And I walked into night.
Three in the afternoon and the street was gone. Jimbo’s headlamp caught ash like infinitesimal insects, and beyond that, nothing. Blackness. How am I going to find Minaret and Lindsay’s office if I can’t find my own driveway?
You fool, I thought, you fool with a coffee filter on your face and everything but the kitchen sink on your back.
I went back inside and slammed the door.
My pack weighed a ton. My legs weighed twice as much. I got out of my gear and would have curled up on the floor but for the breccia of glass and ash. I took a water bottle and the bag of pretzels and headed into the living room. I dropped into the big corduroy armchair by the fireplace. From here I could see out the front window, should light return. I considered shutting off Jimbo’s headlamp, to save batteries, but I didn’t want to sit in the dark.
I thought about Walter, unable to change a water filter.
I let my head drop to the arm of the chair and cradle there, knocking Jimbo’s light askew. I thought about the pie defrosting in the kitchen.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
It’s morning in the High Sierra, Lindsay, but this place looks like Los Angeles on a bad smog day.
You hear what I’m saying? Air’s ash dirty. Everything’s coated. You know the term ghost town? When I was a kid Dad took the family over to Bodie to see a ghost town and I was disappointed — just a bunch of old mining buildings, no ghosts. Guess what? This, here, is a ghost town. Buildings are here but the people are gone. It’s silent. Far as I can tell, the south moat’s not in eruption anymore so there’s simply no sound. It’s gray. No color, Lindsay, you’d hate that, although gray I realize is one of your colors. This gray is nobody’s color. This is the color of ghosts.
I just came out of the lab, Lindsay. Had to break the storefront window to get in. Walter’s not inside. It’s so spectral in there I sensed him, though.
There’s more ash on the ground today so I’m assuming the eruption continued last night. I can’t say for sure — I was asleep. You hear that? I curled up in that corduroy armchair of Dad’s, the chair you once called too ugly for Goodwill, and I slept through part of your eruption. I’m assuming this beast is still in its phreatic phase, judging from the type of ash. Don’t know when, or if, it will progress to the next stage, erupting fresh magma.
If you were here you’d no doubt get yourself down to the moat while nothing’s going on and whack off a fresh sample close to the vent.
I don’t really care to do that.
When I say nothing’s happening, I mean visibly. There are still quakes. Low-mag, little bumps. Not doing any damage. Here, anyway, I suppose they’re tearing up rock somewhere, magma trying to clear itself a path. You hear what I’m saying, Lindsay? These quakes of yours are getting on my nerves.
No, you don’t hear me. You’ve just packed your ghost bags and gone where the real ghosts go. So I’ll be on my way.
I trudged up the road. I’ll go talk to Walter.
I passed the Ski Tip then came to the building that houses Lindsay’s office. I dropped my gear, tried the heavy glass main doors, and they were unlocked. I went inside, switching on my light. The crime-scene tape was gone from her door. I prepared to knock, then paused. Door was just off-plumb. I angled my light; latch bolts jammed open. Adrenaline shot through me. He is here. And he didn’t have a key so he broke in. “Walter,” I yelled, pushing inside.
Fallen bookcases. Books, binders, artwork, knickknacks on the floor. Map cabinet skidded halfway across the room. The apothecary cabinet still stood in place, its doors open.
“Walter?”
“Huh?”
I went rigid. Sweet Jesus he really is here.
There was another soft sound, an exhale.
“Walter?” I looked around, my headlamp sweeping the room. On the floor between the desk and a supine white bookcase was a body. I choked back a scream. My headlamp caught a face. And then relief hit me. The body was Adrian Krom.
His arm came up to shield his eyes from the glare of my light.
“Where’s Walter?” I said.
His arm went limp.
I was on my knees, cupping his chin, comparing his pupils, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, running my hand down his leg to where it disappeared beneath the bookcase, and he flinched, and I was surprised to find myself glad to suddenly have some company. It could have been the devil himself and I’d be glad.
His eyes were open and tracking. I had to suppress the urge to tug on the leg; if it could be pulled free, I guessed he would have freed it.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“Evac sweep.” Hardly words. More like croaks. “Water?”
I pushed up. “It’s outside.”
I ran, leaving him in the dark. As I picked up my pack, the thought came: I could just go. Continue my search for Walter as though I’d never stumbled across Adrian Krom. If he remembers me at all, he’ll call it a hallucination.
I felt, suddenly, every ache. The memory of yesterday’s crazy high astonished me. The more calculated confidence with which I’d set out from the house this morning, full on sweet potato pie, just evaporated. I gripped the snowshoes, seeing clearly. Get going, find Walter, get out while you both can. You want revenge? Here it is. Leave Krom. You think he’d hang around this ghost town if you were in there pinned on Lindsay’s rug? You can’t prove he killed Georgia. You can’t prove he killed Lindsay. But you’ve got him. Walk away and he’s nailed.
Only, he might know about Walter. I turned and went back inside.
Krom was up on one elbow. I opened the water bottle and gave it to him. He sipped with surprising restraint. I realized, he’s been there before, trapped in his truck screaming with a burned arm as the tribe’s volcano rained fire on him. He’s learned to survive. Ration supplies, don’t be greedy. He drank for a long while, pausing finally like he was going to speak but he was unable to take his eyes from the bottle and he drank again, draining it. In the end, greedy after all.
“Have you seen Walter?”
He took so long to answer I thought he hadn’t heard. Then he shook his head.
My heart turned over. I stood and headed for the door, and it was his stone cold silence that stopped me. Even now, pinned beneath Lindsay’s bookcase, he seemed able to reel me in. I turned. He simply watched me, eyes flat in my light, waiting to see if I’d really go. I felt pity, astonishing myself. Evidently, I’m capable of anything. I asked, “Are you hurt?”
“Leg.”
I came back and got on my stomach and shined Jimbo’s light into the space beneath the bookcase. Leg looked intact. There were books under here, and they had probably cushioned his leg. I pushed on the bookcase. Like pushing a wall. I worked my tender hands under the edges. “If I can lift this, can you pull free?”
He nodded. I wondered. It didn’t matter anyway, because I could not budge the case. My mind raced. Car jack? No, no room to slide it underneath. Some kind of pulley? Maybe, if I knew how to rig a pulley and what parts I’d need, I could break into the hardware store, assuming there was any hardware left. First, though, I’d need to break into the library and find a book that explained pulleys. Or was it a block and tackle I wanted? Shit. I was helpless as Walter. Not my father’s daughter after all.
I had to fight off the sudden impression that the walls of Lindsay’s office, beyond the gloom, were made of compacted snow.
He coughed. “What…” He swallowed, and gestured at the window.
I said, “What’s going on? That what you’re asking?”
He nodded.
I thought hard about that one. Didn’t need him to panic. Had he panicked during his stay in that truck? I said, flat, “Phreatic eruption in the moat. Stopped, for now.”