Footprints of Thunder (35 page)

35. Ellen and Angie

The Eilean Mor light went out ten days before Christmas. When the provision ship reached her on the 26th, the three lighthouse men were missing. All was in good order; the wicks were trimmed, the lanterns filled with oil, and the beds mode. Three good men, gone to God only-knows where.

—
David Rose, Scotland, 1900

Carlton, Oregon

PostQuilt: Monday, 3:11
P.M.
PST

E
llen’s back and bottom ached. Looking for a way into Portland, she’d been bumping down back roads filling with people trying to find some way around the mountain on I-5. Most of them were tourists trying to find a way home to the city or north of it. Mixed in were other travelers and rubberneckers, going to see what had happened, and more had happened than Ellen had realized.

She had spent several fruitless hours trying to phone friends in or near Portland, ones who could check on her son, but the phone system was a mess. Many of the interstate long-distance lines were still accessible, but the limited intrastate made calls to Portland impossible. Ellen’s frustration at that, combined with her anger at Terry, reached critical mass late that night. She couldn’t just sit in a motel doing nothing, and since Terry wouldn’t help find their son, she decided to do it herself. Loyally, Angie had started packing her own suitcase as soon as she realized what Ellen was up to. Ellen protested, but only politely; privately she was relieved to have Angie’s company.

They were now about ten miles southeast of Portland near a wide spot in the road called Carlton. The traffic on the road was once again at a standstill. They waited, listening to the CB and switching channels, trying to pick up someone at the head of the line. They finally picked up a woman who knew something, and from the sound of her voice she was angry.

“There’s some smart ass cop up here who’s barricaded the highway. He says there’s no place to go. Says the town’s already full of people and there’s no road on the other side. Over to you, Hot Rod.”

Angie flipped off the radio.

“Looks like we walk from here. Maybe this cop knows what’s going on.”

They pulled the Jeep to one side, locked it up, then started walking through the parked cars. There weren’t as many cars here as on I-5. But because the road was two lane, and the cars were backed up only on the right side, the hike was longer. Angie and Ellen hiked around curves and over hills listening to other people talking. Many were walking forward too, but some had unpacked picnics, lawn chairs, or blankets. Kids ran around the cars playing tag.

Angie had suggested cutting cross-country; the Willamette valley was thick with farms, and she reasoned they might be able to use the four-by-four to cross them. But on this side of the city there were fewer farms, and lots of forest. There must be logging roads or fire district roads, Ellen thought, but they had no idea how to find them.

At last they came to the barricade, four sawhorses with two-by-fours stretched across them, with a hand-lettered sign reading:

ROAD CLOSED

Nearby, two uniformed men stood. One was surrounded by a mob of people. It was clear he was in charge. The mob around him was a mixture of the angry, the frustrated, and the curious. The cop kept repeating, “One at a time, one at a time.”

Angie gave Ellen a look that said “I’ll take care of this” and then plowed into the crowd and struck a provocative pose near the cop.

“Hey, darlin’, why is the road blocked? she drawled loudly.

The cop turned, looking angry until Angle’s voluptuous figure softened his response.

“Listen,” he began, then he spread his voice to cover the crowd, “listen to me, everyone.”
The
crowd of people quieted. Looking at Angie he said, “The road is blocked because there is no place for you to go. The road continues on the other side of town for only a mile and then it ends. There are cars and trucks abandoned all over that road. There is no room in town left for you to park and no place to stay. You can walk down the road if you don’t believe me.”

Disappointed voices rang out; “But we’ve got to get to Portland,” moaned someone from the back of the crowd. “I’ve got relatives waiting for me. When’s the road going to be clear?”

“Everyone here has the same problems,” the officer said. “I can’t clear the road for you. Go take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Then he shook his head and shooed the crowd away.

Grudgingly the people dispersed and wandered off, telling new arrivals what they just heard.

Angie sidled up to the cop, looking as sexy as she could after a twenty-hour drive, and Ellen was impressed with how sexy
that
was. The cop seemed to agree, and it irritated Ellen, but she told herself she was merely annoyed, not jealous.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” the officer asked while trying not to stare at Angie’s cleavage.

“My friend here has to get home, officer,” Angie said sadly, nodding repeatedly toward Ellen. “Her son is home all alone and she’s afraid something might have happened to him.” The officer, enthralled with Angie, gave Ellen only a brief glance.

“There’s nothing I can do!” he said with exhaustion. “The road isn’t just blocked, it’s gone. There used to be houses up there and stores. Bill Brandt, the guy who owns the hardware store, he lives … lived just on the other, side of where the road ends. He had five kids. Where are they? I don’t know! There’s nothing there now but trees.” His tone was a mixture of fear and anger. “Nothing but trees and ferns,” he repeated.

Ellen had heard stories like this on the CB all the way to Carlton. They still frightened her, but that fear created only a stronger need to find her home and her son. She had no idea when Terry and Bill would get back, and she was still angry with Terry for going in the first place.

Angie blinked worriedly, stepped closer, and slid her hand through the officer’s arm. “I know it’s been tough on you. Officer … Peters? I’m not asking you to let us through, but maybe you could tell us if there are any other roads into Portland from here? Any other way we could get in to look for her son?”

The cop’s voice softened as Angle’s charm took effect.

“I do sympathize,” he said, giving Ellen a quick look and a nod of his head, “but this isn’t just the road that’s gone, it’s everything. Portland isn’t there anymore. Every road we’ve checked just ends.”

Ellen was tired of being ignored.

“We’ve been listening to the CB and some people say Portland is there,” she said defensively. “Besides, how do you know the city isn’t there, you can’t see it from here can you?”

“Ladies, I’m tired of people not believing me, I’ve talked myself blue. I don’t give a damn what you do, just don’t try to bring a car into this town.”

With that Officer Peters walked off a short distance and began to attract another crowd of people as Ellen felt hope leave with him. They were so near, yet miles from her home. The Jeep might take them closer, but all the fields they had seen were ringed by either forests or fences. If they had to cut their way through with a chain saw and wire cutters it would take days. The only option left was to walk.

” ‘Scuse me, ladies.”

Ellen turned to see the other officer staring at Angie, or more precisely at Angle’s cleavage. Tall and thin, he had a small head, and his nose and chin poked out too far. He wore a pair of glasses with one of those straps basketball players wear, to keep them from falling off. Other generations would have called the man geek, nerd, queer, square. He seemed to be all of those and more.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your situation and I might just be able to offer you some assistance. I happen to know a group of off-road recreational enthusiasts who are planning a little excursion into the Portland area. I’m sure they would be willing to help you once I explain your situation.”

Ellen didn’t know what to make of the offer. The name tag on the uniform said STANLEY COOPER and the look in his eyes suggested sincerity. Still, the man seemed decidedly strange and made Ellen uncomfortable. Angie was looking him over, too. Now he wasn’t staring at Angie’s cleavage, but he was sneaking occasional glances.

“Could this excursion take us into southeast Portland?” Ellen asked.

“If it’s there.”

Apparently Angie had made up her mind and accepted for both women as she slipped her arm through the cop’s and leaned into him so that her breasts were pressed firmly against his arm.

“Could you really help us?” she asked in her little girl voice. “We’d feel so much safer if you could take us, Stanley.”

“Call me Coop.”

“Okay, Coop. Coop, that’s cute,” Angie giggled. Ellen didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

“Coop, we can’t thank you enough,” Angie said squeezing his arm in her hands and giving him a peck on the cheek as Ellen nearly gagged.

Coop used a police car to lead Angie’s Jeep up the left side of the road, getting them closer to town. The women ended up spending the night in the Jeep. It was uncomfortable and they slept fitfully. Ellen spent the night alternating between worry about her son and daughter and anger at her husband. Mostly she wondered about her son; she knew where her husband was and knew he was checking on their daughter, but she had no idea where her son was or what had happened to him.

36. Jaws

I deployed 3000 reinforcements across the Yangtze River to defend the bridge and the town. The next morning only a small pocket of 100 could be found. The sentries stationed on the bridge reported no crossings during the night, and when we were overrun the Japanese claimed no contact with my troops. Perhaps my vanished army could have saved Nanking from the rape that followed.

—
Colonel Li fu Sien, December 1937

Forest, former site of Portland, Oregon

PostQuilt: Monday, 4:10
P.M.
PST

I
t was late afternoon when the
rex
finished and wandered off down the valley.

“Thank God he went the other way,” John whispered. Cubby whispered, “Amen,” then urged his friend, “we’ve got to move, John.”

“No way. We’re safe here.”

“That carcass will attract scavengers all night long. They could find us too.”

John desperately wanted to stay where he was. He didn’t even know how to deal with bears, or lions, let alone dinosaurs. Now if Ripman was here, he might know what to do. After all, he knew about survival, he knew about animals, he knew about being elemental.

But Cubby persisted. “John, every dinosaur from ten miles around heard that
rex
make a meal out of that other one. They’re probably already thinking about the leftovers. Let’s get out of here before they get here.”

John was nearly persuaded when a noise outside distracted him. It grew louder, stopped, and then something started sniffing at the opening. John cringed and backed into Cubby, and they both fell back against the logs that made up the back wall. Suddenly a three toed claw appeared in the opening, each toe tipped with curved spikes, ripping away chunks of dirt, first on the left, then on the right. To John’s horror the opening was already doubled. The claws dug methodically several more times, then disappeared, and Cubby and John froze in fear. Cubby feverishly whispered a prayer. Then they both screamed as a giant triangular head jammed its way into the opening.