Read Footprints of Thunder Online

Authors: James F. David

Footprints of Thunder (8 page)

“Whatcha doing, man?” he yelled.

Now the other one stepped forward, his face contorted in menace.

“You’ll ruin the pool doing that.” Kenny explained. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, but really, that will change the color of the pool. Maybe plug it up.”

“That’s our business,” the big one responded, and punched Kenny in the solar plexus. Kenny’s breath exploded from his body and he bent in half. Then he felt his head jerked up by the hair and he found himself staring in the angry face of the man. “You got something to say, you say it to me, not my friend. You understand?”

With that Kenny’s head was slammed down into the railing. Kenny put his hands on the rail, protecting his face from the second blow.

“Stay out of our way!” the man yelled and then slapped Kenny’s head.

Kenny leaned on the rail, smarting from the slap and gasping for breath, and watched the two men walk down the boardwalk and out of sight. A family with two kids came down the walk and Kenny turned toward the geyser, trying to hide his face. A few seconds later he felt a touch on his arm and turned to see the mother looking concerned. “You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just slipped. Hit my head.” Kenny put his hand to his forehead and a trickle of blood ran down into his eyebrow. He dabbed his forehead with tissues the woman offered and found them soaked with blood. Then he felt something in the wound. Kenny accepted a couple more tissues and then thanked the woman and excused himself. He would need to clean the wound.

As he approached the lodge, an attractive young woman in a ranger uniform watched him closely and then turned and fell in beside him.

“You better let me take a look at that,” she said. “I’m all right, really.”

“No, you’re not, and if you think you are, you’re delirious. You see, I’ve got you coming and going.”

Kenny turned to look at her. She looked determined, so he let her guide him into the lodge, down stairs marked
EMPLOYEES ONLY
, to a small first aid station. The ranger opened a cabinet and began dabbing Kenny’s wound with an alcohol-soaked wad of cotton.

“You’ve got something in this wound.”

“It’s probably splinters.”

“How did this happen?” As she talked she searched through the cabinets.

“I slipped, tried to catch myself and ended up banging my head on the railing.”

“Uh-huh. Here they are.”

She turned with a pair of tweezers and went right to work on Kenny’s forehead. The first two splinters came out easily with little pain. The next two were a different story.

“This might hurt a little,” she warned after Kenny winced.

She was on her third probe when another ranger led a woman of about thirty into the room, followed by two women about the same age. All of them were wearing cycling clothes.

“Good, you’re here already, Leslie. I’ve got another customer for you.”

When Leslie turned to look at the newcomers Kenny got a clear look at the injured woman. She was holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to her head, just above the ear.

Leslie acted surprised. “Two head wounds in one day? I’m usually treating scraped knees and bee stings.”

“And occasional buffalo gorings,” the second ranger added.

“Steve, you didn’t need to say that. I’ll be finished here in a second.”

Leslie dug the last splinter out, dabbed the wound with peroxide, then covered it with a bandage. Before he left, Leslie was talking to the new patient.

“How’d this happen?” she asked as she guided the woman into the chair Kenny had vacated.

“Some sort of freak hailstorm, I guess. We biked over to Black Sand Basin and were walking the trail when these huge hailstones started pounding us.”

“Those weren’t hailstones,” one of her friends corrected. “They were chunks of ice. The chunk that got Gayle was six inches across and it was a small one. I swear some of those that hit the geyser pool were two feet at least.”

Kenny remained frozen in the doorway. He realized he had just missed the event they had been waiting for. He listened intently to the narrative, becoming more convinced with every word. Then he sprinted back to the pickup point. They were close this time. Closer than they had ever been.

The others were excited by the news. Kenny, Phat, and Dr. Piltcher immediately returned to the campsite and began modifying the model to make it fit the new data. The others fanned out, looking for other witnesses, who gave descriptions nearly identical to those of the women? Phat and Kenny ran the computer simulation again two days later and they traveled to a spot near Provo, Utah. After seven days there, nothing had happened. Then Mrs. Wayne turned up an article about a house that burned up two days before they arrived when the linen closet suddenly burst into flames. Dr. Piltcher combed his hair a couple of times before agreeing to count it as an event. The model next sent them to Las Cruces, New Mexico. They were still setting up camp when they heard of a backyard swimming pool suddenly overflowing with saltwater and drowning a family dog. They chased the next events to Colorado and then to Idaho, where they arrived the day after the campground had been showered with gravel. That’s when Dr. Piltcher called a halt to the chase.

Dr. Piltcher and Dr. Coombs became reclusive for a few days, poring over their notes and manuscripts, and debating vigorously. Finally one evening, they came to Kenny and Phat in the RV.

“There is,” Dr. Piltcher said, “a fundamental flaw in our thinking.”

Kenny and Phat listened attentively.

“This may not be a static phenomenon. What I mean is we have been just missing the events. They happen either before we arrive, or as soon as we arrive. I think we misled you with our historical data. We relied too much on the Zorastrus manuscript. Zorastrus detected the pattern but he didn’t have enough data to refine his model. It lacked temporal specificity. I’m trying to say Zorastrus, and we, believed the events occurred at regular intervals. That’s not the case. We now believe the events in the past occurred in waves. Waves that become farther apart as you move into antiquity. The events we are tracking, however, seem to be getting closer together.”

From then on they fully understood the implications of the model and began to fear the future. Each day after that Kenny’s anxiety grew slowly and steadily toward the panic that drove him to desperate measures. It was the panic that made him purchase the gun and plot to kidnap his own sister.

He couldn’t stand being a pariah much longer.
Whatever is going to
happen,
Kenny prayed,
let it happen
soon.

 

8. Cave Crisis

 

The Lord thundered from heaven, the voice of the Most High resounded amid hailstones and bolts of lightning.


Psalm 18:13

Oregon Caves

PreQuilt: Saturday, 7:30
P.M.
PST

I
t took Deputy Kyle over four hours to reach the Oregon Caves. It was normally less than a two-hour drive, but he had been extra cautious and slow to get started. First he stopped by the station and picked up his climbing gear. He brought two 165-foot kermantle ropes, an assortment of oval and D carabines, tapers, camming devices, pitons and a piton hammer. He then realized his climbing shoes and helmet were at home. While he was home he decided to change into his climbing clothes. After all, he reasoned, there might not be a place to change at the caves. As long as he had his clothes off he decided to shower. He made one last stop at McDonald’s for a Big Mac, large fries, and super-size Coke. As a concession to the repeated requests for his presence at the cave, Kyle violated his personal rule about never eating while driving. Ten minutes down the road he spilled secret sauce on his climbing shirt.

When he arrived at the cave Kyle was disappointed to find that the hostage situation had not been resolved. A park ranger ushered him through the excited crowd of spectators that had gathered around the park entrance. Off to one side Kyle spotted a small group of people who were probably the hostages’ relatives. They looked at Kyle’s climbing gear hopefully.

In a small building near the cave entrance, fifteen people were in a strategy meeting. Three wore climbing clothes. Kyle decided they were either rangers or state police. Two other men wore ties. Kyle was introduced around to handshakes and “glad you’re heres” from everyone in the shed, comments that made Kyle apprehensive. The two men in ties turned out to be FBI agents, and Jenkins, who had wet armpits, turned out to be in charge.

“Glad you made it, Officer Kyle. We’ve been waiting for you. I understand you’ve had some experience at this.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.” Kyle tried to say it like he meant it.

“Good. I understand you finished top of your class in marksmanship too.”

Jenkins was referring to Kyle’s training in special weapons and tactics. It had been another opportunity to spend a couple of weeks with his buddies, drink beer, and end up with a little extra in his paycheck.

Kyle laughed, and then said, “Oh not me, sir. I wasn’t at the top of my class.”

“Oh, where did you finish?” Jenkins seemed concerned. “Second,” Kyle said reluctantly.

Jenkins looked relieved, and his partner broke into a smile. “That should be good enough,” he said. “You’re much too modest, Officer Kyle.”

Kyle grinned weakly, nodded, and promised himself never to take another special training course again.

“Now listen up everyone,” Jenkins said. “Now that Officer Kyle has arrived we can get started. We are going to assign a few of you to positions inside the cave. There are only two entrances to the cave where the hostages are being held. Most of you will be assigned to positions around the main entrance. Fortunately, the egress is actually quite narrow and you will have a clear line of fire. Unfortunately, if you do fire you can’t miss the target or the ricochet could kill a hostage.”

“Won’t a hollow point load minimize ricochet?” one of the state policemen asked.

“Minimize, yes, eliminate, no. There will be no firing unless 1 give the word,”

“Excuse me, Agent Jenkins,” Kyle interrupted. He didn’t like the direction of the meeting. “I seem to remember from my training that the best way to handle hostage situations is to negotiate. The best weapon in these situations is time. Wear the criminal down, maybe send in some tainted food. I’d say, for the hostages sakes, we should give this another day or so before we attempt a rescue.”

Jenkins stared at him quizzically.

“Thanks for your advice, but this situation is a little different for a couple of reasons. First, we are getting no demands. Every time we attempt to negotiate he refuses to talk. He doesn’t seem to want anything and has no political agenda that we can discern. Second, the man holding the hostages seems to have a deadline in mind. He keeps saying things like ‘it will be over soon’ and ‘I’ll let them go when it’s over.’ It’s a vague deadline, apparently meaningful only to him, but he appears to be getting more agitated. If he does go off the deep end … well, I’m not waiting for that to happen.”

He was staring at Kyle when he paused, so Kyle nodded firmly with a serious look. As expected, Agent Jenkins took that as agreement.

“Officer Kyle,” he continued, “we’ve got a special job for you.”

Kyle felt like saying “Yippee.”

“These rangers here”—once again Jenkins nodded toward the other climbers—-“tell me there is another entrance to that cave. They say that getting there is not an easy climb. That’s why we waited for someone with your experience. They’ll show you the way. We’ll give you four hours to get into position. Then we cut the lights and you position yourself in the cave. Then we’ll distract him and you can take him from behind.”

As it turned out four hours was barely enough. The other climbers, Jay, Kimberly, and Shirley, were rangers. All were athletic and had the weathered appearance of people who spent more time outdoors than in. None looked older than mid-twenties. Both Shirley and Kimberly were somewhere between plain and pretty. They were both brunettes, with short hair, but Shirley seemed more animated, and her face had a few laugh lines. As the leader, Shirley directed Kyle to leave his kermantle and other gear in his car. This was strictly a free climb.

They set off through the trees following a little-used hiking trail. It climbed gradually, but steadily. Kyle soon found himself breathing hard but tried to disguise it. After about a mile they branched off onto a barely discernible path. Another half mile through the trees, up a rocky slope, and there they faced a door in the side of the hill, a big wooden door painted institutional green, with a hasp and large lock. Shirley unlocked the door and led the way in. Kyle hesitated. Standing there on the side of a mountain, about to enter the door to the underworld, felt magical, unreal, and unsettling.

The trip inside the cave was anything but magical. Shirley and the others were small enough and lithe enough for spelunking, but Kyle was built more for digging tunnels, not crawling through them. Twice he got stuck. Shirley had to pull on one end and rangers Kimberly and Jay pushed on the other. After three hours of crawling on his belly, squeezing through rock-strewn passages, and being pushed and pulled by his guides, Kyle was tired, sore, and had a new appreciation for toothpaste.

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