7 Wild East (3 page)

“Man, you guys are no fun,” Ricky said disappointedly as he
dropped his weapon to his side and closed the door.

Maybe I can arrest the two new arrivals in town, Ricky
thought as he slipped away from the shed to sneak across town to the Bones’
office. They hadn’t looked like criminals, who in Ricky’s experience tended to
wear sunglasses and to drive large cars, but they might be
secret
bad
guys. He’d keep watching.

The Flowers and I came downstairs after tucking the injured
boy into bed. Mark was snoring before we had the covers pulled up over him.
Either exhaustion or the Bones’ injection had knocked Mark out.

Pete was talking happily to Big John, Wendell, and the
Bones, still not grasping the fact that their fixed stares betokened not
pleased admiration so much as stunned horror.

“… so the National Energy Board hired the
SGB—that’s the Surveyor General Branch—to lay the route. It
would have been nice if they had decided to do this a couple months ago, but I
think—the weather willing—that we will get this done. And I have to say it’s
been a fascinating project.”

I turned to the Flowers
and said in English, “I bet what this man needs—aside from a shot of whisky to
go with that beer—is a nice venison steak. It’s got to be hard work tramping
through the wilderness for so many days.”

Big John took the hint and
reached under the bar to pull out some of his home brew as the Flowers headed
for the kitchen. Big John’s hooch had about the same effect on most people as a
shot of morphine.

“
Butterscotch, the
Mountie comes back tonight?
” Big John asked in Gaelic as he poured. “Try
this. It’s something special.”

Pete picked up the glass
and sniffed suspiciously. Obviously it smelled enough like scotch to pass
because he took a sip.

“
Yes and the new
recruit he’s training as well. You’ll be full up here at the inn
.” Big John
frowned at the reminder. “
What time is the meeting?
”

“
Seven. We should be
done before the Mountie arrives—which is a shame. He might be of some help
here.
”

“
I’ll talk to him right
away
,” I promised and then switched to English. “Sorry, working out bedroom
logistics. We don’t usually have visitors and my husband’s new trainee is
coming in sometime tonight. Wilderness and survival training is crucial for
officers assigned to the outback.”

Pete nodded and drained
his glass. He didn’t choke but his eyes were shiny. Big John’s private stock
kind of snuck up on you and coshed you over the head when you weren’t looking.

“Now tell me more about
your project,” I urged, figuring that we might as well know the full state of
disaster we potentially faced. “We’ve heard nothing about it. At all.”

Not even in Seven Forks
and usually Anatoli was on top of rumors and news.

“Well, you’ve heard of
Keystone? Well, this is a similar oil distribution system that they’re looking
at here. We’ve been hired to find the best route from Alberta to Illinois in
the United States. There should be much less trouble for this pipeline. Fewer
environmentalists out this way. Fewer people period.”

That’s what he thought. If
I knew my neighbors he had just met his Waterloo.

Or else we had. It would
be a fight to the finish.

“But what good is a pipeline supposed to be to us?” the
Bones finally asked.

“For one thing, your property values are about to go through
the ceiling. Assuming you own your property.”

“No one exactly owns property in the Gulch. I mean, everyone
agrees that the Lonesome Moose belongs to me and the Flowers,” said Big John. “But
I don’t remember ever having any paper that says so.”

“Me neither,” I agreed. “Our families have just always been
here—well, since the early eighteenth century anyway. That was the original
land grant. And many of our native residents have been here even longer.” I
nodded at Wendell. “Several of the Broken Head clan live here.”

That was an exaggeration but finally Pete looked uneasy. Or
as uneasy as one could be when half drunk. I judged that a large meal should
just about finish him off. Which was good timing. The clock on the wall was
inching toward six.

“We don’t know much about your town’s population. It’s just
a dot on the map.”

“Well, we’re real old fashioned here, kind of keep to
ourselves.”

“I kind of noticed that,” Pete said. “That phone over there,
eh. That’s a real antique. I haven’t seen a crank phone since my grandma died.”

“Well, it still works great.” I smiled with pride and
Wendell almost snorted.

“You still use it?” He looked appalled as well as
fascinated.

“Of course. We aren’t completely backwards. How else would
we talk to each other after dark?”

“Well—cellphone?”

“No coverage out here.”

“Radio?”

“Of course we have one up at the store. But something’s
wrong with it. Eventually someone from Seven Forks will brave the bears and
bring up some parts. Then we’ll get it fixed.”

I smiled at the Flowers as she put an enormous plate in
front of Pete. It looked and smelled delicious.

“But surely someone could come now if you called—oh this
looks good.”

“Called? Oh, the old phones don’t go to Seven Forks. They’re
just for in town. Now you dig into that. The Flowers is our best cook,” I told
him. “She doesn’t speak much English, but she wields a mean frying pan. She can
cook anything her husband kills. Last week we had a wonderful squirrel
roulade.”

“Doesn’t speak much English?” Pete repeated weakly. Then:
“Squirrel roulade?”

“No, most of us don’t speak English. Oh, we have a few
words. Someone can always direct you to a privy or a water pump—don’t you
worry. And I’m sorry you missed the squirrel. But they are always breaking into
the attic. I’m sure we’ll have it again soon.”

Wendell, unable to contain himself any longer, reached for
his hat.

“Gotta go feed the dogs,” he said. “
See you at the
meeting
.”

*  *  *

Chuck looked uneasily at
his trainee. The Wings wasn’t being completely horrible, but still Thomas was
looking a little green. Obviously he wasn’t a good flyer.

“So much forest,” he said
and then folded his lips tightly as though afraid that more than words would
escape.

Chuck just hoped they
could make it to the Gulch without a messy incident. He really needed to start
carrying Dramamine.

*  *  *

I do not enjoy town meetings, but this one was necessary and
I was impatient to get things underway. The news was too urgent to delay even
until nightfall. With the two surveyors asleep—one drugged and one under the
influence of Big John’s home brew—we had to get everything explained and
planned before Chuck arrived with his trainee.

The odor of whisky was strong in the air. One didn’t have a
meeting without alcoholic fortification for the vocal chords. At least not
usually. But I thought of the calendar and only pretended to drink from Big
John’s flask.

“
Slan
,” I said, because I didn’t want any questions
and there would be if I didn’t follow ritual. My neighbors didn’t judge, but
they did speculate and gossip.

As was customary, Big John was having trouble calling the
meeting to order. Our mayor had many fine qualities but leading a town that
refused to recognize Robert’s Rules of Order was not among them. He had banged
his repaired gavel until there was a dent in the table that usually served as
an altar where Father White or Reverend McNab preached the every other Sunday
sermon. We were in the community center instead of the pub so as to not wake
the surveyors who were asleep upstairs.

I was a little surprised to see Anatoli sitting with Horace
and smoking a pipe, but the Russian was a sort of adopted resident of the Gulch
and no one raised any objection to his being there. I had one moment where I
thought of asking him if I could catch a ride back to Seven Forks, but
dismissed it at once. My own worries had to take a backseat to the threat which
faced our town. If we didn’t do something our little town would be at ground
zero when the government broke ground and then all the king’s horses and all
the king’s men wouldn’t be able to put things together again.

Finally, I had had enough of the chaos. I stood on a wobbly chair,
steadied by Big John, and when I spoke it was in Gaelic.

“
Don’t make me get the gun
.”

People blinked and fell silent. Gaelic wasn’t typically used
unless there were government operatives in town. Sasha, who had already drawn a
weapon, stowed it back in its sheath. That was just as well. Holes in the
ceiling of the pub were normal. Bullets in the community center would take some
explaining.

“We have a problem—potentially a bad one. In fact, never
mind the
potentially
part. If we don’t come up with a plan and fast, we
are screwed.”

There was more blinking at my direct language. I don’t
usually indulge in coarse speech and it sounded especially bad in Gaelic.

I noticed that Horace was whispering to Anatoli and assumed
he was translating. Though, since his Gaelic was of the basic variety, I wasn’t
sure how accurately the story was being translated.

“We have two government surveyors in town. One is young and
injured. The other is determined and bossy.” There were some rumbles about
this, but the Gulch got the occasional rock hound looking for gold or a hiker
who had lost their way. “They are here to map a route for a new pipeline—and
the government wants to build it right through the Gulch.”

As I had expected, the room burst into dismayed exclamations.
But they were Gaelic exclamations, so people were listening to my warnings. At
no point did anyone say anything about starting petitions or writing letters or
appealing to politicians’ better natures. To governments, people were never as
important as progress. Oh, they paid lip service to the idea, but at the end of
the day, unless the people meant enough votes to throw them out of office, then
progress—aka money—always won.

“Oy! Oy!” Samuel Levine-Jones shouted in his annoying voice
that pierced the ears like railroad spikes and the voices stopped the bickering
and gossip.

“But why in tarnation would they want to bring a pipeline
here?” The question came from a miraculously sober Whisky Jack. His eyes were
bloodshot and his buffalo plaid shirt less than clean, but he was completely
sane with his thinning hair combed and his face washed.

“I don’t know. He talked a lot but the jargon didn’t mean
anything to me. He said it was like Keystone,” I said, trying to recall the
surveyor’s incomprehensible chatter. I looked to Big John and then to the
Bones, but they both shook their heads. “I guess it’s the easiest route.”

“Maybe the easiest to walk—but not the best for a pipeline.”
Whisky Jack sounded contemptuous. This newfound certainty of manner was so startling
that I and the others could only stare. “Look, we are surrounded by igneous
intrusions and peridotite.” At my blank look he added, “That’s a rock that
pushes up from underground. It’s very hard. It would require a lot of blasting
to create a grade that’s suitable for transporting oil. The Ruby Valley would
be a much better route.”

A memory stirred in the back of my brain. Hadn’t Whisky Jack
once been a surveyor? Back before he had lost his wife and crawled into a
bottle?

“Okay.” An idea was beginning to form. It was wild and
desperate, but these were desperate times. “First off, we have to delay the
survey team. One of them is hurt and I think we can reasonably keep him in bed
for a few days. The other one is going to take some convincing. It might be
best if his survey equipment disappeared. And I think we need some bear tracks
around town. Everyone needs to carry a gun and look frightened.”

I looked over at Horace and Sasha who were obscured by a
cloud of Anatoli’s smoke. Those two had the most criminal leanings and were the
most inventive.

“Big John, do we still have those plaster casts we took when
the woman was murdered by the bear?”

“Aye. I know where they are. I’ll get right to it.” He was
beginning to smile.

“That should be enough for tonight, but we need to have
backup strategies to keep them in town for a while, so start thinking of ways
to delay them—and don’t suggest feeding them to the bears,” I said in English,
looking sternly at Sasha whose mouth had opened. “At least, we would only do that
as a last, last resort. Remember, no one speaks much English here. We have no
phones and the radio isn’t working. We are stuck in town until the bears leave
or someone from Seven Forks comes to visit—ah, Anatoli….”

“I am not even here,” he said reassuringly.

We looked up as an airplane flew low overhead. The Wings had
returned, bringing my husband and the new recruit along with some supplies. We
heard it bank and knew he was lining up for a landing on Main Street. I didn’t
ask if anyone had left a truck outside. Everybody knew the Wings was coming in
and that the street needed to be clear.

“We’ll have to ground the Wings,” Big John said. “Or the
surveyor will ask to be flown out.”

“Get word to him then—and I’ll fill Chuck in on what has
happened. The rest of you need to hide any of your vehicles and if the surveyor
sees them you have to tell him they aren’t working. In fact, lose the
distributor caps and a couple of wires, okay? Let’s make sure they don’t run.”
The engine sound got louder. “We need to wrap this up.”