“That leaves two options,” Eric said. “Pika, and 203. Let’s look at option one, Pika. I was up there night before last. Canyon’s choked with vehicles — wall to wall. It’s impassable. We didn’t even consider trying to clear it. Take days.”
Mike said, “We can climb over the obstructions.”
Eric shook his head. “Goes for damn near a mile.”
“We can carry Mr. Krom.”
“He’s got a double fracture of the tibia. He barely withstood being carried here.”
We glanced at Krom. Even recessed in the jeep, he drew attention. His face was worn from pain. He’d refused the morphine.
“We’ll go slow,” Mike said. “We’ll be careful.”
Eric said, even, “There’ve already been explosions. And everybody had a full tank of gas. We gonna go on tiptoe? It’s fucking unstable, man.”
Mike’s mouth opened, then closed.
“Let’s look at option two. Mike and I came in that way. Truck died on 395 before we got to the deep ash zone. We snowmobiled it from there, almost to 203. That’s where the snowmobile died. From there, it took us over three hours to walk to town. Assuming this jeep gets us as far as the crater in 203, we walk from there until we get far enough out of the deep ash that another truck can reach us. Gonna take a good five-six hours. Maybe seven.” Eric gestured at the sled. “Depending on how this thing pulls loaded through deep ash, and how fast a ride Mr. Krom can withstand.”
We glanced, again, at Krom.
“Long haul,” Eric continued. “Time’s my biggest concern. That, and the likelihood that the moat will start up again. In fact, we thought about that on the way in.”
I bet they had. I bet when they saw Red Mountain starting to vent, they’d thought real hard about it. The moat was quiet when they came in but it had vented intermittently last night, so they said. I hadn’t known. Tucked into Dad’s corduroy chair at home by the fireplace, I’d slept through it all.
We listened a moment. Listening for the thunder, for the reawakening of the moat.
Krom spoke, then. “How deep is the ash? At its worst.”
Mike answered. “Above the knees, sir.” He pointed to the spot.
“And you pulled the sled through that?”
“Oh yah.”
“I weigh two hundred and seventeen pounds.” Krom stared at Mike’s stringy frame. Mike’s no more than a hundred and forty, dripping wet.
“We can pull you,” Mike said.
“Eric,” Krom said, “how deep is the ash on Pika?”
“Don’t know. My guess is it’s gonna be shallower. It’s farther from the vent.”
“That’s right,” Krom said. “Pika was built with that in mind.”
I felt the change. It was swift as water hitting rock and diverting its course. Eric had adjusted his stance to directly face Krom. Mike already faced him. Command shifted. It was just that easy.
Krom said, “We go with option one. Pika.”
There was silence around the campfire. Eric appeared uncertain. Mike wore a tight little smile.
I saw Krom’s point. Ash’ll be shallower. Pika was built with a whole lot in mind, hunkered down deep, safe as anything around here can be safe from lava bombs and pyroclastic flows. But it wasn’t built with spooked bears in mind. As Lindsay pointed out at the Inn, it’s a bobsled run. No room for accidents. He hadn’t foreseen that. But he surely saw it now. We’ve got a problem there. Ash’ll be shallower there, sure, only it’s not ash that’s the problem. It’s the wall of tangled steel, the leaking gas tanks. It’s a manmade problem. But it’s his route.
I spoke. “How about option three?”
They turned. Eric said, “What’s that, Cassie?”
“We go up the mountain.”
Mike gasped.
Krom slowly formed a smile. “That doesn’t get us out.”
I said, “Let’s look at it. I’ve skied Minaret as far as the Bypass turnoff. Ash is pretty shallow. Assume we can drive Minaret all the way up to the lifts. We hole up there if need be. At the Inn.” Back to where we started, over two months ago, debating how to get out. “We’ll be well out of reach of the moat. Mammoth Mountain will be between us and the Red Mountain vent. From there, if we can, we continue over Minaret Summit.”
Mike said, “Oh yah, and maybe you forgot the road over the summit is closed for winter? It’s not plowed.”
“I didn’t forget. We walk it, ski it, snowmobile it if we can.”
Eric was nodding. “Gets us out, all right. Gets us down to the backcountry, and then we’ve got the whole Sierra crest between us and the eruption. Only thing is, Cass, that’s a long way, real tough haul. And it gets us into a wilderness camping situation.” Eric regarded Krom.
Still, Krom smiled. “You’re forgetting something else, Cassie. Mammoth Mountain is a volcano too.”
“I didn’t forget that.”
“And you want to risk it?”
“Yeah, it’s risky.” My mouth was dry. “But so far the activity’s elsewhere. Shall we weigh risks? Let’s start with option two—203 to 395. What happens if we’re in the middle of that seven-hour journey and the moat starts up? How about if it’s a magmatic eruption and it goes pyro? How about a race with a hot cloud going six hundred miles an hour?”
“I agree,” Krom said, smiling. “Option two is out.”
“So,” I said, “option one. Pika. Let’s say we can climb the pileup. Let’s say it doesn’t collapse and explode on us. Let’s say we’re carrying your two hundred seventeen pounds plus the sled plus our packs plus our skis and making, oh, three or four yards an hour? Let’s add quakes. Let’s add rockslides. And avalanches. And just for the hell of it, let’s add a little fallout from a pyroclastic flow. Just a smidge of burning ash, carried by the wind. I’m sure your computer sims factored that in. You didn’t factor the bears or a fifty-car pileup — who could know? But there we are. There’s option one.”
Krom said, soft, “Tell me, Cassie, does your plan hinge on the fact that you don’t want to leave the area? You planning on doing a search for Walter on the way up the mountain? Because if that’s what you plan, you’d better make it clear exactly what kind of sacrifice you’re asking of us.”
I stared at Eric and Mike. They stared back. Is that what I planned?
Krom said, unsmiling, “Option three is out. We go with option one.”
Eric leaned against the tailgate. “I’d like to hear if Cassie has anything more to say.”
“Hey, man,” Mike said to Eric, “she’s not authorized. Mr. Krom’s authorized, and you are, and I think we should…”
“Can it, Mike.”
Mike went silent and tucked his hand into his armpit.
Eric smiled at me. “So, Cass, why do you want to go up?”
I found my voice. “Going up puts us above the moat. Going up puts Mammoth Mountain between us and the Red Mountain eruption. Plus, wind’s in our favor if we go up.”
“That it?”
“Yes.”
“You planning on taking off to look for Walter? Because if you do, I’ll have to go after you, sacrifice or no sacrifice.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not planning on running off.”
“So you believe this is the best choice?” He wore the comradely grin. Old times. The two of us needling each other over the merits of the burgers at Grumpy’s or the chili at the Tip. A chick flick or a car-chase movie. New times, in the cottage, the merits of a kiss. He grinned but the scarred skin beneath his glass eye was taut.
I inhaled, exhaled. Used his biathlete’s trick. “Let’s go up.”
Eric switched on the radio, clapping Mike on the shoulder, and Mike’s swarthy face turned even darker but he ducked his head and tunneled a pissed look at me.