The little tremor had been felt throughout the area, but here at the concert area, it did little but shake a few lights and cause the drunks to laugh and stagger a bit. Hatch ensured that nobody was hurt and the party continued as if nothing had happened. The park service was no stranger to seismic activity, but they surely hoped that it wasn’t a precursor to something larger waiting in the wings with all these people smooshed into such a small area and the roads congested to a standstill.
Shelly approached Hatcher on the outer perimeter and bumped him to get his attention. She got close to his ear and had to yell to be heard over the screeching noise of the ‘music.’ “Anything?”
Hatch shook his head. He leaned in close to her ear and spoke loudly, “I can smell the pot, the urine, and the puke, but I’m not seeing it.”
She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. The crowd was too thick, the dark too deep, and the movement of people too disorienting to keep proper tabs on what was what. On occasion they would see a ranger or deputy who had been in the thick of the crowd come out escorting a patron who had either been too unruly or flagrant in their breaking of the law.
Hatch glanced at his watch and sighed. “Any idea how much longer this is supposed to last?”
Shelly shook her head. “The thing could turn into another Woodstock. They’ve had bands show up that weren’t supposed to be here, just in the hopes of being heard alongside the headliner.”
“Great.” Hatcher’s mouth tightened. “This is going to get out of hand.”
“What?” Shelly yelled leaning in closer.
“I said this has the potential to get out of hand.” Hatch kept eyeing the number of people and considering the dwindling number of resources he had. “I’m going to call in the reserve rangers from the rest of the park. Just for tonight.”
Shelly nodded. “Good idea. We could use them all.”
Hatcher walked into the Visitor’s Center and pulled the old-fashioned telephone from behind the counter. He punched in his personal three-digit access code, then called the closest ranger station. He put all the rangers on alert and redirected them to the concert site. Then he called the next nearest station. He hated pulling personnel from other stations, but this needed to be done. Leaving one ranger at each station was less than a skeleton crew, but it gave the appearance, even for one night, that there was somebody there. And a minor presence in the area was better than none at all. He just had to keep telling himself, ‘It’s just for one night, it’s just for one night.’
When he was done, and satisfied he had done all that he could do, he went back out into the deafening noise. How anybody could call the squawking and squalling coming from the makeshift stage ‘music,’ he had no idea. He had caught a lot of flak from the other rangers because he preferred classical music, but to him, it was peaceful, it was relaxing, and it was truly music. Some of the stuff that the other rangers listened to made his teeth hurt. Others, made him shake his head. Even Shelly liked to listen to her country music, and he often teased her that if you put a country music record on and played it backwards, you’d get your dog back, your house back, your wife back, and your job back. She didn’t find it very funny, but Hatcher thought it was hilarious.
Now, he stood here, in his own park, forcing himself not to run off screaming into the night or put a bullet into his brain because a group of…adults(?) were actually being paid an obscene amount of money to run around half-naked and sweaty on a stage and torture musical instruments while women threw their undergarments at them and laser lights highlighted the entire thing. He spit on the ground and shook his head. Somehow, he knew he had been screwed in high school…his career counselor never made mention of this career path. Otherwise he might have rethought the one he had taken.
A set of yellow headlights approached from the outer east and Hatcher knew it to be some of the other rangers coming in to lend a hand with the concert. He watched as the lights rounded the curve and pulled in behind the Visitor’s Center. He met the three rangers and shook hands with the senior officer. Each time he met Mitch Richardson, he swore the man had gotten larger. At nearly six and a half feet tall, he was over three hundred pounds of solid muscle. He reminded Hatcher of a human bulldog with a thick neck and extremely wide shoulders.
“Eaten anybody lately, Mitch?” Hatcher teased.
“Only family members.” Mitch smiled back, his teeth looking whiter against his ebony skin. “I don’t guess you’ve tried using a clicker on them folks have you? Turn the music down a little?” Mitch was squinting against the eardrum blasting racket coming from around the corner.
“I wish. Trust me, if I could have my way, they’d have never shown up.”
“That’s okay.” Mitch hitched his jaw toward the other two men who were pulling satchels from the rear of the truck. “My boys are ready.”
“What did you bring?”
“Extra zip cuffs, drug test kits, that sort of crap. And extra trash bags for after the party.” Mitch hiked a brow and nodded. “Figured we’d give you and yours a hand cleaning up.”
Hatcher patted the man’s broad shoulder. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that.” The two turned and started towards the noise. “It doesn’t get any prettier the closer you get.”
“Or better sounding.”
Ranger Richardson assessed the scene as best he could in the low light and pointed to two areas where he wanted his men staged. Both nodded and worked their way through the crowds to set up. He turned to Hatcher and had to yell to be heard. “Bryan Henry is on his way down, too. He should be here in about twenty minutes. He’s got a lot further to travel than I did.”
Hatcher nodded. “If you see him before I do, have him and his men set up closer to the stage area and I’d like one or two backstage.”
Mitch nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. His eyes continued to scan and he caught sight of Fisher trying to catch Hatcher’s attention. Mitch elbowed the man and motioned toward the large red-headed ranger. Hatcher broke away and made his way toward him just as Fisher made a subtle gesture towards a group of youths trying to work their way toward the stage. Hatcher couldn’t see what Fisher could and shook his head questioningly. Fisher pantomimed a gun and Hatcher took off more forcefully through the crowd, Fisher trying less successfully to come at a different angle.
The youths kept weaving through the crowd, and Hatcher was doing his best not to start a panic as he shoved his way through. He knew that if they got much closer to the stage, they’d have unfettered access to anybody along the front, including a few of the VIP visitors who had come in for the benefit.
Hatcher glanced to the side where Fisher should be, but he was still yards back, fighting through the crowd. He tried to calculate the distance to the youths and knew he’d never make it. He saw the Goth-looking lanky one reach into a pack and start to pull out something black and shiny.
For Daniel Hatcher, time slowed to a crawl and everything came into hyper focus. The music no longer existed and the crowd was nothing more than slightly swaying hindrances as his hand slid down his side and released the locking lever on his holster. He distinctly felt the cold rubber of the Hogue grips as his hand slid around the grip of the Glock G20 10mm handgun and lifted it from the Kydex holster on his duty belt. His eyes never left his target as his hand raised the weapon from his hip, his other hand coming up to meet it in front of him.
Years of training and muscle memory came into play as his feet squared up and his breathing slowed. His body instantly began to exhale slowly as his eyes focused on his target and his hands automatically rose to bring his front sites up to center on the center mass of his target. His eyes went past the front site to ensure the target area was clear before squeezing the trigger…his finger had slid down to the trigger guard of his weapon.
He distinctly remembered feeling his finger make contact with the trigger safety, something he couldn’t remember ever feeling before and for the split second that his brain registered the sensation, it surpris
ed him. But his mind was too focused on the black object in his target’s hands. It was shaped like a gun and it was aimed at the people in the front row. The people between him and his target had moved between his barrel and his target. He had no clean shot.
He held his breath for just a moment and let up the pressure on the trigger until his target was clear. The person in front of his target moved so very slowly, but he did move, and then his target was exposed once again. He reapplied the pressure on the trigger and felt the resistance of the trigger as he gently squeezed it. He waited for the release and the snap of the recoil of his weapon when he saw bubbles come from the end of the gun that his target held. Faster than thought, Hatcher’s finger eased up on his trigger and he pointed his weapon toward the ground.
He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and the world came back to normal time. He watched as bubbles flew out of the ‘gun’ that the teenager held and heard the squeals of delight from the girls surrounding him. Hatcher holstered his weapon and gulped air as he realized how close he had come to snatching the life from this moron.
He snapped the lock back in place on his holster and marched down to the front of the crowd, pushing and forcing his way through the people. When he reached the kid with the plastic MP5 bubble maker, he towered over him, his eyes glaring a hole into the back of his head.
“Hey, what’s your problem, man?” the kid asked, his eyes glazed over.
Hatcher shook with anger as he grabbed the kid by his coat and began hauling him back up through the crowd. When he reached a flustered Fisher, he pulled the kid around and handed him over to Fisher. “Explain to this…individual how close he came to getting his brains painted across the stage because of his choice of bubble makers.”
“Gladly.” Fisher frowned as he finished taking the kid out of the crowd of people.
Hatcher tried to rub his shaking hands together and worked his way back to the outer edge. As he approached the outer perimeter, Mitch handed him a flask. “You need this.”
“I’m on duty.” Hatcher shook his head.
“I saw what almost happened.” Mitch pushed the flask into his chest. “You need this.”
Hatch stared at the flask a moment, then unscrewed the top. He took a long pull and winced at the burn. As much as he hated the idea of breaking the rules, Mitch was right. He needed that.
“Well, damn,” Bill exclaimed. “That was a nice little butt shaker.”
Rich smiled at him. “It happens from time to time,” he explained. “Being that we’re sitting on one of the largest potential volcanoes in the world, they see their share of ground shaking from time to time.”
“How often does that sort of thing happen?” Bill looked around the area once more before he sat back down.
“Not as often as you’d think, really. I think the area lets off enough steam from the geysers. Sort of keeps the pressure off the land. But still, every once and again you’ll get minor quakes like that.”
Bill simply nodded. “Would have been nice to have a little warning.”
Rich smiled at him. “Why’s that? Got some earthquake repellant in there somewhere?”
Bill chuckled. “No, but it would have been nice to have had a heads-up. You know, maybe prepare or something.”
“Scientists have been working on ways to try to early detect earthquakes for a long time now, especially out on the West Coast,” Richard informed him. “So far, they haven’t had a whole lot of luck with an early warning system.”
“Too bad.” Bill glanced around at the surrounding forest, “It sure could come in handy.”
Rich chuckled. “Well, trust me, this little rump shaker was pretty minor compared to a lot of the nasty ones that mother nature can throw at ya.”
Bill nodded. “I’ve seen pictures. I wouldn’t want to have to respond to some of those.”
“I don’t blame ya a bit there—” Richard began when his phone chirped and he pulled it from his fishing vest. Flipping it open he read the text message. “Well, shoot.”
“Problem?”
“Aw, my grandson’s flight has been delayed. My missus is going to be late getting home.”
Bill nodded. “Well, I guess that gives you an excuse to stay out here and drink some more beer with me, doesn’t it?” He grinned. “Help calm our nerves and all.”
Rich shook his head. “Actually, I probably should slow down on the beer. I got a decent drive ahead of me.”
Bill nodded and set his own bottle down. “How far ya got?”
Richard shrugged. “Not far as the crow flies.” He nodded over the hill, “About thirty minutes that a way. In fact, I’ve often thought of getting an older model Jeep similar to that one just so I could take some of the old off-road trails around here and cut my drive time. But with taking the paved roads, and them being all curved and winding, and the speed limit being low, it takes a couple of hours at least.”
“How much time do you have to kill?”
“She didn’t really say.” He checked his watch and glanced toward the noise coming over the hill as the crowd erupted into cheers. “But she has at least a two hour drive back from the airport.”
Bill glanced about the area and shrugged. “Where’s your truck?”
“Yeah, about that.” Richard squirmed. “The roads were so crowded with those people coming for the music festival that I sort of had to park on the other side of the Visiting Center,” he answered sheepishly.
“Seriously? That’s a good half-mile or more.”
“Closer to three-quarters, but the walking does me good.” Richard tapped his chest. “Have to keep old ticker in shape the older I get.”
Bill grunted. “That’s foolishness.” He belched into his sleeve and tossed the bottle into his bag of trash. “Surely the cat skinning they’re doing over there will be over with before you have to leave. I can give you a ride to your truck when you’re ready.”
Richard tipped his hat to him. “I appreciate that.”
“Why not? You brought supper.”
Chapter 5
Bob had finally gotten Lucky to go back to bed and tried to clean up a bit while Keri showered and got ready for bed herself. Buck settled in and finished opening the weaponry that Bob had gotten him and begrudgingly packed it all into his small canvas duffle. He truly hoped that before they left, he’d get a chance to test some of the stuff they’d picked up, because he knew, once they got back to civilization, he’d probably never have the opportunity to handle them again without risk of being grounded and losing everything but his name.
Bob had just finished wiping down everything and starting up the low water usage dishwasher when Keri stepped out of the RV’s bathroom. She had her thick bathrobe wrapped around her and he noticed that she looked paler than usual. He watched her step into the kitchen area and sit on the edge of the bed that he’d made.
“Dad, I don’t feel so good.”
“Hold on a second, sweetie. Let me see if I can find a thermometer or something.” Bob dug through the kitchen cabinets.
“I’m so thirsty,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“Hold on, baby. I want to see if I can take your temperature before you drink anything.” He glanced over his shoulder as he continued to dig through the cabinets. “Buck, do you know where the thermometer might be?”
Buck had just finished packing his duffle and dumped it into the recliner next to the window. “No idea,” he grunted as he plopped into the chair next to that one. “Did you look in the bathroom?”
“Go in there and check for me.” Bob continued to dig through the drawers.
“Fine.” Buck sighed as he crawled from the chair and slowly made his way to the small bathroom.
“Dad?” Keri called from the bed in a weak voice.
“Yeah, baby?” Bob asked, his eyes still searching the drawers.
“Something’s wrong.”
“What do you—” Bob began to ask as he turned, but held his tongue as his eyes fell
upon his young daughter sitting on the edge of the bed. She held her hands out to him and his stomach fell as his mouth went dry.
“I’m bleeding,” she said in an expressionless voice.
Bob stared at his daughter and barely recognized her any longer. The whites of her eyes had turned blood-red, and now that blood had started to run down her face through her tear ducts. Her skin had taken on an ashy gray color and her hands shook, but Bob couldn’t tell if it was from fear or weakness.
“It’s going to be okay, Keri,” he said softly as he quickly grabbed a dish towel and wet it under the sink. He slowly approached her and held the towel out to wipe at the blood running down her face. “Daddy’s here. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make it all—”
He was interrupted by the loudest growling noise he’d ever heard, and it came from her midsection. He actually started with the sound, and even Keri jumped when it sounded. The two paused and stared at each other for a moment before she slowly began to smile. Bob nervously followed suit, and in just a moment’s time, they were both laughing nervously.
“You scared me, sweetheart.” He began to wipe her face again.
“Scared you?” she replied. “I scared me!” she sniffed back some tears and tasted the blood. Surprisingly, the coppery taste didn’t make her sick. She sniffed harder and swallowed back the bloody glob that caught in her throat.
“We may be trapped here tonight, but as soon as we can, we’re going to get you to a doctor, baby. I promise.”
“There’s nothing in the bathroom, Dad, I just looked and…” Buck paused and stared. “What the hell?”
“Language!” Lucky called from the bedroom.
All three turned their heads to the door and Keri flipped the bird to the closed door. “Honey…don’t,” Bob soothed. He continued to wipe at her face until he cleared away all the blood. His hand held her forehead and pulled away sweaty. “You are burning up, though. I just know you have a fever.”
Caldera Page 5