”

  “I told them to seek shelter, and all they did was curl up next to that big pine,” I said.

  “They bring you a message.”

  I looked at Gramps. “What do you mean? I heard nothing.”

  “Our Cherokee brothers tell of two wolves. Both feel great hate for those who take without sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you down, and does no harm to your enemy. One wolf chooses to only fight when it is right and in the right way. The other is full of anger and will fight at the littlest provocation. He cannot even think because of the anger that fills him, yet it is a helpless anger.”

  “Which one wins?” I asked.

  “The one you feed.”

  I hugged Gramps. “I promise to feed the right one.”

  Outside the wolves howled. They were so close I could feel the vibration of their howl in my chest.

  “Sounds like they’re right outside the door,” Mac said.

  I reached down on the coffee table and took a piece of black olive and pineapple pizza. “They are by the lone pine.”

  “The one near my cabin?”

  “That’s the one,” Amanda said.

  “Don’t worry the big bad wolves won’t bother you,” Todd said.

  I leaned down in front of Mac. “They won’t huff and puff and blow your house down.”

  Mac wasn’t convinced. “Maybe not, but last night something kept knocking against the side of my cabin.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “It’s not funny?” Mac didn’t look happy with us.

  Gramps spoke up. “That’s just old One-eye.”

  “One-eyed what?” Mac asked.

  “Bear,” Todd growled.

  “Been visiting your grandfather every fall,” Dad said. “Although, it is a bit early this year. Means winter’s coming soon.”

  “A bear?” Mac was still not sure we were serious.

  “A fat, old, boar griz with only one-eye. Probably weighs in at 600 pounds,” I said. “Don’t get alarmed. He’s never tried to break in. He stops by every fall like he’s telling us so long see you next year.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him so long and move along tonight.”

  “That might be a problem,” Dad said. “See, when One-eye showed up your grandfather was always sure to be home before dark. Just because that bear has never broken in doesn’t mean after dark he didn’t scare Sam a few times.”

  “Sam also told the rest of us when One-eye came around so we were all safe,” Gramps said. “Jorie, how about you give us a ride back to the big house.”

  “Just take my truck.”

  “Can’t you drop me at my cabin?” Mac asked.

  “Not going anywhere near it with One-eye nosing around. He may not break into cabins but he has been known to damage a moving vehicle,” Gramps patted Mac on the back. “Son, next year you’ll be ready for it and be home by dark.”

  “Or on a beach in Cabo, drinking tequila.” Mac said looking out the window.

  “That’s a party I could get behind,” Todd clapped.

  I could get behind Mac being in Cabo, or anywhere else as long as it wasn’t here. If One-eye rattled him, I wasn’t beyond using the old bear to encourage his departure.

  Amanda hugged Mac. “Sorry we forgot about One-eye, it was Sam’s job to alert us and without him around, we forgot about it.” I could tell she felt bad for Mac, and she felt guilty.

  One-eye usually showed up the week or two before Thanksgiving. With Sam passed on and Mac now the owner of the cabin, some things were going to slip through the cracks. If Mac wintered in the valley he was going to learn fast that everyone has responsibilities to each other.

  Many of these responsibilities are the difference between life and death. This isn’t the city where people are accustom to someone else quickly solving their problems. If our solar power goes down from not enough sun, we use oil lamps and generators. Pump goes out on the well; we better know how to fix it or have a replacement stashed in the barn. Septic system fails; we use the outhouse. We plow and shovel almost daily to maintain snow machine access to each other, the outbuildings, and the county-plowed road six miles away, where we winter our trucks in another rancher’s barn. If I get lucky, all this, with a little help from One-eye, will convince Mac to vacate the valley for an easier and warmer retirement.

  “Jorie, turn on the outside flood lights. Mac said it was about ten when One-eye came to visit. I want to drop those three off at the house and then I’ll take Gramps home and stay with him so Mac can use my bedroom,” Dad said.

  I switched on the lights and Gramps and I stood at the door. “One-eye isn’t out there.”

  Gramps winked at me. “Nope, but let’s not tell anyone. It makes it too easy for them to let their guard down and that’s not a good thing.”

  “It also means you have Dad snoring on your couch.”

  “We’ll drink a few beers, play some dice, and I’ll take him for twenty or thirty bucks. If he snores too loud I’ll squirt him with water.”

  “Does that work?” I asked.

  “It wakes him up, and it sure is fun to do.”

  Dad walked over and pushed Gramps out the door. “Let’s go old man, tonight the dice are rolling, my way.”

  “Not a chance, the spirits are speaking to me.” Gramps leaned back in the door and kissed me on the cheek. That was followed by a cheek kiss from Dad, and sarcastic cheek kisses from Todd and Amanda.

  “Do you want me to kiss you somewhere besides the cheek?” Mac asked.

  I turned around and stuck my butt out. Before I could react, he’d kissed my butt, swatted it, and was halfway to the truck.

  As a member of Mensa and The Prometheus Society you’d think I would’ve seen that coming. Unfortunately, my social I.Q. was on the level of a drunken monkey.

  “See you tomorrow.” Todd yelled out the truck window.

  “It’s packing day, wehoo!” Amanda yelled.

  They were way too happy about this trip.

  Morning arrived along with eight inches of new snow. The sun returned before lunch and worked its magic. By mid-afternoon temperatures were in the mid-forties and turning the purity of the clean white blanket into a brown muddy path wherever human or animal walked. Even the four-wheel drive trucks were struggling to find grip on the ranch roads in the nasty mixture we call gumbo.

  Experienced at packing for extended backcountry trips my crew was anxious to leave for Yellowstone. The forecast was calling for more snow. I didn’t want to miss a good weather window and be forced to drive a horse trailer with six horses over icy roads. I’d told Mac we were leaving in 48 hours, with or without his buddy. She chose to ride out with Frank on round-up duty and if they didn’t return in time for our departure that wasn’t my problem. I was kind of disappointed when Mac agreed with me. Dealing with him is much easier when we disagree.

  “I’m glad we didn’t range ride with Frank,” Amanda said.

  “I knew Jorie would calm down and agree to participate,” Todd added.

  “Let’s vamoose now. I’m ready to get in and out before winter decides she wants to stay.” Amanda was sorting through her winter gear trying to decide if she’d packed the right outfits. Working outside in these mountains means you have winter clothes available year round. Todd and I watched her pack and re-pack as we sat on her bed playing gin rummy.

  “Maybe we should head out and set-up camp. Let Mac drive your truck up with the ROV when Liz returns.” Todd discarded a king and I picked it up.

  “It me
ans we get to spend at least one or two more nights in a cold tent.” I said discarding a three.

  Todd picked up the three, and then laid his cards on the bed. “Gin. It also means we get a head start searching for rocks fused with concrete from the explosion, before another layer of snow covers the ground.”

  I looked up at Todd. “We’ll have to leave the truck and horse trailer at Fishing Bridge, which means eventually someone will see them, even if we try and hide them. We then ride from Pelican Valley to Turbid Lake, and set up camp.” I was thinking out loud and not sure how any of this would play out, but I liked the idea.

  “When does the USGS crew at the bay close down for the season?” Todd asked.

  “The exit date on his permit is the twenty-third, unless weather prohibits work.”

  “With this snow they’ll probably bug out early,” Todd said.

  “At least the A-team is staying in cabins at Fishing Bridge all warm and dry every night, unlike us lowly backcountry employees in our tents,” Amanda said.

  “They aren’t A-team, they’re the pussies who can’t stand the elements and just happen to have a grant for a million dollars in equipment,” Todd said.

  “Sounds like the A-team to me.” Amanda shoved the extra jacket she’d decided on in her pack.

  “Seriously, you would rather work for Bull Johnson?” Todd asked.

  “No. But I would like to be warm in the field once in awhile.”

  Bull got his name because of his body type; his personality was more like tree sap. But he had connections and always got the biggest grants and prestigious jobs. It also meant he spent a great deal of time playing politics in the Denver office. I liked Bull. What he lacked in humor and speed on the job, he made up for in fairness and willingness to deal with the politics of the USGS so I could spend summers in the field and winters in my valley. A Shaman isn’t normally found in a fancy office playing political games and wrangling business deals. The brain doesn’t correlate the path of serenity well in those situations.

  It’s been two generations since anyone in my family has practiced shaman medicine. My great grandfather was the last true medicine man in our family. Since then we have become a family of seers, rarely practicing shamanic healing. Gramps told me that once the white man brought great disease to their people, his father preached to deaf government ears that they also bring great medicine.