Although Zen’s initial findings had been fascinatingly revealing and had set him spinning with excitement, he had to admit that besides the old manuscript, there wasn’t a shred of evidence supporting any such cycles, caverns, or anything of the like. But he couldn’t help but think—perhaps?
If the crazed survivor had been telling the truth and such a cavern did exist, then there could be more than one of the underground cavities, perhaps an entire salt labyrinth the size of a small city!
This is what Zen hoped for! This is what he absolutely needed! And this is why he now stood alone in the salty wasteland with his expensive equipment. Why he had lied to his commander to get out there in the desert in the first place. All this, because of an old pioneer’s hundred-year old testimonial, and because Zen Reitman had a feeling deep down inside that his caverns were there.
Zen trudged ahead. He had set his eyes upon a distant rock and used it as a land mark. His plan was to walk a grid pattern, much the way a farmer chooses to plow a large field. The soft clay, frosted with salt, made walking an easy effort. Even though he had started early, and rested only periodically to drink from his canteen or munch down a stale home-made snack, his watch continued its renegade tick forward toward the rendezvous hour.
Zen groaned inwardly at the passing time. His eyes squinted upward toward the bright ball of hydrogen burning above him. It was such a clear day. Not a cloud in the sky. Just a glorious shade of blue in every direction. Suddenly, his gaze caught a glimpse of motion amid the backsplash of blue. High above the horizon, a small object streaked sideways and tilted just enough to catch a flash of sunlight and reflect it back into Zen’s face. “A plane!” he heard himself mutter.
The small, single-engine craft was descending much too quickly. It dove, then rose, then veered oddly to one side. It was at that moment that Zen noticed a slight trail of smoke spiraling behind the airplane like the giant tail on a kite.
He jumped up and grabbed for his binoculars. He put them quickly to his eyes and managed to locate the craft moving within his field of view. Yes, it was a small plane. A Cessna, he guessed. And he was right. As the tail of the craft came into focus, the lettering, Cessna, was clearly lettered in bright blue writing across the back fuselage, a 140A was painted on the vertical stabilizer.
Zen lowered the glasses and watched in horror as the craft began its decent directly toward him. “What the—!” he stammered. “They’re going to try and land!”
The plane had time to circle only once, then leveled out and began to attempt a hard landing. Now Zen could hear the sound of the motor. It sputtered, coughed and then made a loud bang which echoed like a bomb from above. The propeller stopped and smoke began pouring from the motor. This time the nose dove down more quickly than before.
At one point, it looked as if the pilot might finally gain some vertical control. The injured plane actually pitched and then stabilized into what appeared to be a normal, landing vector. But then the sleek silver body suddenly rolled to one side, nosed slightly upward, then stalled and fell into a head-long tumble.
Before Zen realized it, he was running toward the wounded bird. His eyes remained welded to it, and he held his breath, waiting for the terrible sound of impact. Then, with just seconds of life left, the plane suddenly lurched out of its spiral, leveled, and hit the ground hard. An immediate shear of the left wheel followed as it blew violently off in an diagonal shower of rubber fragments and twisted metal. Without the support of the wheel, the tip of left wing dropped abruptly and caught the sand in a white, furrowing spray. It ripped and tore for several yards before burrowing deep into the desert under-layer. The wing ripped apart into large pieces that blew high into the air. The craft lurched and whipped into a fierce arc that snapped the other wing at the fuselage like a dried twig. The chaos finally culminated in a death-cloud of dust, smoke and a final, terrible shriek of scraping metal that resonated across the barren landscape.
All sound died to silence.
Zen was nearly on top of it now. He first saw the smoke, and then the shiny reflection of the broken fuselage. His heart was pounding rapidly and his lungs burned from his long sprint. He hadn’t even notice that he had dropped his gear fifty yards back. As he approached, he slowed his pace to catch his breath. He was panting so hard, he couldn’t shout. He tried, but there was no air behind the cry.
A sudden bang came from somewhere within the broken wreckage. Someone had survived!
Before Zen could calculate what it was, the right side window of the cockpit, the only part which had not been crushed, came flying out. A black boot jutted in its place.
Zen moved cautiously closer.
A figure crawled out the opening and onto the sand.
“Hey!” Zen shouted, waving his hands. “Hey! Are you alright!” As he approached, the figure had already stood and was moving away from the craft and toward him in a casual stride.
It took only seconds for Zen to focus on the long blond pony-tail and the defined figure of a young woman. He was so surprised, he just gawked at her, wide eyed and dumbfounded. But he quickly blinked back his composure. His eyes now spotted a small gash on the woman’s forehead and there was a tear in her slender jeans. Blood was visible around the rip in her pants, but fortunately, her head wound appeared superficial and was only oozing slightly. Her face was surprisingly youthful, and he wondered if she had been a passenger or the pilot. But above all else—even beyond her apparent trauma and wounds—he noticed that she was stunningly beautiful. “Are you,”—he managed, pausing to inhale and bend from the pain in his side—“are you hurt?” he puffed out.
She looked him up and down, and then turned her attention back toward the mangled plane. “I knew better than to rent that piece of garbage,” she said disgustingly. “I should have waited to take my own baby up, but she was in the garage.” She put her hands to her hips and glared at the smoldering wreck. “Electrical issue, I think. Something shorted out. A big bang and then all the controls went dead. No power, no radio, and no staying airborne.” She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “And the worst part, you know, is that I had all that equipment on lease from the university shoved in the back like a swollen foot in a wet boot. Now it’s all smashed to pieces. Very, very expensive pieces.” She sighed, annoyingly. “I don’t suppose they’re going to take the news too well.”
Zen just stared at her as though she were some kind of desert mirage. He didn’t quite know what to say. “You . . . you are alright then?” he finally garbled out.
“Yes. I suppose.” She replied casually. “Brand new jeans though. Cost me nearly ten dollars.” She raised her leg and inspected the rip more carefully. “But I suppose I’m lucky. I could have gone right into those rocks.” She indicated to the distance, just beyond the wreckage, where a line of jagged volcanic rock protruded through the sands in a steep rise that lifted several feet and covered the desert floor in a contrasting black streak nearly a hundred feet wide.
“Yes. I also feared that you might crash into—”
“Then you watched me come down?”
“Oh yes,” Zen nodded, enthusiastically. “I was afraid you would not recover that tail-spin well at all.”
She snickered slightly. “I darn near didn’t.” Then she unexpectedly threw out a hand. “The name’s Gracie Clements. I suppose I’m glad that someone was in the area after all, although,”—she paused, gazing around—“this isn’t exactly paradise island . . . a bit drub, not the type of area conducive to any fun that I can think of.”
Zen managed a smile, which helped chase his shocked, stupefied expression away. “Well, Mrs. Clements—”
“Please,” she interrupted, “call me Gracie, and it’s Miss. I’m the single sort,” she said, brushing at the sand on her shirt and pants. “No time for marriage and commitment.”
“Very well then, Gracie,” Zen returned. “I’m certainly glad you are not injured too seriously. Although I highly recommend we get you to a hospital as soon as poss
ible, just to be sure.”
“Ha,” she waved an annoyed hand. “I hate hospitals. People die there. All I need is something to wipe at this cut, and I’ll be fine. Do you happen to have—?” She stopped herself and smiled. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked your name.” She held out her hand again.
“My name is Zen Reitman,” he replied with a cordial handshake. “I am actually on assignment, and currently working for the government. I am stationed out of Dugway Base just southwest of here. I had not planned on—”
“Zen Reitman,” she repeated, as an inquisitive smile appeared. Her eyes flashed as she gave the young man a thorough sweep from head to foot. “Now that’s not an everyday name, and I’ve heard it before. You’re one of that group of young scientists our government acquired from Russia several years back.”
“How did you know—?”
“Oh, it was big news in the science community. I thought I detected an accent—very subtle, mind you. You speak English very well, Mr. Reitman.”
“Zen,” he corrected. “Call me, Zen.” His eyes shifted momentarily in an uncomfortable glance to the ground. A tinge of distant memory caught the young man off guard as her words, you speak English well, brought an unwelcomed stigma momentary back from his captive youth.
The GGRC Nazis had wanted him to learn English, among other languages. Zen never knew why at the time, but the administration had given him books on all major dialects of the world—probably just another one of their experiments to test his aptitude skills. He had intentionally given the pretense that this task was not achievable. It was simply too difficult, he had stated. But in reality, Zen had mastered all of the languages in hours, becoming a perfected linguistic. This hidden ability had been a great asset when the Russian Allies had arrived to free him and the others. He had spoken their language with amazing perfection, and they had been astounded at his ability.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Gracie spoke, reading the awkwardness in Zen’s expression. “Let me explain.”
Zen’s chin slowly rose. He caught her dabbing a piece of cloth on her head, and she smiled back at him, kindly.
“I’m an adjunct professor of Biological Chemistry at the University of Utah. My colleague and mentor, Professor Ronald Randston, is the chair of the physics department there. He was invited to a rather esoteric meeting last year in New Mexico, at the Los Alamos facility.” She paused, moved to a smooth rock and sat down with a grunt. “He delivered some kind of equipment there, I think.” She looked keenly up at Zen. “He met you and your sister,” she closed her eyes as though processing an exact recollection. “I can still quote him from memory: ‘Those two siblings are the most incredible individuals I have ever met. I felt like a fledgling fool just being in their presence.’ Yes, those were his words, or very near to it.” She opened her eyes and smiled up at Zen. “I remember when he spoke your name, I thought, now that’s someone I would love to meet. And here you are.”
“I remember Doctor Randston,” Zen replied, finding his own rock seat next to her. “He was a very pleasant man. We talked for three-minutes and eleven seconds. It was an enjoyable conversation on the climate in Utah. I had just been notified that I was being transferred from Los Alamos, and I—”
“Wow! You have quite the memory,” she exclaimed, her brow raising in surprise, “right down to the seconds.”
Zen flushed, embarrassingly. She was so lovely that he could hardly concentrate. He would never have made that kind of vernacular screw-up with anyone else. Just the fundamental facts! he rebuked himself, mentally. Ruthy would have blasted him a glare and then a good scolding if she had heard that blunder come out of his mouth. He had improved so much the last couple of years. What a time to mess-up!
“Yes. Well,”—he said, choking off the subject—“we ought to get you looked at as soon as possible. It would be prudent, don’t you think?”
Gracie clicked an unconcerned tongue. She was too fascinated with her present acquaintance to worry about a few cuts and bruises. “I’m fine, but I suppose that does make sense.”
“I left my pack a ways back that direction.” Zen pointed southeast.
Grace’s eyes followed his gesture and soon noticed a distant object standing out like a spot of black ink on a white sheet of paper.
“There is a first aid kit in my pack,” Zen hinted.
She glanced back at the crash. “Well, it doesn’t make much sense to try and salvage anything right now. I’ll have to come back later. Do you have a vehicle?”
“No. No ground transportation. But there is a helicopter which is supposed to rendezvous with me in just over an hour. I have a radio, and can notify them of your situation.”
“A helicopter?” she repeated, teasingly. “Now that’s what I call a taxi. Thank you, Zen. I’ll gladly accept any help I can get at the moment.”
Zen reached and offered a hand and helped her to her feet. “It is this direction,” he stated, with a gesturing nod.
“Yes,” she grinned amusingly, clearing eyeing the pack in the distance. “I can see it.”
“Oh, yes. Of course you can,” Zen rattled out awkwardly. He stood and headed toward his equipment, but soon noticed that Gracie wasn’t following behind him. He turned to find her gazing oddly past the wreck and into the northwest horizon. She had an inquisitive stance, as though she had lost something somewhere out in the sands.
“Is something wrong?”
“Well,” she replied, not breaking her gaze. “How long until your ride comes calling?”
Zen gave his watch a quick glance. “I need to radio the Huey sometime in the next hour or so. Why?”
Gracie sighed a hesitant breath, then turned to him. “You know, I would have landed that plane in one piece if it hadn’t been for that large, gaping hole right in my vector.”
“Hole?” questioned Zen. His senses now keen on her every word.
“Yes,” she continued. “If you were watching me come down, you might have noticed that I actually pulled out of my tumble and got control of the bird. I was able to level her off and was doing okay.”
“You were level, but your descent was too rapid.”
“Really?” Gracie said with a spit of sarcasm. She grinned teasingly and tossed her hair with a quick hand. “I may have been coming in hard, yes, but I had control. Anyway, at the last moment, I saw a large fissure right in front of me. It was massive. I had to veer off my vector.” She paused briefly. “That’s when the rollercoaster ride began.”
“And where was this anomaly?” Zen questioned, eagerly.
“It’s not so much an anomaly, Zen, as a big gaping hole in the sand.” She cocked her head askew and eyed him with a hint of provocative banter. “But it’s just over there, beyond those rocks . . . I think.” She pointed. “Not too far.”
“Gracie. I would very much like to see this anom—” he caught himself, “this gaping hole in the sand, of yours” Zen stated, anxiously. “If you do not mind resting here for a few moments, I would like to quickly investigate.”
“Are you kidding?” she declared. “I’m coming with you. That thing caused me to wreck a rented plane.” She jumped to her feet. “I want to walk right up to the edge and spit down its throat!”
Zen grinned back at her. She has spunk, he thought. “Very well. But you must consider that you have just survived a plane crash—a very serious incident. You may still be in shock and more injured than you realize.”
“You don’t say,” she relied, bending matter-of-factly to tightened the laces on her high, black boots. “Trust me, Mr. Reitman. I could race you to that anomaly, and I’d win. Do you want to have a go?” She blinked her large, blue eyes at him tauntingly.
Zen gulped. “Perhaps we should just walk, then.”
“Hmm. Perhaps.”
They started off back in the direction of Zen’s equipment. Soon he had hoisted his pack up across his back.
“I have one of those, you know,” said Gracie, eyeing the heavy pack and antenna
. And then she hooted out loud. “I mean had. It was in the plane. You have seismic equipment,” she correctly deduced. “You are looking for something . . . something out here?”
Zen didn’t reply. He just glanced at her and smiled.
“Okay, Mr. government scientist, keep your secrets. I probably don’t want to know what you nerdy guys are cooking up at Dugway Base, anyway. Probably some alien ship you got torn apart or something,” she mumbled, then smirked ingenuously.
Zen gave her an odd glance, but smiled at her humorous expression. “No,” he replied. “Nothing quite that momentous.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
They stepped quickly, realizing that time was not sympathetic to their cause. They soon came upon the field of volcanic rock which Gracie had nearly crashed into. It proved difficult to walk through as the stones were large, rough and sharp. It was such a contrast to the soft easy step of sand. Several times, Gracie nearly stumbled.
Finally, Zen reached for her hand. “Let me help you,” he offered.
At first, she wasn’t too receptive to his grasp, but soon Zen felt the pressure as her hand willingly held tight to his own. As they walked, he began to feel a strange sensation; a surging through his body as though his blood had risen in temperature—a warming awareness, wonderful, yet new and different. Now this was a feeling he had neither expected, nor encountered before. And try as he might, the young scientist could neither calculate, nor tie an equation to it.
Soon the uneven ground was behind them, and the desert grew very still. A slight breeze moved the white sands and teased Gracie’s hair gently on her forehead.
Of Salt and Sand Page 11