Amanda Applewood and the Return of the False King: An Everworld Book
Page 8
“Come and see what I can show you,” rasped the voice of the Eye in her head.
Fracking
El could see the massive field of drills that spread out to the horizon as she crested a hill that was still forty kilometers from the protest camp. She pulled over to the side of the road and dug her battered camera from the hatch. It had been a top-of-the-line Sony digital when her father had given it to her that last Christmas before he’d died. She swapped in a wide-angle lens and climbed up on the hood of her car to get the best view.
As she snapped away, she felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the industrialization. She recalled the trees that had once covered the terrain like a thick green blanket. The fresh pine smell was gone now and the air reeked of diesel. The gentle sounds of nature were replaced by the low steady hum of the distant machinery. A big yellow dump truck rumbled past her. The whoosh of air and the vibration of its passing nearly knocked her off the car and she had to put one hand on the windshield to keep herself from falling off into the gravel-lined gutter.
She climbed down onto the safe side of the road and looked around cautiously for more traffic before she got back in the car and headed towards the protest camp. In order to better understand how the local economy was being affected, she detoured to the formerly sleepy town of Sweetwater. It was now crowded with quad cab pickups with various construction decals on their doors. Dozens upon dozens of rough looking construction workers wandered the tiny streets like the occupying soldiers of an invading army.
El stopped for gas and lunch at a place she’d been to once or twice with her parents as a child. The restaurant we lively with the midday trade. As she waited for the table, she noticed
that the news was silently being broadcast in the corner of the familiar family establishment. A man in his late years appeared on the battered RCA television. The caption read along
the bottom of the screen. “Rufus King, CEO - Royal Oil.”
“Can you turn it up?” asked El, referring to the TV.
“Sure hon.” The waitress turned up the sound so El could catch the last bit of the story.
“The economic enrichment of the local area through the exploitation of these resources has created jobs through our safe, clean development,” proclaimed King.
“What about the court order to pause development?” asked the reporter.
“We are confident that our appeal will reverse the ruling.” replied the polished CEO.
“But why have you continued to drill?”
“We’re in the process of an orderly shutdown,” replied King.
“There are reports that you’re continuing to build new wells,” shouted a reporter.
“We’re within our rights to develop that land. Rumors that we’re drilling in defiance of a court order are lies,” he said firmly and then abruptly ended the conference.
El shook her head not believing a word the man had said.
She finished her meal and set off through the over-crowded roads to her meeting with the protesters. The camp was spread out between the existing oil wells and a large tract of forest which was scheduled to be razed. She noted to herself that Royal Oil was spreading, unchecked, like a disease over the land.
Rick had told her they were flouting the law and drilling wherever and whenever they wanted. The Ministry had already fined them for illegal drilling more than a dozen times, but they continued to expand undaunted. The cost of the penalties wasn’t much of a deterrent when there were billions of dollars’ worth of oil just beneath the surface.
“Something else has to be going on,” she decided after thinking about it further. Corporations always take the long view. Rushing the project along like this didn’t make sense.
El found the protesters sitting along Highway 118 on cheap folding garden chairs protected from the hot July sun by colored umbrellas printed with the logos of various brands from Titlist to Corona. They were waving signs that read things like “Stop Fracking, Clean Water is a Human Right,” to the passing traffic. After taking a few pictures for her story, she pulled up to a makeshift gate and a grim-faced woman waved her down. El stopped and rolled down her window.
“Who are you?” demanded the woman aggressively.
“El, El Applewood. I’m meeting Rick Green,” she said in response to the challenge.
“Open up. She’s with us,” the woman said. Smiling now, she waved her through.
El parked her car next to a plywood shack with a small red Honda generator idling next to it. Inside, she found her ex-husband sitting at one of the $25 picnic tables that she’d seen for sale outside the Home Depot as she made her way through Sweetwater. The shed was cheaply constructed, stuffy and smelled of unwashed bodies and cigarettes.
Rick was sitting with a group who were looking at a map of the area and conversing like generals before a major battle. The men all had the scruffy beards of environmentalists, and the earthy looking women wore their hair pulled back in identical ponytails. Their various T-shirts all had environmental slogans on them, and everyone without exception was wearing well-worn construction boots.
“El! Glad you could make it,” said Rick when she entered. He didn’t rise to greet her and made no introductions other than to tell everyone her name. Rick Green had been Rick Carmichael when they’d gotten married fifteen years prior. Somewhere along the line, he’d legally changed it to Green to sound more “Eco”. Although, El was always suspicious he’d done it to hide from the many people that he owed money.
“Hi everyone, I’m glad to be here,” said El. “I hope to get to know you all better but you look busy. Rick, if you’ll tell me
where I’m staying, I’ll drop my stuff and come back,” said El.
“About that El. Can we talk outside?” he said.
A skinny girl of no more than twenty caught El’s eye. She looked away and blushed guiltily after Rick jumped up to escort El outside to talk.
Before he could speak El shook her head at him. “You don’t have a place for me to stay. Do you?” she accused him flatly.
“I did at the time, but the situation has changed, and I haven’t had a chance to make other arrangements. There’s so much going on.”
“You’re so full of it. By the situation has changed, you mean that you’re seeing that girl in there with the guilty look on her face. God, you’re unbelievable. She’s barely older than Amanda,” said El with contempt in her voice.
“It’s nothing like that, she’s from the local journalism college. She came to us looking for a project and we took her on.”
“Do you at least have my money?” she asked.
His only answer was his silence.
“Uuuugh! You said this was a paying gig. Photojournalism, a real newspaper looking for a proper story by a professional reporter. But that was a lie too. Wasn’t it?”
“No. It was. I mean it is, but I didn’t know you were still coming. I’ve spent the money I had on your replacement.”
“That kid! So, I dragged myself out here for nothing?” she snapped at him.
“Not exactly. We have a newspaper who’ll pay for your pictures and stories.” He showed her a dirty business card.
She plucked it out of his hand and slipped it into the back pocket of her shorts before he could pull it away. “Fine, I’ll call them. If it’s a genuine offer, I’ll cut my own deal, thank you very much.”
“Wait a minute. It’s my story too. I should get a cut. I brought you here,” he protested.
“Sure. You’ll get anything left over after I subtract the child support payments you owe me. So, unless this newspaper is gonna pay me like thirty-grand, you’re getting nothing.”
He responded with silence and started to leave.
“By the way, the girls are fine. Thanks for asking,” she called after him.
“Sorry, I would have asked if you’d given me the chance.”
“Like you’d be there for Christmas? Or call on a birthday?”
“I …”
&n
bsp; “You what? If you do ever call, you got Sarah the new bike she wanted; a pink one with streamers on the handles.”
Before he could reply she turned away, got back into her car and drove off to see if she could find the woman from the gate. Carefully, she navigated the car slowly through the throngs of protesters who’d created their makeshift village across the only road to the forest. One that had been blasted through the ancient sedimentary rock during the heydays of the 1970’s. It didn’t take too many queries before she found the woman who welcomed her to the camp. The woman climbed into the passenger seat and directed El to where the protesters were camping out.
“Marie,” The woman said as she extended her hand as they drove.
“El.”
“You’re Rick’s ex?” she said.
“You could say that,” replied El.
“I have one of those too,” she said with a laugh.
El said nothing while Marie directed her to a vacant pad with a bit of open grass.
“What is this place?” asked El as she looked around to get her bearings.
“Old summer camp. The owner can’t get any paying customers to use it with all the fracking going on.”
“Do you know what he’s planning to do with it?” asked El
as she took notes.
“Dunno. I hear that he’s been offered a fortune for the land, but says he’s got enough money, so he’s lending it to the cause.”
They got out of the car and looked around.
“A shame really,” Marie continued. “It used to be quite lovely here but with all that noise and the smell of diesel in the air not too many people want to visit.”
El nodded. “
“Anyways, I’ve got to be getting back. You can see the facilities over there.” She pointed to a brown log structure.
“Running water, cold only, showers and toilets. That plug over there works, for now anyways.” She added pointing to a covered electrical outlet sticking out of the ground. “We eat supper at six and breakfast is at seven. Just down the road, you can’t miss it.” Marie waved goodbye and started back - her pink flip flops slapping the cracked pavement as she walked.
El looked around the site. It was decent and flat. The grass had filled in where there should normally have been brown dirt from the repeated use of weekend tents. She’d head into town in the morning to get things she’d need for an extended camping trip. Tonight, she guessed she’d be sleeping in the car. She started to fold down the back seats to make it flat when she noticed Everett’s old Lions hockey bag buried under her things.
“What has he done?” she wondered to herself.
She dragged the bag out of the car, and it landed heavily on the ground. She opened it and wanted to cry.
Everett had packed it. There was the old family tent, a sleeping bag, air mattress and much of their assorted camping equipment accumulated over the years. He’d even shoehorned in a box full of cans and dry goods along with a dry bag of necessities for the washroom. For good measure, there was a bag of fresh ground coffee on top with three sheets of post-it stuck to it. It read:
“El, the old camp percolator you gave me that one Christmas is in here somewhere. You don’t need to give up on good coffee to save the world. Don’t worry! It’s from one of those direct from the farmer in Africa places so don’t fret that my money went to one of those corporations you’d rather not support. Be safe and come home soon. Love, your brother.”
She felt the overwhelming urge to call and thank him and was disappointed her call rang into oblivion.
Rufus King
A sleek black limousine hurtled down the winding country roads towards fracking Station 17. It was the same as the one that the president drove because, one of its occupants considered himself just important to his world as the president was to this one. Merga, her hair pulled back tight in an effort to smooth some of the wrinkles out of her aged face, wore loose-fitting, almost flowing, black clothes from head to toe. Across from her, sat Price Rufus, or Rufus King as he’d named himself upon his banishment. He was staring blankly out the windows, most likely in deep thought about what he was going to say. They’d left early that morning for this emergency meeting. He’d been enraged by the most recent report of the slow progress towards his goals. With the objective so near, his impatience had become more and more obvious. Each and every delay resulted in an outburst that sent anyone but her scurrying for cover.
Gleb drove. The incredibly ugly giant of a man, with an oversized nose in the middle of his oversized face, leaned over to check something on the computer screen sitting in the lap of the man sitting next to him.
“Just a few more clicks,” said Hikkum. Merga looked at his reflection in the mirror. The goblin appeared as a small thin weasel-faced man with a slight green tinge to his skin that made him look like someone suffering from perpetual seasickness. Their eyes met. They shared their mutual revulsion for a moment, then both looked away.
The car pulled up and skidded to a stop on the gravel drive in front of a fracking drill being made ready for production. Dozens of workmen in hard hats and safety vests scurried around purposefully. Large yellow trucks idled everywhere. The air was thick with the smell of petroleum and gravel dust.
The foursome marched purposefully into a nearby
construction trailer with Rufus in the lead. Inside, a temporary meeting table had been set up in the middle of the what appeared to be a hastily thrown together meeting room. Around it sat several men and women wearing expensive clothing damp with sweat from the heat of the hot summer day. After peering around the room and looking each person in the eye, Rufus took his place at the head of the table like a king at his court. Merga drifted into a corner to watch. Everyone acknowledged his presence with a nod of their head, as expected. He would have preferred a full bow but that would be too much to expect in this world.
“Have you purchased that camp yet?” he said abruptly before anyone else could speak.
“No, the owner isn’t interested in selling it,” replied a middle-aged woman wearing a pale Armani suit that.
“Well, offer him more!” demanded Rufus.
“We’ve already offered twice as much as the land is worth,” replied the woman.
“I said, offer him more!” he shouted.
“He isn’t interested,” said a man to her left. “I’ve handled the negotiations with his lawyer personally, as you requested. He doesn’t need the money and isn’t interested in selling. As a matter of fact, his attorney won’t even take my calls anymore.”
“Who is this man who doesn’t want money? Everyone wants more money! Greed makes this world go around!” shouted King even louder.
“We don’t know,” said the woman.
“Well find out! I must have that land.”
“I’m not so sure you do,” said a small man from the corner of the room who’d been quiet up until this point.
“What do you mean?” asked Merga.
The man cleared his throat nervously and stepped up to a map pinned to the wall.
“Let me start with some of the basics. The fracking technique we’ve found best suited to this geology requires that
we drill deep holes in the bedrock and then fracture the ground by injecting high pressure water that forces the oil to pool near the surface where we can suck it up. Normally to get at the large reserve of oil under the protestor camp we would need to be right on top of it.” He paused and looked around at the gathered executives.
“That’s why I need that land!” bellowed King.
“W, w, well sir. That’s what I’m trying to explain,” he stammered nervously. “We don’t need that land. We’ve discovered a fault in the rock formation, Here,” he said pointing to the map. “If we drill from this station where that drill outside is being set up, we should be able to widen the fault enough to release the resources underneath the camp without actually needing to be on the camp's lands,” he said nervously as though waiting for King to erupt.
“There is a problem, though,” he continued. “Fracking at that depth along that fault-line with a drill of this magnitude could cause,” he paused to think of the right word, “severe disruptions to the surrounding area.”
“Disruptions!” laughed King. “You mean earthquakes. Say it like it is man.”
“Earthquakes,” he acknowledged.
“Then let’s get started,” bellowed King.
“We’re already getting grief for the minor tremors. If we start causing actual earthquakes the authorities will shut us down! We could go to jail for that!” said the woman in the Armani suit.
“We’ll tie them up in court for years. By the time things get settled we’ll be rich and will have moved on to other things,” said King.
Stunned silence greeted his comment.
“What are you all still doing here?” he barked. “Get back to work!”
They all jumped up and scrambled away practically falling over themselves to get out of the cramped room to their cars. When they were alone, King turned to Merga.
“Are you sure we’ll succeed witch?”
“Yes, your highness.”
“You’d better be sure; I have no intention of being stuck here and going to jail.”
“Once the earthquakes start, the barrier between the worlds will be breached and you’ll take your rightful place as the King of Tarsinia. These dupes will be the ones going to jail while you’re seated on the throne at Hightower Castle.”
“What about the wizard? He still has the Grimoire.”
“Yes, but he thinks I’m dead. That gives me the element of surprise. I’ll kill him just like I killed his father before he even knows what hit him,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ll need to help the drilling along with a little bit of magic.”
She left the trailer and the giant followed after her like an oversized puppy.
Map in hand, Merga made her way towards the massive drill. In the back of her mind she could hear the whale song. It was distant to her, like she was eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation. After collecting her bearings, she moved across the cleared land, her eyes closed as though trying to block out any distractions. After several minutes she stopped.