Three Gorges Dam

by Thomas V. Harris

  “You can’t.”

  “Not if you won’t let me . . .”

  He opens the door and they enter the library. They walk to the middle of the carriage. Kylie sits on their favorite love seat. When he joins her, she leans the other way. Brannigan hasn’t seen her like this, or anywhere close. He strokes her hair until she slides her head off his shoulder.

  “My father and I are estranged.”

  “I gathered that. How long?”

  “Way back. I was a teenager.”

  “Father-daughter problems?”

  “That came later.”

  “How did your parents get together?”

  “I told you my mother was German.”

  “It sounded improbable.”

  “Her friend’s husband said he knew a wonderful guy from Australia. He was going to visit Berlin. They invited Mum to join them for dinner. She declined.”

  “Why did she say no?”

  “My mother is very practical. She was going out with other men. Meeting someone from a distant outback didn’t make sense.”

  “She must’ve thought Sydney was like Alice Springs.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. Berliners feel the same way about Munich.”

  “Obviously your mother changed her mind.”

  “It was the biggest mistake she ever made.”

  Kylie jumps out of her seat and paces around the library. He gets up and walks beside her. “They had a whirlwind courtship. My mother was defenseless. It was so unlike her. She left her family, friends, and career to marry my father. In the beginning, she had a difficult time. But she adapted to Sydney, made lots of friends, and enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom.”

  “What happened?”

  “My father had a very public affair. Not with just anyone. His lover was the lead dancer in the Australian Ballet. It tore our family apart.”

  Brannigan brings Kylie close and gives her a hug. She doesn’t react. Her arms hang limply at her sides. “My father became a patron of the arts. He bedded one performer after another. Needless to say, I didn’t approve.”

  “He must’ve expected you to be angry.”

  “I went way beyond that. The time we spent together was a disaster. All I did was whinge about his philandering. I’m not proud of how I acted.”

  “It doesn’t sound like things are different today.”

  “They’re worse. Our visits became increasingly hostile. Then stopped altogether.” Tears are running down Kylie’s cheeks. “He supported me financially. But that was the full extent of our relationship.”

  “What happened next?”

  “My mother didn’t want to uproot me during high school. But she moved back to Germany when I went to college. My father casts a long shadow. I left Australia after my freshman year and relocated to Los Angeles. I’ve told you about my time at USC. The university awarded me a volleyball scholarship. That was a big help. It’s a great school and I enjoyed my time there.”

  “Have you talked since then?”

  “Not a word. He kept sending checks and birthday cards, but I ignored him.”

  “What about graduate school?”

  “My father is a very wealthy man and thinks money can buy anything. I stopped accepting his support at Caltech. He kept sending letters. I returned them unopened.”

  “How did you pay for your master’s program?”

  “I took out loans and tutored at the seismology lab.”

  “All work and no play?”

  Kylie shakes her head. “I wasn’t a hermit.”

  “What did you do for fun?”

  “Played in the surf, dated, hung out with my friends.”

  “When did you study?”

  “My books enjoyed the beach.”

  “You obviously weren’t there to get a tan.”

  “When I was a toddler, Mum anointed me Queen of Sunscreen. She wouldn’t let me go outside unless I was lathered from head to toe.”

  “Finish telling me about your father.”

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “At some point he must have given up.”

  “He sent me a card after reading my master’s thesis. How he found it, I don’t know. Frankly, I didn’t care. We haven’t communicated since.”

  Kylie’s left eyelid has been fluttering. She interrupts her family history. “I think I tore a lens.”

  “Do you have a spare in your bag?”

  “They’re back in my room.”

  He links their arms. “I’ll come with you.”

  She unhooks herself and stares at the carpet.

  “Go back to the party. I’ll meet you there.”

  He lifts her chin. She pushes his hand aside and closes her eyes. That doesn’t stop the tears. They’re cascading down her face. Desperate to lighten her mood, he teases, “Do you have other secrets I should know about?”

  Kylie turns toward her sleeper car and walks away.

  Her answer is barely audible. “Only one.”

  CHAPTER 9

  BRANNIGAN HAS JUST returned to the bar carriage.

  The cocktail party is still in full swing. The engineers are concentrated in front. Most are standing in small groups knocking down hard liquor. The women favor the house wine, a Chateau Haut-Brion. Some of the wives are mixing with the men. The rest have circled their salon chairs in the middle of the carriage. They’re one-upping each other with stories about their lives of the rich and famous.

  Brannigan is wearing a black suit, white French-cuff shirt, and lime-green tie. His attire is more formal than he planned. He thought a blazer would suffice until he woke up and read Kylie’s text. Her sartorial alert informed him that the wives were wearing designer gowns and their husbands had dressed accordingly.

  He’s heading toward the engineers when he stops at a serving station and orders mineral water. The bartender offers him ice. He declines. Brannigan never pours anything onto Chinese rocks. He avoids their H2O, liquid or frozen, like the plague. He also stays away from uncooked Chinese produce, meat, and fish. Other members of his group are loading up on caviar, steak tartar, and Hami melon. He wonders what they’re thinking. Asian pathogens—he has firsthand experience—have no respect for foreign digestive systems.

  Global Reach is the lead consulting firm on the Tarim Basin project. Brannigan will deliver a short speech when they move into the dining carriage. He had planned to find a quiet place and spend ten minutes organizing his thoughts. That was before Kylie’s family problems commandeered the evening. He’s no longer in the mood to prepare for his talk and decides he’ll just wing it. He checks the back of the carriage. There’s still no sign of Kylie. The mere mention of her father’s name struck a raw nerve. He wonders if she is coming back at all.

  What could she be doing? She might be concerned about more than her family. If she regrets their love affair, he’ll go without a fuss. Brannigan considers that his one redeeming quality in matters of the heart. He’s always been easy to discard. It doesn’t matter who ends the relationship or how much pain it causes him. His partings are quick and final. Without exception he follows the cardinal rules of romantic disengagement—Don’t complain. Never explain.

  He’s ambivalent about going to Kylie’s room but decides he has no other choice. She could be incapacitated and unable to call for help. Her physical safety also crosses his mind. Despite the occasional pleasant surprise, he expects the worst from people and generally isn’t disappointed. There are droves of male workers on the train, young guys with raging hormones, and not enough women to go around. He doubts she could defend herself against a forceful intruder.

  He slices through layers of partygoers and staff. Several wives ask him about Kylie’s whereabouts. He keeps those conversations short and finally reaches the back end of the bar car. He’s about to enter the library when he hears a boom. The sound is deep and resonating. It came from the front of the train. The blast was strong enough to take him down. But he tightens his grip on the door handle and manage
s to stay on his feet.

  The second explosion knocks him flat. Brannigan lands on his left hip and hits his mouth on the carriage floor. He glances at his chest and abdomen. There are splotches of red on his shirt and tie. He runs his hand across his face. Blood is flowing from his lower lip. Other than that, his head, neck, and hands are dry.

  The second detonation seemed stronger and closer. It was so loud his ears are ringing. He listens for other explosions. There aren’t any. The next nonhuman thing he hears is a screeching, metallic sound. He feels the train decelerate as the wheels grind against the tracks. When the noise fades, he knows what it means.

  The brakes have let go.

  A piece of furniture comes flying past. The Qing Dynasty antique grazes the side of his head. It opens a cut and produces localized pain but nothing more serious. He catches disjointed snapshots of what’s happening in other sections of the carriage. No one is upright. The only human sounds are screams and pleas for help.

  He focuses on the critical question. Can the engineer stop the train before it derails and kills everyone on board? He thinks an affirmative answer is unlikely. The train is still traveling at a high rate of speed when he hears metal being torqued beyond its tensile strength. He assumes the affected parts are the forward and aft hitches. A louder tearing noise signals that the connectors have broken apart. The bar car is separating from the other carriages.

  He knows what will happen next. The bar carriage will freewheel until it jumps the rails. The relative height of the track bed—raised versus flat—could mean the difference between life and death. If the bar car is elevated, there’s no chance it will stay upright after striking the desert floor. Any substantial change in grade would cause it to pitch nose down at high speed, hit the ground at a lethal angle, and roll over, flip, or cartwheel. Unrestrained occupants—in this case everyone on board—would be at high risk of dying or suffering catastrophic injuries.

  Brannigan hopes the tracks are level with the desert floor. If they are, the carriage will have a better chance of remaining intact after derailment. Staying upright, or tipping ninety degrees, are the best outcomes. Metal sliding against loose sand would significantly increase the coefficient of friction and diminish the coach’s speed. That could produce a survivable outcome.

  He scans the floor for the best place to brace for what’s coming. Nothing stands out. There aren’t any solid objects to grab or get under. Brannigan does what he was taught during his civil defense training. He curls himself into a ball and ducks his head between his arms and shoulders. It’s too late to call Kylie. He wonders where she is. Her sleeping compartment would be a safer environment than an open carriage. The contained space would reduce her exposure to flying objects. Being two cars farther back could also be a plus. It might reduce the force of the initial collision.

  The frame is wobbling. Waiting for the inevitable impact, he weighs the spiritual aspects of his situation. The nuns guaranteed he would die in the sacraments for mindlessly slogging through all those First Friday Masses. But there isn’t a priest on board to hear his confession or administer Extreme Unction. He considers hedging his bets. That makes him feel like a hypocrite. He decides not to ask for absolution.

  The wheels lose contact with the tracks. The coach doesn’t bottom out right away. That means the slope must be steep. He’s convinced this will be a bad wreck. He gets ready for a bone-crushing collision by relaxing his body and letting his mind float. His life doesn’t flash in front of him. He thinks that may a good omen.

  He pictures Kylie smiling. Her face is warm and comforting. The image disappears when the bar car crashes onto the desert floor. The carriage’s left front corner is the leading edge. That side takes the brunt of the first impact. The rapid deceleration sends everyone flying and produces a series of thuds and screams.

  Brannigan doesn’t have a reliable impression of what’s happening around him. His only meaningful sensation is auditory. The human pandemonium is terrifying. The loudest noises are coming from outside the bar car. The worst are when the coach strikes and bounces off the hardscrabble. The carriage’s gyrations are happening too quickly for him to react. The hardest jolt is the last thing he remembers.

  After that, his world goes black.

  CHAPTER 10

  HE IS ON his back.

  Brannigan is looking up at the sky. His brain feels as if the gray matter is rebooting one lobe at a time. The process is far enough along that he knows where he landed—smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. He thinks about the positives. One stands out. Surviving the explosions. He thought he was a goner when the train derailed.

  He can’t tell how long he was knocked out. His wristwatch is terminal and his phone has disappeared. He has one overriding goal, locating Kylie. His first challenge is deciding where to search. That begs the most important question. What happened to her during the train wreck? Refusing to consider the worst possibility, he focuses on what to do if she’s seriously injured and requires emergency care. There aren’t any satisfactory answers. All he knows for sure is that he’ll have to scramble.

  That leads to his next thought. What about Harry Dyer? Global’s CSO has survived many close calls. Brannigan hopes Harry added this one to his list. He ponders his surroundings and notices the sandstorm has ended. Otherwise he wouldn’t be seeing the moon and the stars. Moments later he remembers the bar car has a solid metal roof and wonders if he’s been hallucinating.

  He attempts to identify markings inside the carriage. But it’s dark and the overhead lights aren’t working. Wall-mounted sconces are flickering. That’s not enough to illuminate the carriage. He looks around and senses something has changed. It can’t be the train—the whole thing is a shambles. What’s different is his head. The pain has gone away. Pills and shots hadn’t put much of a dent in his migraine. The train wreck was the ideal prescription. Finally, a treatment that works.

  He can’t say the same for the rest of his body. Brannigan doesn’t need a doctor to tell him he dislocated his left shoulder. It’s loose and painful when he attempts to raise it. His respirations are labored and he has trouble catching his breath. Inhaling causes sharp pain. He suspects that several ribs are displaced inward and have collapsed his left lung. He knows a one-sided pneumothorax won’t kill him. But it will certainly slow him down.

  He hears a faint noise. The next time it lasts longer. It brings back bad memories of his father’s death rattle. The noise seems to be coming from his right. He turns his head and finds the source. A well-dressed man in a business suit is less than a meter away. He’s lying on his abdomen and appears to be unconscious.

  Brannigan can’t identify the man. Their feet are pointed in opposite directions, their faces are offset, and the other guy is at a higher elevation. The differential causes Brannigan to reconsider the carriage’s positioning. He thought it was upright and that the desert floor was uneven. Looking at the sky again, he realizes he wasn’t seeing the stars through a gutted roof. The openings are demolished window frames on the other side of the carriage.

  Brannigan forces himself upward. He keeps moving until he has a clear view of the man’s facial features and silver hair. It couldn’t be anyone else. He’s looking at Claude Fournier. The Frenchman’s eyes are open. His pupils are cloudy and nonreactive, and his neck is so twisted the misalignment must’ve severed his spinal cord. Brannigan assumes Claude will soon stop breathing. That would be the best outcome. He knows his friend would rather be dead than quadriplegic.

  There’s nothing he can do to change Claude’s outcome, and it’s unlikely help is on the way. A railroad supervisor may question why he hasn’t received a progress report. But Brannigan doesn’t think officials will dispatch a rescue team until they no-show in Kashgar tomorrow morning. He resigns himself to the grim reality. Claude will die in the desert locals call “Abandon All Hope.” Grieving his loss will have to wait. He puts together a plan to find the survivors.

  His first concern is whether he can stan
d up. Even though his legs hurt, he has feeling down to his toes. He moves his legs and raises his knees. Everything down there works. His shoes are still on. He’ll need them. There will be broken glass everywhere.

  What around him is dangerous? Not the electricity. The wall and overhead lights are low voltage, and there won’t be much exposed wiring. He doesn’t consider anything else to be worrisome. The bar car found an equilibrium point. Its chassis is so heavy his movements won’t cause the carriage to shift. He evaluates the best way to get outside. Locating the sliding door shouldn’t be too difficult. His eyes have adjusted, and the moon and stars are throwing off light.

  He’ll hunt for Kylie’s sleeper when he exits the train. If she isn’t there, he’ll look for the library carriage. Although those cars were behind this one before the wreck, he knows their original configuration doesn’t mean much. They could be anywhere. Their location depends on how long they stayed on the tracks and their disengagement angle. They might be farther down the desert floor than the forward carriages.

  He struggles with what to do for the other victims. He won’t stop and examine anyone who is unconscious or lying still. He’ll tell those who are awake and moving that he’s going for help and will be right back. He remembers that a German spouse, Dieter Schmidt’s wife, is a physician. If she’s alive and functional, Dr. Schmidt will get to practice some frontier medicine.

  He doesn’t know what caused the explosions. The engine may have malfunctioned, or fuel vapors could have ignited. He hasn’t given it a lot of thought and doesn’t have the time—or the mental clarity—to wrestle with that now. Claude has gone quiet. He closes Claude’s eyes after failing to detect a carotid pulse.

  Brannigan rocks onto his right side and stabilizes his upper body. His left arm is useless. It hurts like hell when he moves or bumps it. That won’t keep him from walking. However, he’ll have to move cautiously and make sure he doesn’t fall. It’s time to get going. After slowly getting onto his knees, he raises his left leg, plants his foot, and starts to stand up.