Journey By Fire Page 13

  "I figured you did…"

  She came forward and draped her arms around him. She rested her head on his shoulder, then pulled away. She leaned against Rick. Oddly, Wade thought right then, are they going to have babies? In this isolated, desolate place?

  "Come back here after you find Kara. Come back through here on your way home," Phoebe said.

  "I will."

  "Thank you for picking me up way back there on the highway."

  "It was all of us. We made it this far together." He picked up his backpack, shook Rick's hand, and started walking up the riverside towards the raft. Off to the side, he noticed the Santiagos pulling their things together, the duffel and backpacks. It had all happened too fast; finding Phoebe again and then having to split up.

  He hadn't brought the subject up with anyone but Jonesy; he'd figured most of the people would join them. But it was only him, Carmen, Pepe, Javi, and Jonesy. The dog too. Wiley was staying.

  "Hey Wiley! Aren't you coming?" Wade called out. He could see him over where they'd eaten the night before. Wiley was standing next to a younger man, drinking from a plastic mug and chatting amiably. He seemed right at home. He looked over, then he put the cup down and trotted over to join Wade by the riverbank.

  "The food's better here!" he yelled back jauntily. "I don't know why you want to leave so soon…yeah yeah I know, your daughter."

  "You gonna brave it out here in the desert, huh?"

  "What else do I have?" Wiley shrugged. "Look what they've done here. From what I've seen, it's a miracle. There ain't nothin' for me down there in Medeeco, anywhere south of here's a pit of vipers…" Then he seemed to instantly regret what he said.

  "Listen, I'd like to help you find your daughter. I really would. I just don't think I'd be much use to you, a raggedy old coot like me."

  Wade raised his hand. "No worries. Good luck to you here. Maybe I'll see you again."

  "We will meet again, I'm sure of that."

  Wade thought about when Wiley picked him up in the truck–the blackness of the blotted out Denver sky, the empty, sinister highway; the deep loneliness he'd felt. They'd made some tracks together.

  Wiley dug his hands into his pockets. He got serious, almost grim. "Listen, do you know which way your goin'?'

  "We might not take the river the whole way. But I'm going to Sierra Vista…by hook or by crook, unless I hear otherwise about Kara's location."

  Wiley looked down, scuffed the dry ground, and seemed to be at a loss for words.

  "You took all that extra food, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, buddy." They gave each other a rough hug; Wiley smelled like a man who'd crawled out of the desert, mingled with pot, which was by comparison, perfume.

  They all quietly marched back to the raft. Pequeño came along with them, following along behind Pepe. There wasn't any arguments about who would have the dog; as if they left the decision up to her.

  When they got to the raft, it was still gently tugging on its line. It seemed to Wade that the river had evaporated another several inches. There seemed just enough depth to float without scraping bottom. He thought of all the water gushing past the breached dam, flowing in the direction of the Grand Canyon, then Lake Mead. Wade tugged his backpack, and an old canvas bag of rice, potatoes, and other provisions, onto the wooden deck. They got onboard silently, including Pequeño.

  Wade undid the line, Jonesy took the tiller, and the raft slid into the gentle ripples. The sun blazed and he could feel the warmth from the deck's wooden boards on the bottom of his feet. He watched the little group of people waving at them from the shoreline, then they drifted around a bend and were alone again.

  The river wound its way into solid rock canyon; not a strand of vegetation remained. The Colorado was still in shadow, and only a breath of wind whispered over the trickling waters. Ambivalence about leaving still gnawed at him; it was probably worse for the Santiagos, who could have made a go of it back at the slot canyon. Javi had still wanted to aim for the homeland, and Carmen was deferent.

  They floated all day in the humid shadows. They encountered no rapids, or people.

  CHAPTER 28

  It didn't take long to reach the crumbling edifice of the Glen Canyon Dam. Wade had taken a turn at the tiller, when it loomed massively into sight around a bend. It was beige-colored and smooth and concave, like a giant shell excavated from the ocean. It blocked out the horizon, and the cliffs around it were red and arid. When they entered the dam's shadow, the water got rough and choppy. They were hit with a breeze that was relieving but chilly.

  The shocking change in temperature seemed to involve more than just shade. The swirling waters breaching the dam had made agitated eddies and wakes at the foot of the structure, which lurched out of the desert like a monument to the recent collapse.

  Wade handed the tiller to Jonesy, then he made sure that his backpack and the boxes of food and pans and other belongings were properly secured on the deck.

  "Why do you think it's so cold?"

  "Water's much colder down here," Jonesy yelled over the wind. "It comes from snowpack, or what's left of that. And it never gets full on sunlight."

  Pequeño stood by on the deck, teetering on his skinny, short legs. He frantically had his nose in the air; everything had suddenly changed drastically, and the dog sensed it.

  The frothy river slapped loudly on the sides of the raft, which drifted almost sideways in the quickened current. Wade couldn't take his eyes off the towering dam, more than seven hundred feet above. It had chunks of concrete gouged out of it in the way of the Greek ruins. Huge cracks that migrated down the concave surface. He could see tiny figures far above them, making their way across the rim of the dam.

  Jonesy's scraggly gray hair and scowling beard gave him a wild look as he gripped the tiller.

  "Maybe we should beach first," Wade yelled to him. There was far more wind in that part of the canyon; it carried away his voice. The boat seemed out of control.

  "Where?" Jonesy grimaced, then stared at the swirling river just ahead. The current tugged hard at them. Off to the side were bleak rocky shorelines, where the greenish, riled-up waters broke up in a light spray against the canyon wall.

  The river funneled the raft toward the main breach in the dam, which bubbled in the distance. Some people had simply blown a large hole in it, as far as Wade could tell. Although deeper and colder, the river sat far below its high mark on the dam. Wade wondered if the Colorado had equalized its depth on the other side of the dam, where the side canyons filled like suddenly engorged veins.

  Javi stood beside Jonesy, his hands balled into fists. Wade thought he looked gaunt, with his wife and child huddled nearby. As men trying to bear the burdens of this voyage, this trial by fire, Wade related to him. They were all desert refugees trapped in survival mode.

  "What are we going to do now Jonesy?" Javi asked, over the wind. Jonesy looked over his shoulder at the dam, getting closer. Wade thought, if they weren't careful, they would ram it, then capsize.

  "We have to navigate to the side," Wade yelled. "There must be somewhere to moor–we're not the only ones coming down the river and aiming to pass through."

  "Let me think, dammit!" Jonesy barked, then he yanked on the tiller at a sharp angle, aiming for a shoreline they were blind to. "Just let me think for two seconds, Jesus Christ you nervous Nellies…I've got you this far haven't I?"

  Jonesy maneuvered the raft closer to the canyon walls, where the eddies calmed and the currents slowed. They began to drift beneath the ruins, which close-up showed blobs of black stains like oil, and concrete segments scrawled with spray-painted figures. They only could have been done by people rappelling from the top with spray cans. Wade had thought he'd seen most everything by then, but not this.

  Like other places he'd been to–graffiti art he'd seen from the train–the images expressed both skill and anarchy. A wanton defacement, to make a point, about power. The loss of power, or a shift of power.
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  About half the graffiti spelled out RLA; one time it specified on the concrete in its entirety: Redboyz Liberation Army. It wasn't the regime calling the shots here anymore, he thought. A kind of blackness settled over him, one more profound than the shadows of the looming dam. He wondered what they'd find on the other side.

  They saw the entrance to a tunnel in the distance. A man and a woman, with backpacks, stood at the entrance near their small boats. It seemed they'd kayaked up the canyon. More concrete had been gouged out and eroded at the water's edge, exposing nests of embedded rebar. As the raft drifted closer, Wade took the line and roped one of these steel rebars as they moved past it, then made the boat fast. The air down there was cool and strangely briny, like an ocean dock's.

  He made the rope tight and they all stood silently on the deck. The raft could go no farther, at least at this juncture. They all seemed to realize this at once.

  The two people looked normal; nonthreatening. Wade put his backpack on and stepped off the raft onto a traverse of broken-up concrete that led to the tunnel. He made his way over slowly, hoping his own mangy appearance wouldn't turn the people off.

  He held out his hand, and the female shook it. They were going downstream, searching for a tributary that might bring them around the dam. They thought the passageway nearby was too risky. They were in a hurry.

  "Have you gone through the tunnel?"

  "No."

  "Do you know how long it is?"

  "About two miles," the man said. "It's too dangerous, I think." He had an accent, like a Canadian's in Montreal.

  "You mean, to negotiate through the dark?"

  "The people…"

  "Up there? This RLA garbage?"

  "Yeah. We have to go." The man walked over to where the kayaks rocked in the river's swell. Wade looked back to the raft, where all the people were on the deck, staring at him.

  The woman spoke up, not wanting to maintain a silence. "We saw them throwing people off the dam. Yesterday."

  "No kidding."

  "Yes. There were a bunch of them, including one of their own, a guy in a red bandanna. They killed them. We're going to try to make our way around them. I think they own this territory. They're selling women…"

  "What?"

  "We heard rumors." She looked at her companion, who was sitting in his kayak staring at her.

  "From who?"

  "There was a group of guys in a boat; they had guns; some food. Came from Vegas. They'd survived. They were heading into the desert. They said this group is capturing women, from Vegas and elsewhere, and enslaving them…selling them…"

  "Which way were these guys headed, the ones who told you this?"

  "Are you coming?" the guy in the boat said impatiently.

  "There," she said, pointing to the southeast, away from where the Colorado flowed toward Lake Mead and Las Vegas. Towards Mexico and southern Arizona.

  "If you go into this tunnel, I think it's faster, but more dangerous."

  "Where does it go?"

  "Casey!" the man yelled out. He had one hand on her small boat to steady it. She shouldered her backpack and moved toward it over the chewed up concrete.

  "It ends up at the top of the dam," she called back to him. "Only consider doing it at night–it's monitored in the daytime. They're not friendly…"

  "Thanks for telling me this. And good luck."

  "Good luck." The woman got back into her boat's cockpit, the man handed her a paddle, and they both pushed away into the river. They began to paddle furiously along the canyon edge.

  The passageway was a black silent maw. He had the idea that they should go through that night; the dusk approached. No sense waiting; it was that or follow the kayakers, but he didn't think the raft could maneuver the same route they were taking.

  They'd scan the top of the dam with Jonesy's telescope first. He didn't want to endanger the Santiagos, but they didn't have many options. Wade had to keep moving south.

  PART III: THE DESERT

  CHAPTER 29

  Wade scanned the top of the dam as the sun went down. Through the telescope's lens, he swept it and he could see a railing and once, a line of men who seemed on patrol. Then when the sun dropped behind the canyon, it got pitch black. The dam was completely unlit; not even a torch flickered above. The giant concrete surface glowed in the starlight, like a Pyramid. It was time to move.

  By flashlight, they all gathered their essentials into backpacks and duffels.

  Jonesy had opted to stay with the raft. He couldn't let her go–just abandon the still seaworthy boat, which had carried them hundreds of miles down the Colorado. Wade saw the wisdom in his decision; keep someone with the craft, just in case they had to turn around in the tunnel. They'd also had to leave some provisions and tools on her, since not all of them could be carried.

  Wade had a head lamp with two AAA batteries, the only working ones remaining. The plan was for him to go about 200-300 meters ahead, so that he could signal in the event of trouble.

  It was 3 a.m. The tunnel was moist and cool inside.

  "Wait for my signal," he said to the others. His headlamp stabbed the darkness and illuminated a ramp that proceeded gradually uphill. The floor had puddles and was littered with concrete debris and dust. He walked for a minute then removed his pistol, stopped, made sure it was loaded, then continued walking uphill.

  It was silent, except for his foot crunches on the fragmented pebbles. He only had two shots left. He was tired, but alert. He kept stopping to listen; he heard nothing but water droplets and the wind that seemed to come down from above. Occasionally he'd come upon garbage like wadded up bags and empty aluminum cans; expired, rusted fire extinguishers. People-sized portals in the walls led to nowhere; they were meant for men on foot to step aside for vehicles, in the old days.

  He wondered whether he'd run into any forks in his path–forcing him to decide which way to go–but the passage led to only one place, and that was daylight far above. One time, he sneezed loudly. The echo carried, and he swore softly to himself. He had two baseball sized chunks of concrete with him. When he thought he'd gone a long enough way, he stopped, pocketed the pistol, and tossed the chunks down the tunnel in the opposite direction. When he heard another knock against the wall, three times, he kept going.

  The lady had said two miles, but she really didn't know. The total elevation gain was a bit more than 700 feet, the height of the Glen Canyon Dam, so the tunnel couldn't be much longer than two miles. That would be a six percent or so elevation grade, and the tunnel was traveling uphill.

  He kept walking for 10 minutes, then 15, sweeping the small space ahead of him with the lamp. He saw a pin of light ahead of him. He began to think about their scant food and water, the mounting unknowns of his journey, and for that moment he had an overwhelming desire to turn back. Committing to the tunnel seemed doomed, because it wasn't a plan; it was the only card left to play. He felt hungry and fatigued; it was a moment of weakness rather than clarity, he told himself.

  Then he heard a voice, not behind but in front of him. He reached up and shut off his head lamp. Two voices carried from afar, men talking, down at the end. He couldn't make out what they were saying. Then silence. He waited for a moment; he let the blackness and the quiet fill the tunnel. He couldn't hear the others coming, and he prayed that they could keep Pepe quiet. He forgot about the dog; Christ, will they have enough sense to leave Pequeno behind? He kept walking, with his headlamp turned off, feeling along the wall. It was like the inside of a subway tunnel. The pin of light grew larger.

  CHAPTER 30

  He put the pistol to the fat man's head and nudged his temple. The man woke up with a scowl, irritated, then looked at Wade wide-eyed. He sat in one of those fold-out armchairs with armrest pockets for drinks. One of them contained a tall can of something wrapped in a brown paper bag, as if he'd just bought it at 7 Eleven. The chair was located right at the tunnel exit, where it gave way to a walkway that overlooked the other side of the
dam.

  "Don't say anything," Wade said. "Until I tell you to." The bearded man wore a red bandanna, and had a cut-off sweatshirt with huge beefy, tattoo-covered upper arms.

  "Where's your buddy?"

  "He's gone." The guy, whose head was the size and shape of a ham hock, had a gravelly voice.

  "What are you doing here?"

  The man hesitated, then said "Watching out."

  "For what?"

  "…People like you…I guess. It's my shift." His red-rimmed eyes crept around the immediate area. When he shifted to look to the side, Wade said "Don't move your head, or anything." He heard foot crunches coming from the other side of the tunnel, whispering. It was the rest of the raft gang. Everything was dark, but a flight of stairs led away. It must have been approaching about 4 a.m.

  "Where do those stairs go?"

  "Down below."

  "No shit. Then where?"

  "There's a path, an old dam-operations road. It goes into the desert."

  "I think you're going to have to come with us. If you make a peep, I'll blow your head off." Then he thought about how this whale was going to slow them down.

  "Do you have a pair of cuffs on yah?"

  "No." It was still dark and unlit.

  "Get your fat ass out of that chair and keep your mouth shut." He still had the pistol to the guy's head.

  "Drop your belt…"

  "Why?"

  "I'm securing your hands, genius."

  Wade heard the others shuffle out of the tunnel. Javi looked surprised, eyes wide.

  "Who's this?"

  "Who knows," Wade said. "Is Jonesy coming?"

  "He's a few minutes behind us, with Pequeno." So Jonesy's coming after all, he thought, and Oh no. We'll never be able to keep the dog quiet, and they probably have dogs up here.