Pria spoke. “What’s he doing?”
“Decon,” I said.
Hap untaped Milt’s wrists, unbuttoned his shirt, cradled his torso, and stripped him to the waist. He laid out the shirt, stuck the tape to it, wiped his gloves on it. He moved down to untape Milt’s ankles. Milt’s loafers were gone. Hap rolled off the socks. He undid Milt’s horseshoe buckle and snaked off the belt. He lifted Milt’s hips, unzipped the slacks, and tugged them off. Milt’s black bikini briefs stayed snugly in place. Beads nested in the elastic waistband. Hap yanked off the briefs and tossed them in the pile.
Pria looked at the sky.
Hap turned to the pile of crapped-up clothing, wrapping it in Milt’s shirt. He wiped his gloves clean on his own suit. And then, scrupulously clinical, he whisked Milt’s body, head to toe. He examined his gloves. He held up his hands, showing us. The latex shone clean in the fading sunlight. Decon finished. He hooked Milt under the arms, dragged him away from the decon zone, deposited him in the uncontaminated soil, then walked away.
“That’s far enough,” Walter yelled.
Hap halted. He took off his SCBA gear and heaved it toward the pile of Milt’s castoffs. He untaped booties and gloves, stripped off his suit, balled it, tossed it. He turned to face us across the fall line. “Walter,” he called, “I did what you asked and I got me a dose so let’s call it even.”
Walter held the gun steady.
“Nobody’s life at stake this time.”
Pria leapt up, edging close to Walter. “That’s true Grandfather.”
Walter said, “Pria, stand back.”
Hap shifted. “Way I see it, Walter, you’ve got no reason to shoot me now.” He lifted his hands and slowly turned and set off in a measured walk upcanyon.
He gave us his back like he was putting his trust in us, believing we’d see it his way, and like he’d programmed me I started ticking off reasons why we had to let him go — he’s done his worst and the priority now is to undo the damage — and that was true but what got to me was Hap giving us his back, and Walter with the gun, Walter trained eons ago shooting National Guard targets only now it was a man in his sights, and Walter was going to have to shoot him in the back to stop him. I hissed, “You can’t.”
Walter said, “We surely can’t catch him.”
There was a moment when I calculated distance, the two dozen yards or so between us and Hap and the likelihood of me covering that distance, but now he was into a sprint and he sprinted as well as he swam. I said, “Soliano will get him.”
“And he’s gonna get sick,” Pria said, “so it’s even-steven.”
I said, “There’s nothing more he can do.”
Walter glanced at the reservoir.
I said, “We need to get Scotty here fast.”
“And help,” Pria said, “for that hurt guy.”
Walter grunted. “You two can save your breath. I’m conversant with the concept of appropriate force.” He thumbed the lever near the trigger until it clicked onto safety.
I sagged. Relief, resignation, I did not know.
“Then here’s what we’re going to do,” Walter said. “I’m going into the mine to retrieve our sat phone. And the first aid kit. Pria, we have another injured man, in there. I’ll attend to him. You and Cassie are going to wait here. If Milt revives, reassure him.” Walter considered me a moment, and then held out the submachinegun. “Dear, you’re going to keep this. Should Hap return.”
I stared at the thing. Should Hap return, I point it at him and tell him to stay put? Should Hap not obey, I shoot him? I said, “I don’t know how to use it.”
Walter showed me.
And then I was left with Oliver’s subgun slung over my shoulder and Pria eyeing me skeptically. I watched Walter head up the switchbacks, and then shifted my attention to Hap’s retreating back.
He was still heading upcanyon.
It was raining again, the kind of storm cell that goes from drizzle to downpour in seconds. Rain curtained Hap. As he moved up the mine valley I tracked him by the orange flag of his parachute pants. He was approaching the alluvial fan. He turned to glance up at the ridge, where we’d come in. I thought, he’s going to access it from the rising fan, escape to Cherokee Canyon, maybe hotwire our Jeep. No matter. Soliano will track him like a dog. Scotty will come and take charge of the tub full of beads. I wished Walter would hurry. I turned to watch Walter trudging up the last switchback to the top level, where Dearing’s body guarded the mine entrance. I hoped that Oliver, inside, would benefit from Walter’s help. I shivered in my sodden clothes. And now the storm cell was passing and the rain eased off and sun shafts punctured the clouds. I looked again for Hap and found him halfway up the fan, following a deeply incised channel. You could hide in a channel like this — the way Walter and I had hidden in our deep channel on another fan. But Hap wasn’t hiding. He glanced back at me and then climbed out and crossed the fan, catching the faint trail up the canyon wall to the ridgetop. The sunlight intensified and I began to sweat. My mouth was horribly dry. I wished for a pebble to suck on. I turned to the fan yet again, studying the channel Hap had taken and then abandoned. Something was off. There were no gray pebbles. The pebbles up there were too dark. This channel was not, after all, like the channel Walter and I had hidden in. I whispered shit.
“What’s wrong?” Pria asked.
Me. For believing Hap had already done his worst. What was I thinking letting him go? My sweat turned to chill. I snatched up his belt bag and dumped the contents — detonator, wire spool, remote control, keys, flashlight, wristwatch. I picked up the keypad remote, the one he’d used in the mine. Wondering about lines of sight. Wondering about range. Wondering what the hell I think I’m doing.
“What’s that for?” Pria asked.
I said, tight, “I think he’s not done.”
“He’s went. What can he do? If he needs that clicker he doesn’t have it.”
That was precisely the problem. “When Walter comes out, tell him to tell Soliano if he has search teams down at the springs to get them out of the way. Tell him to have Soliano send choppers up there.” I pointed to the top of the alluvial fan, and the unseen canyon above.
“Where are you going?”
“Up there.”
“Grandfather said wait here.”
Now, she obeys. I thought, with brutal calculation, if Oliver is dead, if Milt is beyond first aid, then Walter has no reason to stay here. I said, “Just try to keep Walter from following.”
“How?”
“Tell him Soliano will need his guidance.”
“Tell him yourself.”
I watched Hap. He was nearly at the ridge. “There’s no time.”
“If you can go, why can’t Grandfather?”
“He’s been sick.”
“Then if he can’t go he won’t go.”
I met her coal-black stare. It was impenetrable, like her reasoning. I didn’t know what else to say so I just told her the truth. I told her what I suspected, what I knew. I armed her with the geomorphology. I told her to stay out of the valley, to stay high on the hillside. I gave her the keypad remote, and told her to show it to Walter. I strapped on Hap’s wristwatch, a clunky diver’s model. I put Hap’s flashlight in my pocket; Girl Scout law. I reset the subgun so that it rode tight against my flank.
She eyed me. “You sure you know how to shoot it?”