Fracked

by Campbell, Mark

  Mike’s face was sunburnt and his cheeks were covered with grease. Judging by the stains, his new uniform already looked broken in.

  “How was the first day?” John asked.

  “Harder than I expected,” Mike admitted as he stared blankly ahead, exhausted.

  John chuckled.

  “Why do you think we’re getting paid so much?” John asked.

  The group started to break apart as they each made their way to their respective vans.

  Mike sighed and shook his head.

  “I knew it’d be hard… I just didn’t have any idea I’d be doing so much,” Mike said. “Honestly, I thought that I’d just be driving a forklift.”

  John laughed again.

  “Yeah… You’ll learn pretty fast that everyone gets their hands dirty around here,” John said. “If the job was easy then everybody would be working down here, you know?”

  Mike reached up and massaged his aching left shoulder, groaning.

  “I sure found that out today,” Mike muttered as he climbed into the van.

  John crawled into the van and sat next to him, cracking his neck. He tossed his hardhat by his feet, closed his eyes, and leaned the stiff seat back as far as it would go.

  The others entered the van and in a few moments they were on their way back towards the highway.

  Tejano music started coming through the radio as the signal picked up.

  The others in the van started chattering amongst themselves.

  John didn’t even care about the music selection since the air conditioning felt so exquisite on his face. He took his unlit cigarette and finally lit it. He took a deep, long drag. He cracked his window and blew the smoke out with a deep sigh.

  After a few minutes his cigarette was gone and the ashes were all over his chest.

  John brushed the ashes off and flicked the cigarette butt out of the window. He looked over at Mike, half-asleep.

  “So… are you coming in tomorrow or is this goodbye?” John casually asked as he rolled up the window.

  Mike was leaning back in his seat with his hardhat still on, eyes closed.

  “Hell yeah man,” Mike muttered. He opened his eyes and glanced at John with a grin. “It’s going to take more than a sore back and a little sunburn to take me out of commission.”

  Mike closed his eyes again and pulled the hardhat down over his face, relaxing into the seat.

  John studied the kid and nodded, impressed.

  “Maybe you do have what it takes,” John said as he closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. He leaned back in his seat and tried to enjoy the bumpy ride, ignoring his aching body.

  After thirty minutes of stop-and-go traffic along Tres Rios’ main street, the van finally arrived at the Love’s Travel Center. It was located just off of the only exit from I-37 that led into town. Tres Rios was a mere eight miles away from the travel center and that made it an ideal location for the vanpool to meet.

  Since it was two hours to San Antonio, forty-five minutes to Beeville, and an hour to Corpus, the stop was convenient for everyone.

  Personally John hated the vanpool, but he didn’t have a choice since the jobsite didn’t allow personal vehicles to park on the premises– unless of course you were somebody important.

  The Love’s Travel Center was a massive truck stop that was open 24/7 and served as a central hub for hungry tourists headed towards the beach. It also served as a convenient stop for truckers who were headed to and from the drill sites. The gargantuan building sold everyday convenience store items like fountain drinks, lottery tickets, and basic groceries in the front of the store. The back side of the store sold last-minute gifts, DVDs, odd trinkets, and specialty items catered towards professional truckers. The travel center also featured a Subway restaurant and a McDonald’s inside and neither restaurant was ever empty.

  Gasoline pumps were situated along the front of the building, while the diesel pumps and semi-truck parking areas were located in the back.

  The van pulled to the dirt parking lot next to the travel center, the area designated for Triburton’s vanpools, and parked in a row of identical looking vans.

  The occupants poured out of the van and headed into the store wearing their dirty uniforms to stock up on their usual supply of beer, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco.

  John tucked his hardhat under the crook of his arm and started walking the opposite direction towards his car.

  He drove an old Ford sedan. It wasn’t anything fancy; the cloth seats were dirty and torn, the dash was cracked, and the tires were nearly bald, but it worked well enough for going back and forth to work.

  “See you tomorrow,” Mike said as he limped towards his Toyota Camry.

  John nodded and waved.

  “Take it easy, kid,” John said as he opened his car door and tossed his hardhat on the passenger seat. “Remember… Icy Hot and hot showers are your friends for the first few weeks.”

  Mike chuckled and shook his head.

  “I’ll remember that,” Mike said.

  John grinned, got inside his car, and slammed the rusty door shut.

  The heat was abysmal.

  He stuck the key in the ignition and tried to start the engine.

  After a few cranks and a plume of black smoke from the tailpipe, the engine started and hot air blew from the air conditioning vents.

  Of all the things that had stopped working in the car during the years, he missed the air conditioning most of all.

  John manually rolled down both front windows and turned on the radio.

  A country station from Corpus started playing.

  At least the radio works, he thought with a smile.

  He pulled a cigarette out of his crushed pack and lit it, blowing the smoke out of the window as he drove out of the Love’s parking lot and turned onto a country road that stretched out into the horizon. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as an old Hank Williams song started playing.

  The road leading to his house was surrounded by nothing but arid farmland and scattered homesteads that were miles apart from each other. The derelict wooden fences that lined the street were overgrown with thorny weeds and the remnants of rusty old tractors sat on the side of the road in the ditch, collecting dust. Most of the homes were abandoned, rotting, and had their windows boarded up. Others were empty and simply looked dark and ominous.

  There were a few patchy corn fields, but they were dry and dying.

  Towering oil wells, waste ejection wells, and natural gas wells covered the desolate farmland. Some of the wells were tapped dry while others were still surrounded by chain-link fences and had manned security shacks.

  John made it a point to keep his attention focused on the bumpy road and not on the scenery. Semi-trucks sped past his car in the opposite direction as they headed into town. He flicked his cigarette butt out of the window and shifted in his uncomfortable seat.

  A commercial played on the radio.

  “Are you looking for an exciting and energetic career with unlimited growth potential?” a female asked as upbeat music played in the background. “Triburton is now hiring entry-level positions for our expansion of the Eagle Ford Shale operation. We offer competitive salary, paid training, and an excellent benefits package! Simply fill out the easy online application or visit one of our convenient local recruitment centers and sign up today! At Triburton we’re creating a safe, sustainable future for America and would like you to join our team. Visit us today at–”

  John turned off the radio with a sour expression and drove the next three miles towards his house in silence.

  He turned onto the dirt road that led to his house and stared out the window.

  His acres were barren and the mesquite trees on his land were dead. The old abandoned cattle barn that sat in the middle of his property was in serious disrepair; the wood was rotting and the tin roof was falling apart. He mainly used it as a place to store his junk and pieces of scrap.

  It depressed him to see what
his family legacy had become.

  He turned his attention towards the house and felt a little better.

  It was a modest two-story brick home with an attached carport. Unlike the cattle barn, the home was in immaculate condition and had been renovated through the years. Even with the renovations the house managed to keep its country charm. It even had an old rooster weathervane on the highest point of the newly-shingled roof. A covered, screened-in patio wrapped around the entire house. The old cobblestone well, the very same well that John’s grandfather helped dig, sat next to the house alongside a massive propane tank.

  John parked underneath the carport and trudged up the steps to his patio. He heard cicadas all around him.

  As soon as he opened the screen door, he was ambushed by a four-legged ball of black fur.

  “Oh calm down Lucy,” John said, laughing. “It’s just me.”

  Lucy excitedly wagged her tail and kept her front paws on his chest. She stared at him with her soulful brown eyes and tried to lick his face. She was a big lab, but she seemed to think that she was still a small puppy.

  “Okay… Okay… Enough of that,” John said as he ran his fingers through her thick coat, petting her and trying to dodge her licks. “Go on. Down girl, down.”

  Lucy lowered her paws off of his chest and started prancing around him, panting with her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She was wagging her tail so furiously that her whole bottom half was shaking and bumping against the rocking chairs; she couldn’t even walk straight.

  John glanced over at her bowls; the water one was full but the food bowl was licked clean.

  “Are you hungry girl?” he asked as he leaned down to pet her.

  Lucy barked and circled around him a few more times, looking up at him expectantly.

  John laughed and nodded.

  “Well! I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” he said with a grin as he opened the door and stepped inside. “I’ll be right back with something for both of us.”

  Lucy got down on her haunches and stared at him with her ears perked up as he entered the house, whimpering quietly.

  John kicked off his dirty boots and sat them in their usual spot next to the door. He sighed as he basked in the air conditioning and walked through the living room towards the kitchen.

  The house was nicely appointed inside. The furniture was a little rustic but it held a certain charm that seemed to go along with the house. Naturally, Rebecca’s influence was everywhere when it came to the distressed European décor.

  He didn’t know anything about that type of stuff.

  If it wasn’t for his wife, the house would be decorated with neon signs and empty cans.

  John sauntered into the kitchen, grabbed the bag of dog food out from underneath the sink and tucked it under his arm. He reached over and pulled a can of beer out of the fridge and ran the cool can across his sunburnt forehead with a smile.

  Words couldn’t describe how exquisite such a simple pleasure felt.

  He popped the top and took a greedy gulp of beer as he grabbed his cellphone off of the counter.

  No missed calls, just one new text message from Rebecca.

  He opened the text and read it with a smile. He took another sip and clumsily tapped out a reply across the glass touchscreen with his dirty thumb.

  Satisfied with the message, he pressed ‘SEND’, sat the phone on the kitchen counter and walked outside onto the patio with his beer in one hand and the bag of dog food in the other.

  Chapter 6

  Rebecca felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She was wearing simple blue nursing scrubs yet somehow managed to look attractive even in such drab attire. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her complexion looked radiant even under the harsh, unforgiving glare of the fluorescent lights overhead.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly read the message.

  “Did you check on room six yet?” a woman asked as she stepped out of the nurses station at the end of the hall.

  Rebecca shoved the phone back in her pocket and turned to face the woman.

  She was a heavyset black woman with a droopy facial expression and a perpetual scowl. She had her hands on her hips and was glaring at Rebecca, waiting for a response.

  “No, why?” Rebecca asked.

  The nurse made a ‘tsk’ and rolled her eyes.

  “Well I already asked Robin to do it but it looks like she’s off hiding somewhere again,” the nurse said, shaking her head. “That girl… I swear. Anyway, do you mind taking his vitals for me? Room six. I have to get this report finished before the end of the day.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Rebecca said with a smile.

  “Thanks sugar,” the nurse said. She turned and disappeared back inside the nurses’ station.

  Rebecca walked along the cold corridor towards room six.

  Despite management’s deep pockets, the hospital was pretty barebones when it came to aesthetics. The walls were made out of textured wallboard paneling and the floor was mostly polished cement. Exposed pipes and electrical conduits ran the expanse of the ceiling and fluorescent fixtures hung down from steel support cables. There wasn’t any décor aside from some framed Triburton posters.

  It looked more like a foreign triage center than it did a hospital.

  The room doors were thin, cheap, and unvarnished. Each door had a number placard and a hook for the clipboard holding the patient’s medical chart. Unlike the big city hospitals, the ragtag operation that Triburton established in Tres Rios still used the old paper charts instead of the standard electronic system.

  Rebecca pulled the chart off of room six’s door and glanced through it.

  Martin Santoyo, a Mexican national who was working in the United States under a work visa, worked as a class III wielder for Triburton’s rigging crew. According to the chart, he was admitted after he couldn’t catch his breath at work and coughing up blood. He was diagnosed with bronchitis, placed on a ventilator for a few days, and given some antibiotics.

  Considering the fact that he was coughing up blood, the diagnosis certainly felt strange to her, but she didn’t dare question the company’s doctor.

  Questioning the doctor meant risking her job in a town where non-oilfield careers were in short supply.

  Rebecca knocked on the door, praying that she’d pronounce his name correctly.

  “Mr. Santoyo?” she asked as she stepped into the room.

  His room, like all of the other patient rooms, was bland, unremarkable, and surprisingly small. There were no windows and no closets. A single restroom stood in the corner of the room next to two hard plastic chairs reserved for visitors. The beds were the older iron models and had a thin mattress with a thin sheet. A television was mounted on the wall in front of the bed. A small table lined with dusty glass jars full of swabs, wooden tongue depressors, and cotton balls sat next to the bed. The table’s drawers were stuffed with medical equipment and latex gloves.

  A poster of a smiling doctor was hung next to the television. It had the Triburton logo in the corner and the caption read ‘Taking Care of our Most Valuable Asset: YOU’.

  Martin was lying on the hospital bed and staring up at the Corpus newscast playing on the television. His right arm had an IV line feeding antibiotics into his system. He looked away from the television as soon as Rebecca walked into the room.

  “Good evening,” Martin said hoarsely with a thin little smile.

  “Good evening Mr. Santoyo,” Rebecca said, smiling back. “If you don’t mind I’m just going to take some vitals. How are you feeling?”

  “Good to go! I’m feeling a lot better than before and I’m ready to head back to work,” Martin said proudly.

  Rebecca laughed as she walked towards the table and sat the clipboard down. She slid a pair of gloves on, pulled the small electronic blood pressure machine out of the top drawer and walked to his bedside.

  “I think you have a little way to go before you start worrying about work a
gain,” she said as she took the cuff and wrapped it around his arm. “Just worry about getting better for now.”

  She pressed the button and waited as the cuff inflated.

  Martin frowned.

  “I don’t understand… The doctor told me that I’m getting discharged in the morning,” Martin said.

  Rebecca stared at him, perplexed.

  “What…? I… didn’t know. It’s just– Well… I don’t think you’re ready yet,” she said carefully. “Acute bronchitis usually takes around three weeks to get better.”

  “Oh chinga,” Martin said, chuckling. “I’m fine, really.”

  The blood pressure cuff beeped and deflated.

  The display read: 158 mm Hg / 99 mm Hg / 104 BPM

  Rebecca looked at the high numbers and frowned. She took the cuff off and notated the numbers.

  “Everything is good, right?” Martin asked with a big grin. “I’m good to go?”

  “Well… I can’t really say,” she evasively answered as she stared down at his chart. “I’m just an assistant. Your doctor will go over everything with you.”

  “He already did,” Martin said. “He gave me a clean bill of health!”

  Rebecca smiled politely as she put the cuff away and brought out the digital ear thermometer.

  “Let’s check that temperature,” she said as she slid a fresh probe cover on the tip. She slid the thermometer into his ear and pressed the button.

  The readout said: 101.2 F

  Frowning, she ejected the probe cover into the waste basket and put the thermometer away.

  “All good?” Martin asked.

  Rebecca said nothing as she annotated the temperature and stared down at the chart…

  Something just didn’t feel right.

  She flipped through the chart and tried to find a copy of his x-rays, but couldn’t find them.

  In fact, she didn’t see any even ordered.

  Confused, she shook her head.

  “Mr. Santoyo, did they ever take an x-ray of your chest?” she asked.

  Martin shook his head.

  “He said that I didn’t need one,” Martin said, unconcerned.

  “I see…” Rebecca said as she tucked his chart under her arm with a frown. “Well I’m going to talk to your nurse about this. Have a good night, Mr. Santoyo.”