by Beth Martin
As clean as he could expect to get while camping, he returned to his bed to find Grace sitting there with his laptop on her lap.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
“Sure,” he said, scratching his head as he sat down beside her.
“I know I saw something on the drone footage that first day, so I thought I’d do some digging.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes shone bright in the dim light from the computer screen. “I checked satellite images of the area around the chasm through Google Earth, and I didn’t see anything. Turns out, all those images are pretty old, from like, fifteen years ago.”
He nodded.
“I remembered that the Denver newspaper had photos of the chasm, so I pulled them up.” With a click, images of the cavern in fairer weather filled the screen. She scrolled through them quickly. “They have pictures of the entire chasm, minus the area from thirty miles north of Last Chance to thirty miles south of Last Chance.”
“That’s a pretty big gap,” he said. “I wonder why.”
“That’s what I said. Why would they have no pictures around Last Chance?” When he didn’t say anything, she answered her own question. “Because it’s an FAA no-fly zone. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“All kinds of places are no-fly zones, like national parks.”
“Does Last Chance look like a national park?”
“Well, no,” he agreed.
“I looked it up, and it’s been categorized as a temporary no-fly zone for seven years. Dr. Hall is technically breaking the law by taking his little drone around here.”
“He has a pretty loose grip on the rules, especially when it pertains to his work...” He trailed off, unsure why he felt compelled to defend his colleague.
“Oh, I think it goes much deeper than that,” Grace said. “That hole I saw the other day looked like a perfect circle. Only thing that can make a circle like that is laser precision.”
“You think you saw a laser-drilled well?”
“I know I did.” She opened another picture on the laptop to show a freshly drilled well which had a perfectly round outline. “When laser drilling was first developed, it had to be tested. Synergy Power Systems wanted to be on the forefront, so they ran a lot of the initial testing to get it approved.”
Grace opened her email on the screen and pulled up a message from a Synergy Power Systems email account. “The day that SPS started testing laser drilling was the day the temporary no-fly zone was put in place.”
“It could just be a coincidence.”
“I don’t think so.” She opened an attachment which showed a map of Last Chance.
“Last Chance got its name from being the last place to get gas traveling east out of Denver. However, traveling north or south from town, there’s a whole lot of nothing.
“The original plan was to spread the test wells throughout a large area, but the EPA preemptively approved drilling up and down Highway 71. Since it was cheaper and easier to just stick to the highway and drill a series of wells in a straight line, Synergy Power Systems went with that plan.”
She glanced at Peter. She seemed to think all these connections were obvious, but he wasn’t convinced they were more than just a bunch of coincidences.
“The EPA contracts scientists to analyze environmental effects of different plans. And if you look at Dr. Hall’s CV,” Grace pulled up the professor’s page from the SLAU geology website and clicked a link to display his CV, “you see that he contracted with the EPA during that time.”
Peter rubbed his beard. He suspected fracking, which put lots of strain on the reservoir rock, was more likely to cause geological upset than punching a bunch of holes in the ground. “I don’t know,” he said. “It all feels like quite a stretch. I doubt Dr. Hall has taken part in any sinister plot.”
Grace closed the laptop and began to pout. “He’s hiding something. I don’t trust him.”
“He’s an excellent geologist. We’re fortunate he’s included us at all in his work when we should have returned to SLAU.”
She buried her hands in her hair and shook her head. “He’s not including us,” she insisted. “He’s distracting us with his fancy little drone and data you collected. He hasn’t shared any new information or data he’s come up with.”
“What about his theory that the North American Plate is splitting? He didn’t keep that a secret.”
“I don’t think he actually believes it,” she said. “I think he wants you to believe it.”
Peter took his computer back from Grace’s lap and slid it under the bed. She was getting a bit dramatic, and he just wanted to get some sleep.
“Look,” she said, the low light shrouding her face in shadow. “Pretend that you’re writing an article about the plate splitting. Tell Dr. Hall that you’re giving him credit. See what he does.” She got up and stood, facing Peter, waiting for him to agree to her plan. When he didn’t say anything, she turned and left in a huff. “I’m going to bed.”
He wanted to say goodnight. He wanted to tell her that everything would work out, that they would wake the next day with cooler heads and she had nothing to worry about. But he didn’t. He lay down and stared at the ceiling, wishing she was still there sitting next to him.
···
Peter woke with a start, a fresh revelation on his brain. How long had Grace said the drive was between Denver and LA? At least a day. Did an RV drive as fast as a car? Even if it did, Dr. Hall and Eileen had arrived at Last Chance within twenty-four hours of the earthquake. It should have taken longer than that to get there if they had driven the whole way.
There was the possibility that they had flown to Denver and picked up the RV there. If the RV was a rental, then that would make sense. Although they did have a lot of equipment with them that would be hard to get past airport security, and certainly couldn’t be packed in a hurry. Something felt off.
He tried to shake the feeling as he answered student emails at the dining table while drinking his coffee. Grace was still in her bunk and Eileen was already outside doing her morning yoga. Dr. Hall was frying bacon on the kitchen cooktop.
Dr. Hall turned to talk to Peter. “The misses only makes turkey bacon, says it’s better for the heart. But man does that stuff taste like cardboard. I’d rather have the real stuff or nothing. Would you like some bacon?”
“No thanks,” Peter said.
Dr. Hall turned his attention back to the sizzling pan. “More for me, then.”
Peter had started and restarted his email response to a particular student four times now. He couldn’t shake the feeling; he had to know.
“I’m writing a paper on the split of the North American plate.”
Dr. Hall nodded in approval. “Good for you.”
“Of course, I’ll list you and Eileen first as authors. You’ve done so much of the groundwork already.”
“Oh don’t bother,” Dr. Hall said, flashing Peter a big, fake grin. “I mean, of course you’ll have to reference a lot of my previous work, but if you write the whole thing, it should just be your name on the by-line. I could recommend some journals that would be eager to publish your paper once you finish.”
For something of this magnitude, Dr. Hall should want his name all over it. Tectonic plates didn’t just split every day; this would be a huge discovery. Authoring this paper would secure Peter’s academic career for life. Universities would beg to have him on their staff.
Something definitely wasn’t right.
“Do I smell bacon?” Grace asked, poking her head out from her bunk.
“Yes, you do,” Dr. Hall answered in a sing-song voice.
She climbed down from her bed. “Oh my God, real food. I am so hungry.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I need to go back to LA,” Peter whispered to Grace.
“Why can’t we stay?” she asked, careful to keep her voice low. Dr. Hall and Eileen had turned in for the night and were in the front bedroom, bu
t could potentially overhear their conversation through the thin wall.
“I’m going to take a walk outside,” Peter announced. He put on his coat and went to the door. He looked back at Grace to see if she was joining him.
“Okay, fine. I’ll go too.”
They had been staying in the RV for almost two weeks and it wasn’t getting any warmer outside. A thick blanket of snow still covered the ground. He had finally gotten acclimated to the weather and didn’t mind the cold as much, but Grace started shivering as soon as she passed through the door. The snow around the camper had been trampled from their frequent walks to the chasm, but the swirling clouds glowing red on the horizon of the evening sky promised to cover those tracks with fresh snow soon.
“Why do you need to go to LA?” she asked.
“I’ve, uh,” he stammered, knowing Grace would probably get angry. “I need to attend a conference.”
“What about what we’re doing here?” she asked.
He was relieved she remained calm instead of crying or shouting at him. “I’m not getting anything meaningful done. Something is off.”
Even though he hadn’t initially planned on writing a paper about the plate split, he later changed his mind. He packed in all the data from the little earthquakes leading up to the big one, along with the measurements of the chasm which were printed in the newspaper. He drew up some pretty weak conclusions, postulating the possibility of the North American Plate splitting, and finished it by recommending avenues for further research. The whole thing was utter crap.
He sent a copy of the paper to Dr. Hall, who offered to read over it and recommend revisions, promising to forward it to a journal for publication once it was ready. That was all Peter could hope for. But then he got an email that same day from one of the editors for Journal of Earth and Planetary Science thanking him for his submission. He wondered if Dr. Hall had even taken the time to read it.
“I’m so tired of camping.” Grace said. She had stopped bouncing in place to keep warm, and just stared at the ground and sighed. “I want to go home.”
“My friend Autumn is dating a guy who owns a couple of snowmobiles. They’re coming out here tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going inside,” she said. “It’s too cold out here.”
···
Peter found himself up early. He busied himself packing before making a pot of coffee. Not sure when the others would get up, he poured only two cups, adding sugar to one.
Two mugs in hand, he approached the bunks. “Grace,” he whispered. “Grace, wake up.”
She opened the curtain. Her hair was a mess of blond tangles surrounding her face. He smiled; he liked seeing her in a more natural state.
“I made coffee,” he said, offering her a cup.
“Thank you.” She accepted it and took a slow sip.
“I thought you’d want some extra time to pack,” he whispered, not wanting to be overheard.
“Let me finish this first.” She held up the mug.
He idly watched out the kitchen window as he sipped his drink and Grace gathered her stuff together. Dr. Hall should have been up by now. Eileen wasn’t outside doing her yoga. Where were they? He set down his coffee mug and rapped his knuckles loudly on the door to the front bed.
“Terry? Eileen?” He was met with silence. Without waiting, he shoved open the door. The bed was nicely made, but nothing else was in there.
Perhaps they were outside. He pulled on the shoes Dr. Hall had loaned him and dashed outside. “Terry? Eileen? Terry?!” He hadn’t grabbed his coat, but was too anxious to be bothered by the cold. He dashed around the RV, surveying the landscape. A set of tracks started at the back of the RV and extended west into the snowy expanse.
“What’s going on?” Grace asked when Peter returned inside. She looked concerned.
“They’re gone. Dr. Hall and Eileen aren’t here.” He didn’t remember them having any sort of transportation besides their skis. Why would they have left without saying anything?
“Something’s not right,” Grace said, an edge of panic in her voice. “We need to get out of here immediately.” She started putting her shoes on, leaving the pile of clothes she was sorting through on the dining table. “Let’s go. Now,” she pressed. “Grab your laptop.”
“What about your stuff?” he asked, slipping on his coat and gloves.
“Forget it; it will just slow us down. I can buy new clothes later.” She rushed to the door and stepped outside. “Hurry!”
His duffle bag was already packed, including his laptop. He grabbed it and followed her out the door. She bolted down the steps and across the snow at a run and he had to sprint to keep up.
“What’s the rush?” he yelled out.
“We have to get out of here,” she responded, not slowing down to chat.
She continued running with him chasing close behind for ten minutes without slowing down. Suddenly, she stopped running and stood, clasping her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Peter hoped Autumn and her boyfriend would be able to find them in the unblemished, snowy landscape.
“We need to keep going,” she reiterated between heaving breaths.
“Why? What’s going on?” He set down his bag.
“Dr. Hall. He knows.” She gasped and coughed against the cold air. “I don’t know how, but he knows when the earthquakes are coming. If he left, that means another big one is going to happen soon.”
She’d lost it. Grace had become completely paranoid. The stress of camping and living in such close quarters had clearly unhinged her.
In the distance, he heard the high-pitched revving of a motor. “I think that’s Autumn,” he said.
That was enough motivation for Grace to get moving again. She ran toward the sound, and before long they saw the two snowmobiles approaching.
“Oh thank God,” Grace gasped when they reached the two vehicles. Without another word, she jumped onto the snowmobile Autumn drove, and Peter got on the other.
They sped along, the snowy landscape zipping past. The gray, gloomy skies had reached their breaking point, and more snow began to fall. Flakes clung to the front of Peter’s helmet, blurring his view. He didn’t know how Jared, Autumn boyfriend, could see in these conditions. However, they didn’t really need to follow the road. The snow mobiles raced ahead on the snowy terrain like it was nothing.
Autumn and Grace abruptly stopped while Peter and Jared kept going. “Stop!” Peter yelled. Jared applied the brakes and their snowmobile turned hard right, sending up a spray of snow as they slowed to a stop. Peter could already feel the ground start to tremble beneath them.
At the forefront of his mind was Grace’s safety. He headed back to where her snowmobile had stopped and saw her stumble as she got off of the vehicle. “Grace,” he yelled as he ran for her, the shaking snow threatening his every step. She tumbled over next to the snowmobile while Autumn sprinted to the side, getting a safe distance between herself and any potentially dangerous debris.
Peter reached Grace and grabbed her by the coat, pulling her to her feet. He was only able to sprint a few strides away from the snowmobile before they fell into the snow. Using his body as a shield, he threw himself on top of her.
It was like being in a violent snow globe. White powder was tossed into the air, flying in every direction at once. The only thing he could hold onto was Grace, so he embraced her tightly.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the ground began to settle. The only snow in the air now was the fresh-falling snow. He helped Grace sit up. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Tears fell from her eyes. “Peter,” she said. “I was so scared.”
He wrapped his arms around her as she trembled. “Shh,” he said. “It’s okay now. It’s over.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The rest of the trip back to Denver was uneventful. The snow mobiles survived the earthquake, and they were able to ride back to town without further incident. Peter and Grace went directly to the airport and cau
ght a red-eye to LA.
After everything that had happened, neither of them wanted to talk about it. The flight passed in silence, and once they arrived in LA they parted ways. Grace offered Peter a ride home in her father’s town car, but he declined. His home had been the lab in Last Chance, which was now destroyed. He didn’t have a place to stay in LA.
He took the bus to the SLAU campus and just idly wandered around until he found a nice bench facing the quad. The sun was just starting to rise. He sat with his duffle bag next to him and watched the sun come up over the distant horizon.
When the ground had started shaking, his first instinct had been to protect Grace. She was just his intern. There was no reason he needed to look after her. She was a strong individual, capable of taking care of herself. Try as he could, though, he couldn’t get her tear-stained face out of his head. I was so scared.
He jolted awake to full daylight. Students milled about, walking between classes. Peter got up, not sure what to do. Unable to come up with a better idea, he decided to go to his office.
As he walked along the pathway, surrounded by carefree undergrads, he felt as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Did these people even know―or care―about the earthquakes which were tearing the land apart? If they did, would they bother to do anything about it? He wasn’t sure what he could even do.
His feet were on autopilot as he lost himself in his thoughts. Before he knew it, he was standing at the entrance of the large, red-brick building which housed the geology department. He slipped inside, then continued past the elevator, opting to take the stairs to the basement.
The lower level of the building was illuminated by garish fluorescent fixtures. This was where all the graduate students and postdocs’ offices were. Even the staff and assistant professors got rooms above ground.
He stopped at his door, which had a laminated post card with “Cork” written on it taped to the door frame.
Where was his key? He dropped his duffle in front of the door so he could rummage through it and find his office key. It would be with his USB backup—not that he was mindful of backing his data up.