Fracked (6 page)

Like every other morning, he was up well before the alarm clock went off.

John stood in the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth with one hand as he buttoned up the front of his boiler uniform with the other. He stared at the bathroom next to the mirror and hurried his pace.

He wished that he had Rebecca’s civilized schedule.

Getting up at four and sitting in a vehicle for over an hour just to get to work definitely wasn’t fun.

He rushed out of the master bathroom and crept towards the bed.

“I’m gone. Have a good day today, okay?” he whispered to her as he kissed the top of her head.

“You too, baby, be safe…” she mumbled without opening her eyes.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered back.

John snuck out of the bedroom, filled Lucy’s water bowl on the porch, grabbed his hardhat off the patio chair, and hurried to his car.

It was nearly five by the time he pulled into the Love’s parking lot.

The sun was just starting to rise and it was already hot and muggy.

It was going to be another scorcher.

John parked his car, locked it, and hurried towards the van with his hardhat.

The van was already packed and idling.

He opened the side door and was a little surprised to see that Mike was there.

“Morning,” Mike said as he looked over at John.

“Morning,” John said as he sat down beside Mike and closed the door.

As usual, Tejano music was playing on the radio and the van smelled like cheap coffee and greasy gas station breakfast food.

The van slowly pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the road leading into town.

As the van sped up, the driver started chattering in Spanish to the others; they didn’t pay the two gringos in the back any attention. Soon they were well on their way into town.

Nearly thirty minutes passed before John spoke up.

“I have to admit,” he said as he looked over at Mike. “I didn’t think you’d come today.”

Mike chuckled and nodded.

“Like I said yesterday, I’m not a quitter,” Mike said proudly.

“I bet you’re sore though,” John said.

“Yeah… It hurts like a bitch. I feel like I’ve been frogging a bunch of fat hookers last night. You know what I mean? My back is killing me,” Mike grumbled.

John laughed.

“Hey man, what you do in your free time isn’t any of my business,” John said.

“Really? They all knew you by name and kept asking for you. What was that about?” Mike asked.

John shrugged.

“I guess you couldn’t perform so they wanted a real man,” John said with a smirk as he slapped Make on the back. “Don’t worry, son, one day you’ll get to my league.”

John and Mike both started laughing.

“I can’t mess with you, man,” Mike said, shaking his head. “You’re crazy as hell.”

“After working in the sun for as long as I have, my mind is fried,” John said with a sigh. “I’m afraid my condition is chronic.”

Mike chuckled.

“No cure, eh?” Mike asked.

“Well… a cold beer and a cigarette tend to work miracles my friend,” John said as he reached for his crushed pack. “Since it’s too early for a beer…”

The pack was empty.

John groaned and closed his eyes.

He forgot all about going to the store.

It looked like Rebecca got her wish after all.

He looked at the empty pack with disappointment.

“Well… this isn’t a great way to start my day,” John mumbled as he tossed the empty pack on the floorboard.

“Maybe you should try coffee,” Mike suggested.

John stared out the window.

“I outgrew coffee ten years ago,” John said. “What wakes you up?”

The van snaked its way through the congested main thoroughfare. Semi-trucks and vans clogged the road. Traffic moved at a snail’s pace.

“Well, I have to drive from San Antonio just to meet the vanpool… By the time I get to Love’s, I’m already wired from the drive and the insane drivers on I-37,” Mike said.

John whistled. He felt sorry for the kid. The company hired quite a few people from San Antonio, but most of them didn’t stay very long simple because of the drive and odd hours.

“Wow… how long does that take, about an hour and a half?” John asked.

“Two,” Mike corrected. “I live towards the northern side…”

“Sorry to hear,” John said. “Why didn’t you just get a place down here?”

Mike shrugged.

“I tried… I had no idea hotels would be so expensive and rental prices are outrageous for what you end up getting,” Mike said.

John waved his hand in the air.

“Don’t flatter them by calling them hotels… They’re rancid little shitholes,” John said with a disgusted look. “We used to have two or three before the boom, and you could get a clean room for twenty a night. Now you have to spend over one-hundred a night for a bed with dirty sheets.”

Mike shook his head.

“I don’t see how they can all stay in business,” Mike said.

The van pulled off of the main street and turned onto the bumpy dirt road that led towards the jobsite.

“Well people who work these fields have money and they’re stupid enough to pay it,” John said. “You know what they say about a fool and his money… You know, I’m selling my homestead in about a year, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not plant any real roots down here,” Mike said. “Once I save up a bit, I’m out of here.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like me,” John said. “If only I had that attitude years ago... I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting next to you and talking about fat hookers and cigarettes.”

“What made you stay?” Mike asked, curious.

John thought about it for a moment before answering.

“I guess it’s like you said… My roots run deep,” John said. “I’m a tough old tree through, so I thought that I’d be able to weather the storm. I thought that this oil stuff would all pass, or at least get better.”

“Did it?” Mike asked.

John sighed and didn’t respond.

The answer was obvious and Mike felt foolish for even asking the question in the first place.

Mike looked out the window.

“You know, if you want to make the drive a little more bearable, you can ask around work to join a carpool,” John suggested. “I know a few guys that still live up that way. They don’t speak English, but they speak the common language… if you know what I mean.”

John grinned and rubbed his index and thumb together.

Mike chuckled.

“Nah, I’d rather not have the hassle,” Mike said. “I think I’ll just bite the bullet and do the drive. If worse comes to worse, I’ll shack up in a hotel for a few days during the week.”

“See? Now you’re part of the problem,” John teased. “A fool and his money… The cycle continues…”

Mike laughed and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

John turned his attention outside as they sped along the dirt road that cut across arid grassland.

A large semi-truck hauling the old pump barreled past the van in the opposite direction towards town. The pump was covered by a blue tarp and secured to the bed of the truck with thick yellow straps.

The truck’s cab was painted neon blue and a man with a blonde mullet and scraggily goatee was behind the wheel with one arm hanging out the window. He had an old tattoo on his hairy forearm. The tattoo read ‘What, me worry?’ with a smiley face.

“Well! It looks like the graveyard shift managed to stay awake long enough to change the pump,” John said as he watched the semi-truck speed away in a cloud of dust. “It looks like we’re cracking rock today. Hope you’re ready to get dirty, kid.”

“Can’t wait,” Mike replied listlessly without opening his eyes.

The van slowed as it neared the security station’s rolling chain-link fence.

As the van came to a stop, the driver turned the music down and rolled down his window.

The Triburton security officer with the thin mustache walked to the driver-side door toting a semi-automatic assault rifle.

The K-9 officer stood a few yards away with a Rottweiler on a leather leash.

The Rottweiler was whimpering with its tail tucked between its legs and its ears lowered, tugging and pulling at the leash as it fearfully tried to back away from the chain-link fence.

The officer was struggling to maintain control of the dog.

“You know the drill. IDs, IDs!” the mustached security officer said as he looked inside the van, motioning with his hand. “Hurry up! Rápido!”

The driver collected everyone’s Triburton ID cards and handed it off to the officer.

The officer glanced through the IDs and peeked inside the van to match the names to the faces.

“Alright, you’re good,” the officer said. He turned towards the K-9 officer. “Do you think you can control that bitch long enough to do a proper walk around this time? That last van you did was sloppy.”

“It’s not my fault! I don’t know what got her so spooked,” the K-9 officer said as he tried to pull the Rottweiler towards the van.

The Rottweiler growled and refused to move, letting its paws dig into the dirt.

“Come on, dammit!” the K-9 officer said. He reached down to grab her by the collar.

The Rottweiler gave a ferocious bark and snapped at his hand, snarling.

“Fuck!” the K-9 officer shouted as he pulled his hand away just in time. In his panic he dropped the leash.

The Rottweiler took off running away from the drill site with its tail between its legs, whimpering as it darted off into the horizon.

The K-9 officer sprinted after the dog.

The occupants in the van watched and laughed at the spectacle.

Mike looked at John with an uncomfortable expression.

“That was weird,” Mike said.

John shrugged.

“Probably got spooked by a snake,” John explained. “You’ll see a rattler out here every now and then.”

The mustached officer looked nervous as he haplessly looked over at the officer manning the gate controls.

The officer at the gate controls held up his hands and shook his head, unsure what to do.

A line of vans was forming behind John’s van and traffic was starting to build.

The mustached officer stared off into the distance…

He didn’t see the dog or the K-9 officer anywhere in sight.

“Anderson! What’s the holdup at the entrance? Stop messing around and let them through! They need the bodies! It’s an emergency!” a voice shouted through the mustached officer’s earpiece.

“Just… go ahead and let them through!” the mustached officer shouted, motioning for the other officer to open the gate, shaking his head in embarrassment.

The gate buzzed and rolled open along its rusty tracks.

The van pulled into the dirt parking lot, occupants still laughing.

As soon as it came to a stop, the workers pilled out and hurried towards the time clock, nearly running.

Mike moved slowly ahead as he looked at the site, surprised by all of the activity.

A row of water trucks was already circled around the well next to the large pump, ready to go. Workers were moving everywhere, hauling sacks of sand and pushing barrels of chemical additives on dollies towards the trucks in order to prepare the solution that would be pumped into the wellbore.

John slapped Mike on the back as he walked past him.

“Come on kid, this is where it gets interesting,” John said with a grin. He put on his hardhat and got in the line for the time clock.

Mike nervously put on his hardhat and followed closely behind. He glanced up in the sky and noticed that a massive number of crows were circling over the jobsite. He frowned and continued to follow John.

Hank Wallace was pacing along the line of incoming workers, frantically searching for familiar faces. He was a burly black man with broad shoulders, thick arms, and slender legs. He was wearing a white dress shirt, black jeans, and a red tie. His hardhat was so clean that it almost looked glossy.

“I need someone who speaks English!” Mr. Wallace said.

Some of the Hispanic workers simply looked at him and shook their head, but most of them simply stared ahead as if they didn’t hear him at all.

“English!” Mr. Wallace emphasized.

Mr. Wallace’s expression brightened as soon as he spotted John and Mike.

“Finally! Thank God! You two! Come with me!” Mr. Wallace said as he motioned for them to step over. “Don’t worry about clocking in. I’ll type you into the computer later.”

John frowned.

“You better not forget, Hank,” John said as he hesitantly followed the man. “That’s my check you’re messing with and I don’t like working for free.”