The Governor's Lady (42 page)

“We’ve worked on it. We’ve reached out, both of us. We’ve been honest.”

“And you and I,
we
have to be honest,” Allison said.

“Yes.”

“Carter and I agree on something else.”

”What’s that?”

“Don’t give up, Mom. Don’t you dare give up.”

Cooper pulled her close, and they sat there as the day waned.

She felt her jaw tighten. “I will not. I can guarantee that.”

It was late when she trudged upstairs to bed, saw the sliver of light beneath the door to Mickey’s room, heard Allison’s voice.

Mickey was burrowed deep in the bed, sheet and blanket pulled up to her chin, eyes closed. Allison sat on one side, Estelle on the other. Allison was reading aloud. She stopped, looked up.

“What?” Cooper asked.

Mickey opened her eyes. “Devotionals,” she said.

“You’re kidding.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time?” She pointed at the ceiling. “When I get up there, I at least want to be able to talk the lingo.”

Just before she turned out the light, Wheeler called. “I’ve got it.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll be there by midmorning.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m there. Well, nearby. Me and another fellow. We’ve found some … stuff.”

“How far is it from me?”

“About sixty miles, close to the place that school bus went off the road in the storm.”

“I’m coming.”

“Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “It’s too risky. There’s still a lot of snow, and it’s rugged country.”

“Whatever you’ve found, I want to see for myself. Tell Ezra where to go.”

Long silence on the other end.

“Call it my old journalistic instincts, Wheeler. You should understand that better than anybody.”

“I might call it bullheadedness.”

“Maybe. I got some of that from journalism, too, but mostly from my mother.”

She sneaked away well before dawn, crouching on the floorboard of Ezra’s car.

They stayed on two-lane roads, passing in the darkness through small towns where nothing moved in the frigid quiet. Traffic was almost nonexistent. The faintest hint of first light arrived as they climbed out of the foothills and into the low mountains. Ezra drove slowly, carefully. The road twisted and curved back on itself. Icy patches were still on the pavement and a lingering crust of snow on the roadsides.

They had been under way for more than an hour when Ezra slowed, eyes peeled, then came to a stop. “This looks like it,” he said. He reached for a battery-powered searchlight and shone it through the window. She saw what had once been a small house set back from the road, crumbling in on itself, only the narrow chimney still erect. A narrow, rutted road, barely visible as a depression in the thin snow blanket, snaked alongside the house and disappeared behind it.

“What now?” she asked.

“We wait.” He eased the car to a stop behind the ruins. “They’ll
come get us,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It won’t be long.”

They sat for several minutes, early light beginning to make pale grays of the landscape. She could make out the dim lines of trees a little way behind the house, and the rutted road disappearing into the woods. Deep vehicle tracks were on the road.

“What did Wheeler tell you about this?” she asked.

“Just what I needed to know to get you here,” he said. “And that if I come to know more, it stays with me.”

She reached across the seat and put a hand on his arm. “Ezra, I am profoundly grateful for you.”

Ezra’s cheeks reddened. He touched her hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Then he turned in the seat and looked out the back window. “Here they come.”

Headlights illuminated the car. She heard a throbbing diesel rumble that grew to a powerful growl as she turned to see the lights—high off the ground—swing in behind them. The car vibrated from the noise. They climbed out and stood ankle-deep in the snow, blinded by the blaze of light. Doors slammed, figures moved toward them, and then Wheeler emerged from the glare, followed by two other men—one bearded, young, the other much older, tall and stooped.

“Morning, Governor,” Wheeler said. “I’m gonna try one more time. Would you please get back in the car and go home?”

“Hell no. What’s going on here?”

He made a face, then shrugged and took a firm grip on her arm. “All right. Come on.”

The truck was a monster, riding high off the ground on huge tires. Ezra and Wheeler helped her climb into the warm cab, and then the rest of them clambered in, the younger of the two men behind the wheel, Wheeler beside him, the others in the back.

Wheeler indicated a man in the back with Ezra. “That’s Dr. Eskar Coble, geology professor at the university.”

Cooper shook his gloved hand.

“Governor, pleased to meet you,” he said. “I knew your father.”

“And our driver,” Wheeler said. “You’ve met him before. Carl Bumgarner.”

The younger man turned from the wheel and took her hand, grinning through his thick beard.

“Where have we met, Mr. Bumgarner?”

“On the phone,” he said. “During the snow.”

Then it dawned on her. “Carl? The school bus, your wife.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How is … Stacy, isn’t it? And the kids.”

“Everybody’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “You saved their lives.”

“Not me,” she said. “In fact, I played the tiniest role of all.”

“Well, you sure helped me get through it.”

Wheeler said, “I tracked Carl down and asked him to help us. He put us up for the night and has been chauffeuring us.”

“Where are we going?”

“Up.”

Carl started along the road. The light was stronger, and she saw that the road was little more than twin ruts—trees close, branches scraping the roof and sides. The truck plowed on, lurching from side to side, the grinding of the engine in low gear deafening.

They crested a rise and started down, boring into the trees, the road becoming even rougher. Several more minutes of wild bouncing, tossing her about, straining her lap belt. And then the truck burst through the trees and into a clearing, rumbled another several yards, and stopped.

Cooper took a moment to catch her breath. “Wheeler, what are we doing?”

“The question is, what is
that
doing?” He pointed.

At the far end of the clearing, she saw a truck much larger than this one, massive and muscular, a huge piece of machinery on its long bed behind the cab.

“This is as far as we can go in the truck,” Carl said. “The ground’s
soft from the snow melt, and we don’t want to get stuck up here like that thing did.”

They climbed down from the cab and stood for a moment. Underneath the thin crust of snow, the ground felt spongy. They were in a gap, the low mountain they had crossed behind them, another in front. They were still quite high, and through the gaunt-limbed trees at the edge of the clearing, she could see a long way over a landscape of more mountains and valleys. The wind was biting. In the minute it took them to cross the clearing on foot, she felt the grip of the cold.

The truck was mired to its axles, the ground around the wheels gouged and tossed from the attempt to free it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“An exploration rig,” Dr. Coble said. “It takes core samples.”

“Of what?”

“Rock. To find out what’s underneath.”

“Minerals?”

“This area isn’t known for mineral deposits—not in significant amounts, anyway. The more likely guess would be natural gas.”

“How accurately can you tell what’s down there?”

“Well,” Coble said, “core samples aren’t the only evidence. I’m sure there’s been other equipment here, taking seismic readings. You know from the cores what kind of rock you’re dealing with, and then the seismic data tells you about the strata, and you put it all together.”

“But if there’s gas, didn’t you already know that?”

“There’s gas in lots of places,” he said. “Deep pockets of it, mostly unrecoverable, at least until recently.”

Wheeler said, “Let’s get back to the truck.”

It took a couple of minutes for her to warm up enough that her numb face and lips could shape words. “How long has that rig been here?” she finally managed.

“No way of knowing,” Coble said. “My guess is, some work was done as winter set in. Then this rig came back to take more samples, the
snowstorm hit, and whoever it belongs to got stuck when they tried to get it out.”

“Carl,” she asked, “if equipment has been in and out, wouldn’t somebody have noticed?”

“Probably not,” he said. “This area is really rough. Just a few houses scattered around the lower valleys. That’s where Stacy and me live. Nothing up here but rock. And people here don’t mind other folks’ business.”

“It’s state-owned land, and posted,” Wheeler added. “Nobody comes up here much.”

“Some hikers now and then,” Carl said, “but not in the winter.”

She turned to Coble. “What about recovering gas?”

“What’s down below is shale, and shale can hold huge deposits. To get at it, there’s the new technique. Hydraulic fracturing.”

“Fracking,” Cooper said.

“You drill down into the shale and then pump in several million gallons of water and chemicals under high pressure. It fractures the rock and releases the gas. It creates environmental concerns—contaminated water supplies, gas being released into the air, even earthquakes. In states where it’s being done—like Pennsylvania and New York—there’s a lot of debate. Some places have imposed moratoriums or even banned it outright. We’re still working out the pros and cons.”

“How much gas is here?” Cooper asked.

“We don’t know,” Wheeler said. “But I’ll bet the people who own that rig do.”

“It could be sizable,” Coble said.

“And if it is,” Wheeler added, “whoever owns the land and mineral rights gets rich.”

She was hardly aware of the ride back down, her mind spinning.
Pickett
.

Then they were at the bottom, and she was saying goodbye to Carl and Coble. Ezra started the car and let it warm up. She and Wheeler
stood for a moment away from the others.

“What else do you know about this?” she asked.

“Everything I need to. I’ll get Dr. Coble back to the university, and then I’ll be at your place by evening.” He paused. “This is ugly.”