I knew Jeanine had acquired a new war story, a companion piece to her battle with Krom in Hot Creek.
I knew I should be fixing my attention on details at hand — I help Walter load the Explorer and keep room in my Soob because Jimbo called and said there’s more boxes waiting at home — but I could not help wondering what Krom was thinking. He’s won. He’s built his road, he’s vanquished his human foe, and his nonhuman foe — that nasty-tempered unpredictable chum — is about to be vanquished as well because by noon Krom will have whisked us all beyond its reach.
On TV the tape rolled and Jeanine began again.
And then there was a blast and then another and another, one blast rolling into the next and the window crack widened and the door sucked open and my ears buzzed and Walter and I hit the floor and rolled beneath our workbenches and I began to pray.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
This is it, I thought, already through the door.
The road was clogged with people. The convoy was stopped, the gray-green line broken as trucks had veered to avoid rear-ending each other. Drivers hung out windows, people ran out their doors, and we all gaped east, down Minaret Road, in the direction of the caldera.
It’s what we all expected, what I’d dreamt of, a dark cloud rising.
A neon-yellow fire truck came screaming down Minaret, the driver blasting the horn in fury but the convoy could not get out of the way because there was no room in the road. The fire truck came halfway up onto the sidewalk, screaming a warning, and people scattered as it passed.
“I’m going to see,” I told Walter, and set off at a run before he could stop me.
I ran down Minaret to the intersection with Highway 203 and followed others who made the turn onto the road out of town. Down 203, I could see flames rising above the tops of the Jeffrey pines.
This was wrong.
A horn blasted and I threw myself out of the way to let the ambulance scream by.
I ran until my muscles seized then slowed to a limp and finally stopped and crouched over my cramping thighs. It’s too far. I’d made it as far as the ranger station on the edge of town. Close enough to smell the acrid smoke and hear the snap of flames but not close enough to see the damage. Others caught up, gasping. The foolhardy. We were a small panting crowd, the kind that races toward the scene of an accident only none of us had the wherewithal to make it. Bo Robinson was in my face, yelling “where do we go?” and I shook my head. I didn’t know where to go.
Screams. Fire trucks. Ambulances. Police.
I started back to the lab, no longer wanting to witness this accident.
At the intersection of 203 and Minaret, I ran into Krom. His blue Blazer was stopped at right angles to the stalled Guard convoy, its uniformed crew looking ready to stampede. The driver’s door of the Blazer was open and Krom stood in the road with a cell phone to his ear. “Calm it down,” he was saying to someone. He held his big frame straight and wore the heavy parka and thick corded pants like a pelt. Calm, sure of himself.
I listened to the sirens scream.
He lowered the phone and told me to go home.
“What happened?”
“It’s under control. Go home and be ready to evac.”
The yellow fire truck careened by and then an ambulance and I glimpsed inside something blackened, and I turned to watch, I’d become an accident junkie, and then from another direction an amplified voice rose over the sirens. Remain calm, proceed to your homes in an orderly fashion, tune in to KMMT for further instructions.
Krom got in his Blazer and peeled off.
I ran.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Where you been?” Jimbo swung the door wide and pulled me inside.
He was white. His eyes, which like Mom’s are the color of lichen that grows on the north-facing shank of tree bark, were showing the whites. He wore his portable radio with the earphones around his neck and I could hear its tinny voice.
“Traffic’s a mess,” I said. “There was an explosion.”
He nodded.
I felt the hairs rise on my forearms. I stared at the radio. “It’s on the news?” The radio in my Soob doesn’t work. Hasn’t for a year. Should have gotten it fixed. “What happened?”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
My brother said, “Somebody blew up 203.”
I could no longer hear the radio’s tinny whisper because blood was pounding in my ears. I’d thought it was an accident. Guard truck carrying explosives. Something like that.
“You know the bridge? Over the culvert? It’s gone. Whole thing went.” He bounced a fist against his thigh. “You know what that means? Means we’re not getting out that way.”
I could only nod.
“But it’s gonna be okay.” His eyes pinned me. “Pika’s okay. Explosives there didn’t go off.”
“There?”
“Yeah, there too.”
“There too?”
He grinned, a ghastly pleading grin. “But they said it’s gonna be okay. On the radio. Said it was all ready to blow only it was, like, wired wrong. Said they’re going over it with dogs to be sure it’s okay.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t take this in.
“We still got a way out. So it takes a little longer.”
A little longer? How about three times as long — it’s a one-lane road. I said, “Who did it?”
“They’re not saying.” He raked back his hair. “What do you think?
I couldn’t think.
He said, “I think it was Mike.”
“Mike?”
“Hey, he’s been a real case ever since Stobie. He thinks we all blame him. He thinks everybody’s against him. He’s sure had access to explosives on the road crew, I mean, we all have, but shit nobody but Mike’s crazy enough to do something like this.” Jimbo stared at me. “You think it could be Mike?”
Yes. And then I was thinking of Krom, the way I think of him every time we plunge deeper into shit. But it couldn’t be Krom, Krom’s drilled this evac into us for weeks—it’s his plan—and if we don’t get out in time his rep’s gone. And the man I saw in the street half an hour ago was scrambling to hold it together. Calm it down. I felt a surge, the drill-reflex kicking in. It’s okay, we can do it. Would have been better to have two evacuation routes, sure. But we don’t need 203—in fact, ever since Krom’s simulation of a pyroclastic flow taking out that highway I’d considered Krom’s route, Pika, as the safer way out. We’ve drilled on Pika and even though we’ve never gone all the way and emptied the town, we’ve gone far enough that we know what to do. It works. The drill works. Just follow the arrows, just do what you’re told. Do it in your sleep. We can get out Pika. Hasn’t snowed for a week. Nothing’s erupting. Krom can do it. I’m on his side today.
Jimbo said, “Cass?”
I focused on my brother. “You do a good job on Pika, Jimbo?”
He nodded.
“Then it’s going to be okay. What time do we go?”
He searched my face. “Radio said keep listening for revised times.” He clapped the phones back to his ears. Half-on, half-off, a jet jockey dividing his attention.
I headed for the stairs.
He was on my heels. “Where you going?”
“See if we missed anything important.” Keep moving. Focus. Be ready.
“We got it. Stuff to go’s in the garage so let’s get down there. You said you got room? My heap’s full.”
I took the stairs, snapped on the hallway light, wove in and out of rooms. We’re not taking everything. We’ve prioritized. Mom and Dad are trusting us to take care of things. They’ve picked up a cartooning gig in Scotland and they can’t afford to fly home and then return. And what if they fly home and nothing happens? We’ve e-mailed packing lists back and forth. Dad wanted us to take it all but Mom prioritized. Take the good china, leave the Sears set. The good china’s in Bishop now.