Earthquake Games

by Bonnie Ramthun

  The Williams’s Ranch, San Luis Valley, Colorado

  “What do you mean, they’re gone?” Gonzalez roared. His face was lit by the flashing blue and red police lights on top of his vehicle, and to Marcia Fowler he looked seven feet tall and as wide as a house and positively terrifying. She glanced over at Daniel Grantham, who sat with his arms wrapped around his chest. Daniel hadn’t wanted to come with the sheriff. He particularly hadn’t wanted to come to the Williams’s Ranch with the sheriff. There was that big bad blood between Beth Williams and Lady Jane.

  The two of them were in Gonzalez’s office when Beth had called for help. Daniel was only part of the way through his idea of hunting the killer through the fresh snow of the dunes, and already Marcia thought they were losing the sale. Gonzalez looked thunderous at the start of their talk and only grew darker as Daniel continued. The only lightness to him was when Daniel explained the MUFON theory of a human, rather than an alien, predator.

  “Well, okay, then,” he muttered.

  Shortly after that the phone rang, and now Marcia watched out the truck window as the ranch owner, who must be Sam Williams, talked to the sheriff. Gonzalez insisted they come with him to the Williams’s Ranch. The Expedition had enormous heaters that kept Marcia warm even though the driver’s side window was down, but she thought Gonzalez should be cold. He didn’t look cold—he wasn’t even wearing a heavy jacket, just his police jacket with his name sewn on the front and his badge of office on the sleeve.

  Sam Williams didn’t look cold, either, although both men were standing in six inches of snow. He was a big, rangy man, tall as Gonzalez but half as wide. An old baseball cap shaded his face, but Marcia could see his mouth and chin, and they looked capable and kindly.

  “Come up to the main house,” Sam said. “We’ll tell you what happened. But I’m not happy having my gate open right now, to tell the truth.”

  Gonzalez glanced back at the Expedition then leaned forward and spoke urgently and softly to Sam Williams. Williams scrubbed at his face and adjusted his hat, then shrugged with a what-the-hell gesture. Gonzalez shouldered his way back into the truck and flipped his police lights off. Darkness fell abruptly. It was only then that Marcia realized how dark the night was out here, the absolute lack of any lights but those of their truck, Sam Williams’s truck, and a lone approaching pair of headlights along the highway.

  Gonzalez shifted into first gear and rolled the truck over the cattle guard and onto Sam Williams’s property. Sam, who had stayed out of his truck to close the gate, straightened abruptly as the approaching headlights turned and lit him from head to boots.

  “Oh shit,” Gonzalez said, and was suddenly gone from the front seat. He was so quick and silent that Marcia was left with her mouth hanging open. How could a man that big move that fast?

  Everything happened quickly after that. Sam Williams slammed the gate shut and shoved the lock into place. He stepped back from the gate, and as Gonzalez appeared at his side, he grew a pistol from one hand like some sort of magician’s trick.

  “Is that a gun?” Marcia asked in a silly high voice, then bit her lips closed. Of course it was a gun. And her own little .38 was stashed in her backpack at Daniel’s house, where it was totally useless. She tried to shrink down into the backseat and wondered if she could run fast enough to hide herself in the vast blackness that surrounded them, if things went really wrong out there.

  The headlights grew dazzling. The car pulled up and stopped at the gate. Marcia couldn’t tell what kind of vehicle it was behind the glare from the headlights. Then the lights flicked down to fog lamps and a man jumped out of the driver’s side.

  “Hello,” the man said. “Is this the Williams’s Ranch?”

  “Yes, it is,” Sam Williams said, holding his pistol very casually in his hand. The man was mostly a shape to Marcia, a tall sort of shape. Another man climbed out of the other side and Gonzalez and Williams sharpened their stances minutely, like runners coming up to point before the starter’s pistol sets them off.

  “Oh, man, I hope you have a bathroom we can use,” the other man said. “I gotta whiz like you would not believe.”

  “I’m Dave Rosen with the Colorado Springs Special Investigations Bureau,” the driver shape said. “And this is Joe Tanner. Are you Sheriff Gonzalez? Did you talk to Captain Harben?”

  Sam Williams’s shoulders dropped in relief and his pistol disappeared as magically as it had arrived.

  “Eileen thought you might come after her,” he said. “And Alan told us all about you two. You’re her partner, right? And you’re the computer guy? Her boyfriend?”

  “I’m the boyfriend, who has to go something awful,” the Joe shape said. “Are we all guys here? Can I just use your fence post?”

  “Better water your truck wheel, my fence is electrified,” Sam said with amusement. “Just a tickle, but it would give you a surprise in the wrong place.”

  “I’d like to see some identification before we open the gate,” Gonzalez said stolidly. “I’m more suspicious thinking than Sam is.”

  “Sure,” Rosen said. He stepped toward the gate and his shape resolved itself into a tall Native American with short hair and a neatly buttoned shirt and tie. He wore a roomy, puffy winter jacket that looked warm. He held out a badge, carefully not touching the gate. “Did you have some trouble here tonight?”

  “He’s sharp,” Daniel whispered in Marcia’s ear, making her jump. She’d forgotten he was sitting next to her, so absorbed she was in the drama playing outside their window.

  “All better,” Joe Tanner announced, coming out from behind the back corner of the truck. He saw Rosen handing his badge to Gonzalez and frowned, then his face cleared and he shrugged. Marcia liked him immediately. He was very young and had a big, impudent smile. His hair was bristly and dark-colored. He was wearing a soft blue jacket shell over a fleecy underjacket that was a swirl of colors, both of them well worn. Marcia had the same arrangement of cold weather gear, a fleece jacket with a waterproof shell that could take her from a desert night in August to a snow slope in December. This Joe was no stranger to the outdoors. He dug a dog-eared wallet from his pants and fingered through some slips of paper before he produced a driver’s license. He offered it to Gonzalez and accepted it back from the sheriff with a nod.

  “Let me warn Beth who’s coming,” Sam said, holding a phone to his ear as he worked the combination lock on the gate. “She’ll put on some coffee and we’ll get some chow for everyone and we’ll get things sorted out.”

  “Is Eileen with Beth?” Joe asked. The brightness faded from his face as Sam looked at him soberly.

  “We’ll talk at the main house,” Gonzalez said firmly.

  “I want to get the hell away from the highway,” Sam said, putting away his phone. “So let’s go, people.”

  Great Sand Dunes, San Luis Valley, Colorado

  Alan Baxter stopped at the top of a dune and looked around him. As far as he could see there were nothing but dunes, an endless rise and fall of them. Even the range of mountains had disappeared, the lovely Sangre de Cristos, buried by the mountains of sand. There was no wind but there were no clouds, either. The snow made the night seem colder than it was. The moon was thin, on the wane, which meant it was a horned moon. It gave enough light to see by, anyway, and he hoped the evil that a horned moon was supposed to portend was meant for the other guys, not for them. The rest of the sky was packed with stars, so thickly the Milky Way looked like a high, thin cloud.

  “Are you cold?” Eileen asked. “Do you need to rest?”

  Her voice was as cold as the snow they had slogged through for two hours. The wind had already blown the snow off the sand on the west-facing sides of the dunes, but the east slopes were deep with powdery snow. She was in fantastic shape. She made no attempt to show him that she could out-hike him. They both knew she could do that. She just wouldn’t talk, that was all, and it pained him. He had parked his Bronco well off the little-used back road, hiding it as best h
e could in a fold of hills. A helicopter could spot it easily, but he hoped it would not come to that. Eileen assembled her gear and fell into an easy stride at his side. The road petered out to a trail, then disappeared into the sand. From then on, it was their GPS receivers and the stars.

  “I’m not cold,” Alan said. “But I think we should set up camp now. We’re going to have to eat, and hide our tent, and that’s going to take some time. Plus, look at our tracks.” He waved over their back trail, and Eileen turned obediently and looked down the slope of the dune. Their trail stretched to the horizon, as clear and obvious as a pencil mark. Along each lee side of the sand dunes their footprints showed in snow; along the other slope their prints showed as a dragging, irregular line in the sand.

  “Is there a morning wind?” Eileen asked, after contemplating their trail in silence.

  “That’s what Sam said. He said it picks up about three in the morning or so, and blows until five or six, unless there’s a storm. Then it blows all day. That should help cover our tracks.”

  “Best to give it more time to blow our tracks away, then,” Eileen said. “You said you had an idea how to hide the tent?”

  “Something I picked up,” Alan said. He carefully dropped one shoulder strap and set his pack down on the sand. Even in the cold, there was a curious smell to the dunes, a smell like some sort of obscure spice. It was a toasted smell, definitely, a well-baked smell, and elusive. Eileen set her pack down and took a long drink from the water bottle she carried at her waist. She had pulled her shoulder-length hair back and fastened it at her neck before they left. She was wearing a woolen watch cap. Her parka was a tan color and matched her khaki pants. They looked too light to be worn on a cold night like tonight, but she’d assured Alan with a chilly smile that she was wearing long underwear underneath and that she was plenty warm. Thank you.

  He unsnapped his pack and removed his tent. The tent was a miracle. He simply removed it from its clever little container, holding it carefully, then tossed it into the air. The internal ribs sprang open and the tent came down onto the sand with a soft little thump, fully assembled.

  “Nice,” Eileen said with her first real smile. “That must have cost you a bundle.”

  “Worth it,” Alan said. “I always come back from fishing when it’s too damn dark to see, because I spent the last hours of the day casting to the evening hatch. I got tired of stumbling over equipment in the dark.”

  “So how do we hide this marvel?” Eileen asked.

  “A trick from Afghanistan I read about,” Alan said, which was a lie because he’d read about it in a science fiction book that was named, suitably enough, Dune. After he explained, Eileen nodded her head and pitched right in, digging a hole in the smooth slope of sand of a dune without snow. After they’d dug a ragged indentation, they pushed the tent into the hole. Alan watched apprehensively as Eileen scooped armloads of sand down the slope, spilling it over the smooth surface of the tent. The ribs of the tent held. After ten minutes of cold sandy shoveling, the tent was buried except for a person-sized opening.

  “I think this is going to work,” Eileen said, brushing sand from her arms and the front of her parka. She was smiling. He was sure of it; he could see the flash of her teeth in what was left of the moonlight.

  “I think so, too,” Alan said. He felt like cheering. In the daylight, after the breeze finished smoothing the rough marks their arms had made, their tent would be invisible, and so would they.

  “Now if we can only avoid the worms,” Eileen said, and hoisted her backpack to her shoulder. Alan straightened, seeing the blur of her face and the flash of her smile.

  “Busted,” he laughed. She’d read Dune too. “Let’s see what Beth packed for us tonight.”

  What she had packed was plentiful, and it was very good. She’d made cold sandwiches of roast beef and turkey, loaded with mustard and cheddar cheese. She’d thrown in a baggie of black olives and a baggie of green ones, along with a tube of potato chips and a container of potato salad and some homemade chocolate chip cookies. Eileen dug a Thermos of coffee from her pack with a satisfied sound, her mouth full of sandwich. The tent was squeezed together on the inside by the pressure of the sand, so much so there was barely enough room for their sleeping bags and pads. They could sit cross-legged on their bags at the opening of the tent and share the food, which they did.

  The sand was a good insulator. After just a few minutes, their body heat warmed the cold air and Eileen’s shoulders dropped. Alan realized she’d been cold after all. He didn’t say anything. Outside their tent door the sand spilled down to a little valley and then rose again to another dune, a tan flank that rose to the sky. A slice of the night stars was visible.

  “At the top of the next set of dunes we should be able to see outside to the Sangres,” Eileen commented after she sipped her coffee. “The highest peaks of sand. Then we should work our way down into the center. I hope our GPS receivers work down there.”

  “It’s worked so far,” Alan said, patting his front pocket. The GPS had, in fact, performed flawlessly. Eileen checked her GPS with his at every stop and they had matched exactly. They’d also checked with the line of mountains they could see at the top of each dune crest. Alan also checked the North Star, though he wasn’t very confident about his navigation skills by starlight. So far, though, everything seemed to be working. If everything went according to plan, they would be at the exact center of the dunes tomorrow by mid-afternoon.

  “I was thinking we could set up the tent just as we have it now, if no one is at the spot when we reach it,” Eileen said. “Then when our bad guys arrive, we can just sit tight and watch them. It might work a little bit better than trying to wade in there without knowing exactly what to expect.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Alan said. He had been thinking the same thing, but didn’t want to say so. The meal was finished. They shared the cookies and the hot coffee and then it was time to settle into their sleeping bags. Eileen handled this as deftly as she did everything else. She removed her parka and khakis, revealing a fleecy top and a set of sensible long underwear, and rolled into her sleeping bag. She rolled her pants neatly and stored them inside the parka. The parka went under her head as a pillow and she was done. Alan clambered into his own bag with much less grace, feeling awkward and old. He settled his head on his jacket. Next to him was his daughter. He still had trouble getting his mind around the thought. But he could hear her breathing, the slow steady sound of it, and it was a wonderful sound. If he had nothing more from her, ever, he had that. He moved his head on his jacket, seeking a comfortable position, and closed his eyes.

  The Williams’s Ranch, San Luis Valley, Colorado

  “We need to follow her,” Joe said, his patience at the ragged edge. The sheriff, the Gonzalez guy, he was the one who was keeping them here. Rosen deferred to him, of course, since Gonzalez was the local law. If not for the big sheriff, Joe was sure he could have had them on their way by now, following Eileen and Alan’s trail, maybe catching up to them. He wanted to be with her, not sitting in this kitchen jawing endlessly with the locals.

  But since he had to sit here, he took another bite of coffee cake. That Beth, she made some incredible coffee cake. And the coffee to go with it was just as damn good. Joe took a swig of coffee from a big mug that was printed Monterey Bay Aquarium, and fidgeted impatiently at the table.

  Dave Rosen sat at his left, then the big sheriff. Next to the sheriff was a younger, thinner version of Beth, her daughter Susan. Susan was merry and savage. Joe liked her. Next to her was a smaller guy, black-haired and wiry and with more than his share of nose. Frank. If Joe had been inclined to think little of Frank, the crossed pistol belts would have changed his mind. A man who would openly wear that kind of hardware was an actor, or a flake, or a man absolutely confident in his masculinity. Frank didn’t look like an actor or a flake.

  At the head of the table was Sam Williams, tall and rangy, white-haired, with “salt of the ea
rth” practically stamped on his furrowed brow. Beth, his wife, was stirring something on the stove. She was fiftyish, large in a comfortable way, and was very worried about Alan and Eileen out on the dunes. Curiously, she seemed to lose her focus occasionally, as though she held some happy secret that would break out now and again like a light behind a flapping curtain.

  The other ranch hands, Jennifer and Mark, had left long ago for their own cabin over the objections of Rosen. He wanted them to sleep in the main house, at least, but they insisted that with the dogs and their own guns, they would be fine. They were nice people, a matched set, dark-haired and slender and young.

  The other two people at the table were still a mystery to Joe. Marcia Fowler, the older woman, sat composed and still with her little hands folded on the table. She had neat gray hair and deep dark eyes that were full of worry. She was dressed for the weather in a solid-looking pair of pants and a fleece jacket just like Joe’s.

  Daniel Grantham, her companion, was tall and thin. His hair was brown and his eyes were blue and he was hunched over his coffee like he wasn’t sure if he were going to be offered food or thrown into the cook pot. Something about him and Marcia seemed similar, as though they were related somehow. They didn’t look alike, but there was something there Joe couldn’t put his finger on.

  “I don’t want to haul two sets of lost hikers out, or three,” Gonzalez repeated, doing his own glaring, most of it at Joe. Some of it he shared with Daniel and Marcia, some of it was aimed at Beth, who evidently shouldn’t have let Eileen and Alan head into the dunes, according to Gonzalez. Joe agreed heartily.

  “Let’s go in together,” Rosen suggested. “Just you and me.”