by Linda Jacobs
Wyatt shook his head. “Wonderland.”
“It worked for the railroads.” Radford buttoned his coat against the evening chill. “Had tourists coming in droves for stagecoach tours. For a while it looked like the Northern Pacific might get their wish to build a spur line into the heart of Yellowstone.”
“Maybe it was okay then,” Wyatt argued, “but in the twenty-first century it’s hokey.”
“I don’t know. There’s Disneyland, Sea World …”
“Pure fantasy. Built from scratch. You can’t do that to Yellowstone.”
Radford pointed at a busload of Asian tourists headed for the restaurant. “People already come from all over the world. We’ve got boat rides on the lake, theaters in our visitor centers.”
“So why not make ‘em IMAX?” Wyatt let his sarcasm fly.
“There’s been an IMAX at the Grizzly Center in West Yellowstone for years,” Radford countered. “Why not one inside the park where the American taxpayer gets the revenue?”
“Sounds like your boss has sold you.”
“As your boss, let me make one thing clear,” Radford said. “It doesn’t matter if I’m for it or not and that goes double for you. Our new Superintendent says ‘Wonderland,’ we jump-start printing posters and Tshirts.”
Wyatt bit the inside of his cheek.
Radford stopped beside his Park Service car. “And to be sure we understand one another, the Wonderland campaign is not compatible with scaring the tourists about earthquakes.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEPTEMBER 19
After a check with a friend in campus security revealed Hollis had not called, Kyle felt safe spending the night at home rather than driving through the dark to Yellowstone.
Though she went to bed exhausted, each time she got close to drifting off, her conscience woke her. Then an internal argument would ensue. Surely, the reason Hollis had not reported her was that he recognized her right to the department equipment. With her seniority at the Institute and Stanton’s endorsement of her as his successor, what she’d done did not even constitute insubordination.
Punching her pillow, she noted it was past midnight. If it were not so late, she would phone Wyatt for reassurance … and to comfort him in the loss of David.
She settled on her side and stared at the phone in the glow of her bedside lamp. A lonely pang had her hand halfway to the receiver, but the memory of Alicia’s sleep-drugged voice answering for Wyatt made her lower her arm back to the bed.
Time passed and she avoided looking at her clock. Then, despite her belief she’d never fall asleep, she suddenly jerked awake to total blackness.
Above her bed, the mirror shuddered in its frame. She struggled with the covers; the headboard knocked against the wall. An amethyst geode fell from a shelf above and glanced off her head. It crashed to the floor, smashing her pager, and rolled.
She made it out of bed and crouched, straining to hear as though the suffocating darkness had plugged her ears as well as blinded her.
A long rumble resonated through the high valley.
Fumbling with frantic fingers, she found her lantern and sent its beam stabbing into blackness. Despite the light, shadows loomed in the corners.
Though she’d drilled for this, it took a while to fight her way into her clothes. When she reached for the window, she hoped it hadn’t jammed in the sash.
Thankfully, it slid up. Outside there were no lights; the power was out for as far as she could see.
Kyle gathered her climbing rope and tossed it, bending to watch it unfurl into darkness. The near end was attached to one of the wall studs where she’d broken out a bit of Sheetrock. Her hands shook and her heart was pounding so fast she thought her knees would collapse.
Practice, she told herself, makes the difference; though in recent years she hadn’t climbed down a cliff or a building.
Lightning strobed, revealing towering thunderheads. Kyle’s stomach tightened. A storm, now of all times, reminding her of a scrawny girl trapped up a tree while wind-driven rain whipped her face.
Another jagged streak illuminated a line of rain sweeping down from the mountains.
She leashed her lantern to her belt with a clip, glad she’d recently replaced the battery. As she put her leg over the sill, the first stinging drops lashed her.
Warily, she straddled the rope and backed out the window, bracing both feet against the cedar siding. The lantern dangled, sending erratic beams over the wall and the ground below.
The rain came in earnest, obscuring the shapes of even the nearest buildings. Combined with the darkness surrounding her, the deluge conspired to rob her of breath.
In fits and starts, she worked her way down the side of the building. Her running shoes slipped and slid on the wet wall. She felt herself speeding up, the rope heating her downhill hand that controlled the speed.
One foot lost contact and she crashed into the cedar siding with her shoulder. A fresh wave of pain attacked from her boat bruise while her lantern smashed the wall and went out.
For a long moment, she dangled in darkness. Her compact metal flashlight was in the pocket of her jeans and she couldn’t let go the rope to reach it.
Carefully, she braced her feet against the wall and started lowering again. Although her bedroom was on the second floor, the townhouses were built on the hillside, making her descent a three-story drop.
Lightning flared again. Her feet touched grass.
Quickly, she moved away from the building in case the first shock had merely foreshadowed something larger. She pulled out her small flashlight and turned it on, a lonely circlet on the lawn. The wind came up, sweeping the rain against her. Thunder rumbled again, setting her on edge for another jolt.
She played the light over the side of the building, looking for structural damage. Nothing showed on this side.
Kyle looked for her neighbor Christine, an energetic widow in her late sixties. Though they’d talked numerous times about what to do in an earthquake and planned to meet where Kyle waited, there was no sign of her … or of anybody.
Christine’s doorbell was electric; its little gold light extinguished, so Kyle knocked.
More thunder rolled.
She pounded and called, “Christine!” Shivering now, she hugged herself. Her jacket that had been billed as water-resistant was soaked; another failed aspect of her preparations.
The door opened a crack on the security chain and Christine peeked around the door edge. “Kyle?”
The chain rattled and the door opened to reveal a big woman in a purple caftan that clashed with her unnatural red hair. “What are you doing running around in the rain?”
Kyle’s drenched clothing stuck to her skin and she became aware of her hair straggling around her shoulders. “Grab a jacket and get out,” she warned. “Didn’t you feel the earthquake?”
Christine’s eyes widened. “Why, no.”
“I’m afraid the Wasatch Fault has let go.” Saying it made her stomach hurt.
“I don’t think so.” Christine peered out into the storm, looking reluctant to give up shelter.
“Come on, you’ve got to get outside,” Kyle insisted. “These townhouses could be a death trap.”
At that instant, the lights came on.
Kyle’s dining room was brightly lit as she used her laptop to access the Website of the National Earthquake Information Center. Christine stood behind her at the glass-topped stone table.
It took up to twenty minutes for earthquake waves to propagate all the way through the earth, but only a few minutes to pinpoint the region.
“What do you see?” Christine asked.
“There should be a bulletin on the seismic warning system by now.”
Kyle frowned and switched to the Institute site. There she could see the local seismograph with no delay, provided the auxiliary power was on and the telephones were working.
A moment later, she stared in disbelief. The local trace was undisturbed.
It took another full second of confusion for Kyle to realize no disaster unfolded in Salt Lake … no collapsed buildings or broken water mains, no children lost in the night. Her mirror had rattled, but she must have disturbed it herself, knocked the geode and her pager off from her own startled reaction. She would never have panicked had there been light.
“I’m sorry.” She pushed to her feet. “I was wrong.” Her cheeks felt hot.
Christine looked at the computer and at Kyle. “I didn’t think I felt anything.”
Kyle walked into the downstairs bath, switched on the light, and closed the door. Clutching the edge of the pedestal sink with both hands, she listened to Christine let herself out.
In the mirror, her eyes were almost all dark pupil; her face a frozen mask, as another strand of her life unraveled.
Without waiting for daylight, she packed and left for Yellowstone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SEPTEMBER 19
When Kyle drove into Mammoth Hot Springs on Thursday afternoon she still felt on edge. Driving into the usually quiet town, she was surprised to see a line of media vehicles in front of Headquarters. Though parking was at a premium, she got the last space next to the Resource Center. The long wooden building, fronted with a wide porch, had once been a Fort Yellowstone troop barracks. A maintenance shed behind had stabled the cavalry’s horses.
As she got out of the van, Wyatt came toward her wearing the dress version of his ranger’s uniform, jacket buttoned to his chin and a wide-brimmed hat level over his brows. He looked so sad that she walked forward with open arms.
They embraced. She bent her cheek against his shoulder and felt the itchy wool he probably hated. “I’m so sorry about David.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Wyatt sounded infinitely weary and her heart ached for him.
His arms tightened around her and her throat felt thick. David Mowry would never again know the power of a human touch, the magic that comforted both her and Wyatt. It was a long moment before they broke apart.
She looked around the lawn. “What’s with the press?”
“There’s a memorial service before Gretchen takes David home.”
Chief Scientist Radford Bullis joined them. Also wearing dress uniform, he bore a serious look on his broad face. “Dr. Stone.” He shook his head. “Last night I had a disturbing call from Hollis Delbert. Most disturbing.”
Beside Kyle, Wyatt raised an inquiring brow.
“Hollis told me you drove off with the Institute vehicle and the seismographs earmarked for his Wasatch research.” Barrel-chested and ham-handed, Radford had a voice so soft that Kyle had to lean closer to hear him.
Wyatt burst out laughing. “And she carried them across several state lines.”
Radford scowled. “Hollis says he made it clear you were not to take that equipment.”
“I imagine he didn’t tell you about his game of hide and seek,” she came back. “With the quakes this past week, the situation here is a lot more unstable than along the Wasatch.”
Radford interrupted. “I live in the park. It’s always shaking and rattling, but nothing bad ever happens.”
“But, nothing, Radford,” she snapped. “What about Hebgen Lake?”
“That was a long time ago. Technically, it’s not in the park.”
“Close enough,” Wyatt interjected.
“At any rate,” Radford said, “Hollis wants you to return to Salt Lake immediately.”
“I can’t do that.”
The Chief Scientist’s composure frayed. “We’ve all been trying to cut you slack because of Stanton, but frankly, I’m surprised at you.”
“Surprised at me? I’m sure Wyatt has briefed you about the hot spring where David Mowry died. You must see the situation is more serious than Hollis thinks.”
Radford shot a glance at Wyatt. “You’re sticking by your story about it heating up overnight?”
“It’s no story,” Wyatt replied. “Something bad is happening in the park … look at David. God knows what’s next.”
Radford looked uncertain a moment longer. Then he looked away from their united front, surveyed the gathering crowd around the chapel, and nodded. “I’ll let you and Hollis settle your own disputes.”
“Look out,” Wyatt said to both her and Radford.
A female reporter with faded red hair spilling over the shoulders of her denim jacket bore down on them. “Carol Leeds, Billings Live Eye.” A videographer, tall and lanky with a graying hank of ponytail, trailed behind her.
Lining herself up beside Radford, Carol told the camera, “I’m here in Mammoth with Dr. Radford Bullis, Yellowstone’s Chief Scientist, and,” she quickly read his badge, “Ranger Wyatt Ellison.” Extending the microphone to Kyle, Carol smiled cordially. “You are?”
“Dr. Kyle Stone,” she said grudgingly, “of the Utah Institute of Seismology.”
Carol brightened. “I’m here to ask about the reports that David Mowry drowned in a hot spring heated to boiling overnight. Perhaps you would care to comment, Dr. Stone?”
Before she could demur, Wyatt stepped forward. “She was in Salt Lake when this happened. I’m with the park’s geology section, so I’d be better able to answer your questions.”
“Could you tell us about the spring … is it Dr. Ellison?” Carol Leeds asked.
“I was first on the scene,” Wyatt said. “Mowry’s wife Gretchen told me he dived into a portion of the creek that was cool yesterday.”
“How could that be?”
“Theoretically speaking, in an area of high heat flow, a new fissure in the earth might permit the release of steam or hot water in an area previously cool…”
“Wouldn’t this be dangerous?” Carol broke in.
Wyatt’s tone remained even. “I think David Mowry’s wife would agree that it’s dangerous.”
The reporter looked momentarily abashed, but pressed on. “How many more of these fissures could there be?”
His smile looked forced. “I was going to say that we have not had a chance to look into the story. The banks of Bear Creek have several areas that look similar.”
“I’m told that none of the park maps show a hot spring in that area,” Carol persisted.
“That’s correct,” Wyatt said. “Yellowstone is the world’s most active hydrothermal system; with more than 10,000 hot springs, pools, and geysers. We don’t put out any maps with all of them.”
Radford looked into the camera. “Be vigilant in watching for all kinds of danger, from wildlife to boiling springs. Don’t let what happened to David Mowry happen to you.”
Despite her persistence, the reporter seemed to know the interview was over. Thanking them, she moved on toward the crowd gathering at the chapel.
As soon as she was gone, Kyle turned on Wyatt. “Why did you evade her question about the spring? You had a chance to warn people.”
“Radford warned them,” Wyatt said evenly.
“I’m going over to the service.” Radford walked away through rows of staff housing toward the small stone chapel.
Kyle studied Wyatt’s expression and made a guess. “You were told to keep things quiet?”
Wyatt nodded. “The park’s new Superintendent wants things sunshine and roses. She’s got an idea to revitalize the old Wonderland campaign and thinks earthquakes”— he gestured toward the gathering mourners—”and cold springs turned scalding overnight might frighten Joe American.”
“You can’t just go along,” she challenged.
He looked chagrined. “Radford made it clear that with this woman exposed pegs will be hammered. Look at you … with Stanton gone, Hollis is after your head. None of us will be any use if we get kicked off the project.”
“Politics.” Kyle crossed her arms over her chest. “What a crock of bull.”
“Think about it.” Wyatt waved a hand at the breeze ruffling the cottonwoods and drifting golden leaves onto the lawn. “Who’s going to believe something’s going on underneath all this peaceful
beauty unless we bide our time and gather evidence? Even with David’s death, everyone figures Gretchen might have gotten the story wrong about the spring. We’ve got the classic dilemma …”
She sighed. “Are we warning people or crying wolf?”
Wyatt checked his watch. “Time to head over. You coming?”
Church bells spread rich tones on the autumn air. Kyle almost told him she couldn’t bear to attend, but the pain in his eyes suggested he could use her support.
“Let’s go,” she agreed.
Several hundred people had arrived, with law enforcement rangers directing parking to keep the road in front of the chapel clear. As Kyle watched, another press vehicle was given a prominent spot at the curb.
With a grimace at the circus atmosphere, she followed Wyatt and joined the line of mourners. The sun on the stone buttresses that flanked the church’s walls brightened myriad colors of lichen on the native rock. Near the door, a young man comforted a slim gray-haired woman in black. Kyle presumed them to be David Mowry’s wife and son. It was confirmed when the woman greeted Wyatt with a hard hug and whispered, “Thank you for doing what you could.”
Wyatt led Kyle inside. A chill met them, as the stone insulated the sanctuary from the day’s warmth. After a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, she looked around the simple house of worship. Pale, painted walls contrasted with dark trim; a large and plain wooden cross adorned the front wall beneath the arch of ceiling.
The altar was decorated with banked floral arrangements. Orchids bent on emerald stems, carnations spread a cluster of pompoms, and blue stars of agapanthus rose on thick stalks. As Kyle and Wyatt advanced into the sanctuary, the flowers’ mingled scent smelled like the viewing room in a funeral parlor.
She was glad there was no casket in evidence.
Wyatt directed her toward a seat in the third row behind the Yellowstone brass. The small woman in a black dress suit had to be Janet Bolido, the new Superintendent.
As David Mowry’s family seated themselves in the front pew, a hush fell over the murmuring crowd. From the side of the altar, a man in crimson robes entered. He went to the organ and began to play “Nearer My God to Thee.”