Manitou Canyon

by William Kent Krueger

  Aaron turned off the road, too. The pickup ahead stopped and killed its lights.

  “Turn your lights off,” Fox said.

  In less than a minute, a vehicle passed on the road they’d just left, heading toward White Woman Lake.

  “Any idea who that was?” Fox asked.

  “Somebody from Saint Gervais probably,” Aaron guessed. “Heading home before the storm locks them out.”

  “All right. Get us back on the road.”

  Half an hour later, an electric haze appeared through the gloom of the night, like a light in the swirl of a snow globe. They came to a place where a great upthrust of rock burst from the forest cover. It was split as if with an ax, and in the narrows of that divide lay the Manitou Canyon Dam, brightly illuminated. Cork recalled from the earlier flyover that it wasn’t a particularly broad dam and tapered as it dropped toward the power station at its base, where the river continued cutting its way down Manitou Canyon. Behind it, the rising water of the new lake pressed against the massive concrete formation. The surface was brilliant topaz where it caught the light, then quickly faded to black and finally disappeared altogether behind the curtain of the falling snow.

  The pickup stopped at a place where the rough road from White Woman Lake met the smooth pavement of the road that came up along the canyon from Gordonville. The Yukon stopped behind it.

  Indigo left the pickup. Fox lowered his window, and Indigo leaned in.

  “One truck in the parking lot. The night watchman. I’ll take care of him,” Indigo said.

  “That’ll be Harold Welles,” Aaron said. “Don’t kill him.”

  “Is he Indian?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you care?”

  Aaron opened his door and stepped out.

  Fox said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going with Mr. Indigo.”

  Fox pointed the big handgun at him. “I’m warning you.”

  “Shoot me and you give us all away. I just want to make sure about Harold.”

  Fox weighed this and finally gave a nod. “But don’t get any ideas about trying to call Gordonville. Mr. Indigo took care of the phone line earlier today.”

  “Let’s go, Aaron,” Indigo said. “You first. And stay ahead of me.”

  It was a long twenty minutes until they returned. Between them, they carried a man’s body. They tossed it in the back of the sole pickup in the lot, and Indigo climbed into the bed and bent over him for a couple of minutes. Then he and Aaron walked together to the Yukon.

  “Not dead,” Indigo said. “But out good. I bound him up tight. He’s going nowhere soon.”

  “Okay,” Fox said. “Let’s blow this dam.”

  CHAPTER 54

  “I don’t know a lot,” Constable Markham said as he negotiated the winding road that followed the Manitou Canyon west out of Gordonville. “Those guys in Thunder Bay, they hold on to info like it’s money from their own pockets. Never mind I’m all the law there is out here.”

  “What exactly do you know?” Daniel asked.

  A fierce wind funneled down the canyon, driving blinding snow at the Tahoe. Rainy had endured more winter storms than she could possibly remember, but this one was different. Although she knew it was ridiculous, this storm felt like an adversary, something bent on keeping her from Cork.

  “These people we’re facing, if they’re really up there, aren’t like an organized group or anything,” the constable explained. “The guys at NSCI are calling them the Warrior Cohort, whatever the hell that means. Here in Canada, they’re First Nations. Other kinds of Native people elsewhere, I guess. They don’t have any sort of hierarchy, apparently, and no formal organization. They communicate entirely electronically. Emails, texts, Instagram, phone calls, all from sources difficult or impossible to track. Sounds like they never meet face-to-face. Sort of modern guerrilla warfare, you might say. If it hadn’t been for you, NSCI wouldn’t have any idea about the threat to the Manitou Canyon Dam.”

  The road ahead curved suddenly, and as Markham fought to make the turn, the Tahoe drifted on the pavement. The river loomed dark at their side. In the brief sweep of beam from the headlights, Rainy could see angry white water leaping over boulders in the channel.

  “Jesus,” the constable whispered under his breath. “This is going from bad to worse.”

  “How much farther?” Stephen asked.

  “Twenty kilometers from the town to the dam. So maybe twelve more ahead of us. New road, this. Before they built the dam, it was all washboard gravel. Only thing up that way was White Woman Lake and Saint Gervais. Mostly floatplane visitors up there, flying into the lodge to fish the lake or the upper Manitou. Only ones who ever really used the road were Aaron and the other Odawa.”

  “What do you think of the dam?”

  The constable shrugged. “Doesn’t do us any good. Hell, all that electricity’ll be going to Caldecott’s Highland Mine. Aaron and his people are sure the mine’ll pollute the river, and it probably will. That’s one of the big reasons they’re upset. It’s a special place to them. Sacred, you know. I get what they’re saying. I love this river, too, but what do any of us matter?”

  “A little bee matters, when it stings,” Henry said.

  “Yeah, and Aaron tried to sting. What did it get him? Nothing but a few days in jail.”

  “And the knowledge that he fought,” the old man said.

  Markham shook head. “Look, there’s such huge money involved in this and so many powerful people in Ottawa, a regular guy doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “That does not mean a regular guy should not try.”

  Inside the Tahoe, it was quiet for a moment. Then Constable Markham said, “You’re right, old-timer. Right as rain.”

  “His name’s Henry,” Rainy said.

  The bull moose came out of nowhere. Or rather, the curtain of snow kept it hidden so that when it was suddenly revealed in the headlights, standing in the center of the narrow road, broadside to the Tahoe, Markham had no chance to avoid a collision. Rainy saw the great animal turn its head. It seemed to observe the inevitable with amazing calm.

  Constable Markham hit the brakes at the same moment the Tahoe hit the moose. The impact jarred them all, and they were shoved forward against the restraint of their seat belts. Up front, the air bags deployed. There was a shattering of glass from the windshield. The Tahoe jerked to a stop, and for a long moment the only sound was the crackle of hot metal and the hiss of steam.

  Markham finally said, “Is everybody okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Stephen, who sat in back with Rainy and Henry.

  “Okay, here,” Daniel said. He was up front with the constable.

  “Uncle Henry?” Rainy asked. In the sudden dark, she could barely see.

  “I am all right, Niece.”

  They got out one by one. Markham pulled a couple of big flashlights from the gear in the back of the Tahoe, and Rainy stood with the others as they inspected the damage. The front end of the vehicle was crushed, as if it had hit another vehicle head-on. In the flashlight beams, tendrils of gray steam rose up from under the crumpled hood.

  “There goes my transport budget,” Markham said.

  “Uncle Henry?” Rainy called, because she was suddenly aware that he was not with them.

  “Here,” she heard him say.

  Daniel swung a flashlight beam in the direction of the old man’s voice. There was the Mide, kneeling beside the fallen bull moose, which lay on its side at the edge of the road. The animal wasn’t dead yet. Rainy saw the great bellows of its lungs working and heard the suck of air through its nostrils. She also heard the voice of her great-uncle, whispering. She took a step toward him.

  “It would be best if you all stayed back,” the old man said quietly.

  He rose and stepped away. A moment l
ater, the moose trembled, struggled up on its impossibly gangly legs, and stood, as if gathering its wits. It turned its face to the flashlight beams, shook its body, gave a warning snort, then trotted off down the road toward Gordonville and disappeared into the storm.

  “My God,” Markham said. “The hell with the Tahoe. I should be driving one of those.”

  Daniel turned back to the ruined vehicle. “What now?”

  “I radio Gordonville, if the radio still works, and we wait for a tow.”

  “What about the dam?” Stephen said.

  “What do you want me to do?” Markham replied. “Fly?”

  “We can walk,” Rainy said. “How much farther now? Maybe ten kilometers? A couple of hours?”

  “I’m with you,” Daniel said.

  “And me,” Stephen chimed in.

  “Maybe you should stay here, Uncle Henry,” Rainy suggested.

  “Like a moose,” the old man said and thumped his chest. “I will go.”

  “Give me a minute,” Markham said. “Let me try the radio, see if I can get an update to Gordonville and Thunder Bay.”

  He slipped back into the Tahoe. A minute later he slid back out.

  “Nothing,” he said. “And there’s no cell phone service out here. So we’re on our own.” He returned to the rear of the Tahoe and began pulling out gear. “I’ve only got two vests. I’ll wear one, you wear the other.” He gave the armor to Daniel. He took out two rifles and a box of cartridges. He gave a rifle to Rainy. “I figure you’ll provide cover fire if we need it. You better have told the truth about handling one of these.”

  Henry said, “Her eye and her heart are true, Constable Markham.”

  “All right, then.” The Mountie settled his cap on his head. “Guess we’ve got a dam to save.”

  They began walking up the road, with only the vaguest notion of what might be coming at them down Manitou Canyon.

  CHAPTER 55

  The drills worked perfectly. The bits ate quickly into the rock and, with the extensions, reached a depth of five feet in less than ten minutes per hole. Harris guessed at the drill pattern.

  “Look, I guarantee nothing,” he said to Fox. “A blast like this really needs to be well considered. There are dozens of factors that come into play.”

  “We don’t have time to consider dozens of factors,” Fox said. “This will have to do.”

  Aaron, Cheval, and Cork took turns operating the drills, while Fox and Indigo oversaw everything with weapons at the ready in their hands. Harris marked each drill site and, along with Mrs. Gray, helped change bits and extensions as needed. When the holes were prepared, he packed the charges and connected the detonating wire.

  “It’s been a long time since I did this kind of hands-on work,” he said.

  “Always good to know what guys on the front line have to do,” Indigo replied. And there was that hateful grin again.

  When they’d prepared the wall on the west side of the dam, they moved all the materials and equipment to the east side and began there.

  In what should have been a quiet interrupted only by the moan of wind, the screech of the drills was surreal and offensive. Rock dust mixed with the sweep of blowing snow, and in the glare that lit the dam, Cork felt as if he were in a vision of hell. He’d been watching for an opportunity to make some kind of move, but Indigo and Fox were alert and careful and gave him nothing.

  When the holes had been drilled and Harris had begun to ready the charges for that wall, Fox said, “O’Connor, Cheval, haul your drills back to the pickup. Indigo, you go with them. Harris, Aaron, you stay here with me and Mrs. Gray.”

  Indigo waved his Glock and said, “After you, gents.”

  Cork and Cheval hefted the drills onto their shoulders and marched off the dam, leaving Harris and Aaron with Fox to finish the blast preparations.

  The labor of drilling had been hard, and Cork had worked up a sweat that soaked his clothing. Now the wind drove the cold across the rising lake and his body stiffened.

  Cheval said, “I’m too old for this kind of work.”

  Behind him, Indigo said, “You’re just about as old as you’re ever going to get, my friend.”

  They were near the night watchman’s pickup in the lot when Cheval slipped and fell. The drill tumbled from his grip, and he lay sprawled on the ground, holding his knee.

  “Goddamn ice,” he said.

  Indigo said, “Pick up the drill.”

  “Twisted my knee,” Cheval complained. “Not sure I can even walk.”

  “Get up and give it a try.”

  “I need a hand up.”

  “O’Connor,” Indigo said.

  Cork lowered his drill and set it in the snow. He glanced at Indigo, whose eyes at the moment were intent on Cheval. The Glock was also aimed in that direction. Cork launched himself. But Indigo anticipated the move. He easily stepped clear of Cork’s attack and stood grinning.

  “I can read you like a book, O’Connor. You, too,” he said to Cheval. “I’d hoped to get those drills to the truck before I took you both out. Guess I’ll have to finish that job. Just as soon as I finish this one.”

  Indigo seemed to consider which man to shoot first. Before he could decide, a red blooming appeared in the center of his forehead just a split second in advance of the rifle report. The look on Indigo’s face was of utter surprise. Then he collapsed, dropped like a rag doll, and lay with the back of his head exploded, his blood staining the snow.

  Cork scanned the dark beyond the snowfall that was illuminated in the dam lights. A moment later, three figures emerged from the direction of the Yukon and the pickup parked along the road. As they neared, he recognized Lindsay. Then Isaac. And finally Bird, who was walking only with Isaac’s help. In his right hand he held a scoped rifle. His face was pale and his features pained.

  “I would have shot him sooner,” Bird said. “But you guys were in the way.”

  “How’d you get here?” Cheval asked.

  “I borrowed a truck in Gordonville,” Bird explained. “Found these two locked in the cooler at the lodge. They told me everything.”

  The vehicle that had passed on the road, Cork realized.

  “Where’s Grandpa John?” Lindsay said.

  “Still on the dam,” Cork told her.

  “My uncle?” Bird said.

  “With him. Fox and Mrs. Gray, too.”

  Isaac looked at the drills on the ground. “You finished?”

  “They’re finishing now.”

  “They’re really going to blow the dam?”

  “They’re going to try,” Cork said. “And if that dam goes, Gordonville goes with it.”

  “That’s not what we wanted,” Bird said.

  “You may have to kill another man,” Cork told him.

  “Fox?” The young man’s face looked old and grim. “I can do that.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Cheval grabbed the dead man’s Glock, and they moved carefully toward the dam. The wind drove the snow in a shifting, blinding curtain before them. As they approached the place where the thick, horizontal concrete met the vertical east wall of the narrows, the three men and the woman still on the dam were revealed. Cork saw Harris place something on the dam wall and step back. Fox picked up the object.

  “Do you think you can get a shot from here?” Cork whispered to Bird.

  “I’ll make it work,” Bird said.

  “Not unless you have to. Stay here, all of you except Cheval. You come with me,” he said to the big pilot. “And bring the Glock.”

  As they neared the men on the dam, Cheval asked, “How are we going to explain Indigo?”

  “Probably badly,” Cork said. “That’s what the Glock’s for.”

  When Fox saw them, everything about him went on alert.

  “Indigo?” Fox
asked.

  Cork said, “Do you know about the Anishinaabe belief in the Path of Souls?”

  “I know it.”

  “Indigo’s on his way.”

  Fox considered this. “Makes no difference.”

  “Oh, but it does,” Cork said. “Cheval.”

  The big man showed the Glock.

  Fox nodded but didn’t seem concerned. “The detonator trumps all.” He held up his hand, and in it was what looked like a small electronic device. “You can’t kill me quick enough. So, my question is this. Do we all go up with the dam?”

  They stood a long moment, the only sound the moan of the wind as it pressed into the canyon. Then came the crack of the high-powered rifle. Simultaneously, the arm that Fox had lifted and that held the detonator jerked back and a great chunk of flesh and bone below the elbow vanished. Another rifle crack followed, and Fox dropped with a hole through his heart.

  Before any of the men could move, the woman swooped down, snatched the detonator, and ran toward the other side of the dam. Cork heard another crack of the rifle, but the woman kept on running. The next rifle shot brought her down but didn’t stop her. She crawled to the cover of the wall that topped the dam, out of rifle sight, and moved into a sitting position.

  “Run!” Cork cried.

  They fled, ran clear of the dam and the eastern wall. Lindsay rushed out of the blind of snow and embraced her grandfather. Bird was beside her, and Aaron paused a moment to put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” Cork shouted.

  When they reached the road and the parked vehicles there, they crowded together behind the pickup and peered over the bed.

  “Maybe she’s not going to do it,” Harris finally said.

  “Or maybe she’s dead,” Cheval offered.

  In the next moment, they were both proved wrong.

  CHAPTER 56

  It was a wet snow and clung to their coats as they trudged along the road up the canyon toward the dam. Flakes caught on Rainy’s lashes and melted and dripped into her eyes, now and again blinding her momentarily. The wind was powerful out of the west. The night was terribly dark. But for the beams of the flashlights that Constable Markham and Daniel held, it would have been impossible to see their way.