Three A.M. (31 page)

I rolled to a complete stop on top of the next hill. I was on the right road. I left my hands on the steering wheel and sat there, looking at Kirk’s dam.

*   *   *

I couldn’t believe that the whole complex was neither staffed nor monitored, but it seemed that was the case. I had driven to within a few miles of the dam and then pulled off the highway into a stand of trees. The truck would have been visible from the dam for a good fifteen, twenty minutes, yet here I was nearly at the foot of it unmolested. Fifteen years of inaction had bred extreme complacency. Or so I hoped. I leaned against a tree, smoking cigarettes and surveying the massive structure for almost an hour.

When the sunlight was no longer on the fields, I grabbed a gray soldier’s jacket that had been folded on the shotgun seat and set out on foot. The trees on the highest hills were painted with the afternoon’s gold and the sky was still a pale blue, but soon it would begin to grow dark. The temperature was dropping. The dam was easily two miles away, and it was a tough trek to make before night fell. I needed to get there before that happened.

I stopped and looked back several times, marking the spot where I’d left the truck in the trees. I could still see the outline of the vehicle and specific trees the first few times I looked back, but soon it was just a distant copse of gray shadows. I wondered at the lack of bullet holes in the back of the truck—it was like they hadn’t even tried to stop me. I hoped I could find my way back.

I adjusted the rifle strapped across my back so the bolt would stop digging into my spine. I had a few additional clips of ammunition, a half pack of smokes, and my wits. I would need at least two of those. This was my one chance to carry out what I’d whispered to Fallon. I needed to get inside the structure to find its weakest point. Every work of man has its Achilles’ heel.

My lungs burned as I pressed on toward the dam. Now and then, I had to slow to a walk and was racked by a hacking cough. I stumbled along slowly for a few feet and then willed myself to speed up again. There was a finish line at the end of this race—no more aimless drifting for me.

The sky was the color of slate in the east and a swirl of violet and orange to the west when I reached the narrow river that started at the dam’s base. The land was formless and gray behind me, and even though I was now quite close to the structure, I was confident no one would be able to see me if they bothered to look. I jogged along the riverbank slowly enough to regain some energy. Ahead of me was a narrow, one-lane bridge that ran across the water, connecting the dam with a road that extended off into the hazy twilight. The sound of crashing water had gradually grown from a distant hum to a deep bass, a constant rumble.

I slowed to a cautious walk as I neared the bridge and swung the gun down off my shoulder. I chambered a round as I reached the head of the bridge. It was a remarkably simple design: three concrete pylons sank down into the river, supporting a simple post-and-lintel-style stretch of concrete. There were no walls, and the bridge itself was perhaps ten feet wide. It was clearly built for an extremely low volume of traffic. The concrete was pale, shining like alabaster in the fading light. I hurried across it so my dark form would not long be framed against the white bridge.

I was scarcely a hundred yards from one end of the massive, concave structure. It stood easily two hundred feet high, sweeping dramatically between two steep ridges. Water spewed forth from four large slots, each placed about halfway up the dam’s face. There were several tiers, each wider but shorter than the one below it. I moved off the service road itself but followed its path toward the structure. Above me, countless power lines, each as thick as my leg, stretched off into the distance. They crackled and hummed above, carrying power to my former world.

It looked as though the road disappeared into the lowest level of the dam. That was where I needed to go. I needed to find its heart, to rip it out. Somehow.

Moving quickly, I closed the distance between me and the large, cavernous door where the road ended. It gaped open like the mouth of a corpse, not caring who stopped to peer inside. I paused just outside the thick concrete walls and looked back over the twilight fields. Orion’s Belt shimmered in the heavens just above where I figured I had left the truck. I knew that the stars would would be moving all the time and before long I would have no way to know what direction to go. Taking a few quick breaths and clicking off my rifle’s safety, I walked into the gloom.

*   *   *

At first I could see nothing. The room was damp and musty, and the muted thunder of crashing water rumbled all around me. Far ahead was a pale, formless light issuing from somewhere, but I could not even see my hand in front of my face. I took slow, halting steps toward the distant light. My left hand swung back and forth before me, and I kept the gun barrel up and ready. My breathing was shallow; my skin cold and growing wet as sweat mingled with condensation.

The ground beneath my boots was covered with loose bits of gravel and dirt, and it seemed that no one had traveled down this hall in a long time. The very air was stagnant and fetid. My vision slowly adjusted, and though I could see nothing in detail, some forms and shapes began to coalesce around me. The ceiling, some twenty feet above, was curved and covered in moldering tiles. There were light fixtures lining the tunnel, but they all looked to be broken and rusted. The soft light drifting down to me was coming from an open door seventy or eighty feet ahead. There were other doors here and there set into the walls, but all were iron, bolted and rusted shut.

My feet crunched and slipped on the dirty floor, and I made my way forward slowly to keep quiet. The deep bass roar of water from above grew softer the deeper I went, and I figured I must have been heading into the center of the structure. I was only a few feet from the door—from the ethereal light. There was a large retractable grate set into the back wall next to the doorway. I leaned against the cold metal of the grate, secured the rifle against my shoulder, and pressed my right cheek down on the stock. One breath, and I stepped into the next room. There was no one there. But there had been. I had entered a small, simple room, perhaps fifteen by fifteen. One wall was lined by old lockers, the kind that might be found in a gym. There was a door in one of the two walls, an identical retractable grate in the other. A small table sat in one corner. On the table lay the light source, a naked bulb connected to a simple handle and extension cord. Next to the light, there was an open book and a half-eaten sandwich.

I walked over to the table and lowered my rifle, flipping the book over to look at its cover.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,
by Mark Twain. I hadn’t seen or even thought of that book in twenty years. I set it down, open to page 110, where the reader had left it. I gently pressed my thumb down into the bread of the sandwich. It was still soft.

“What the hell are you doin’?”

I wheeled and dropped down to one knee, drawing a bead on the source of the gruff, scratchy voice. The old man’s hands flew up and he stumbled backwards, eyes wide above a hoary beard.

“Hey! Hey, calm down, man! Jesus Christ!”

“Who are you?” I kept the gun trained on him and rose to my feet.

“I’m Hank Verlassen. I’m the operator! Why’s your goddamn gun out?”

I lowered the weapon, realizing that he was not the least bit startled to see someone but rather confused to see someone armed and ready. I let out a sigh as if releasing tension and studied the man. He must have been in his late sixties. His skin was wrinkled and weathered, hands gnarled by a lifetime of work. His eyes were dark but vacant, set far back into his skull beneath salt-and-pepper brows. The blue uniform he wore was soiled and stained with oil.

Verlassen took a step toward me once I had the gun off him. “What’s going on here, fella? Where’s your team?”

“My what? Sorry … just a bit shook up here.” I had to buy time and fish for information from him without tipping my hand.

“I heard choppers earlier but then no one came and then you show up alone and all trigger-happy—what’s the story?”

“We had an accident. Everyone’s fine, but we had to put down a few miles away.” His eyes traveled up and down me, taking on a quizzical aspect as he noted my boots and blue jeans and jacket.

“My pants got some gasoline on ’em. Didn’t seem safe.”

He nodded, his face again placid. He seemed perfectly satisfied after this cursory explanation. I had to learn all I could about this man—he had to know almost everything about this place.

“Sorry if I interrupted your dinner,” I said, gesturing toward the sandwich. “Feel free to finish.” He sat back down, folding over the corner of a page in
Huck Finn
and putting the book aside, still open.

“So are you here for a resupply?” he asked through a mouthful of food. “Seems I’m about due for it.”

“Yeah. That was the plan, anyway. Probably tomorrow.”

“Good. I’m all out of milk powder and eggs.”

I crossed to the wall of lockers and leaned up against them, watching him in profile. “How long have you been here, Verlassen?”

“Here? At the dam? About four years. Just shy, actually, I think. Who’s counting? When I hit five, they’ll ship me out and that’ll be that. Watching the calendar just gets depressing, y’know.”

“Who’s they?”

He snorted and then dragged a sleeve across his nose. “That’s a good one! You’re they, bud!” I smiled and shrugged as if to say,
Just kidding
. “Say, what was your name again?”

“I didn’t give it. Sorry—it’s Thomas. Tom Heller.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom. This your first time at the dam? I mean it probably is—I ain’t never seen you, but this thing’s been here years.”

“Yeah … yeah, it’s my first time.”

He nodded and took another giant bite of his sandwich, leaving just a crust behind, which he balled up in a napkin and pushed aside. The napkin fell open, and the remnants fell out onto the table. He made no move to clean up.

“Well, I’m gonna go for a smoke. Care to join?” I nodded and straightened up. “Then you can check all the dials and gauges and whatnot you boys always do and leave old Hank all by his lonesome again.”

I followed him through a heavy iron door. It led into a small square room with a spiral staircase in its center. The thunder of the falling water echoed more loudly in here, and the air was quite damp. Dim track lighting running up one corner of the narrow room cast shadows across the walls and stairs. I followed Verlassen up dozens of corkscrew turns.

Eventually he looked back at me and spoke over the dull roar. “Imagine trying to sleep hearing this shit every night! Ha! Takes a while.”

“You said at five years, we’ll ship you out.… What’d you mean?”

“You are new! That’s my contract length.” We reached the top of the stairs, and he threw wide a door connected to a metal grate landing. Darkness penetrated at points by stars framed the doorway as deafening thunder washed over me. Verlassen waited for me to step past him and then pulled the door closed. He shouted to give me bearing as I blinked and rubbed my eyes to adjust them to the dark.

“I would have taken a longer contract, but it ain’t safe, I guess. I never felt sick or nothing, but what are you gonna do, right?”

I nodded, not really understanding. He pulled out two cigarettes and handed one to me. On the front of the pack in his hand, I could clearly see the word
MARLBORO
. I accepted his lighter and cupped my hands around his in the dancing winds. The smoke was rich and fine.

We were standing on a thin ledge, maybe four feet wide, which curved outward along the dam’s wall before disappearing into the haze. A thin, rusting iron railing stood between us and a long drop.

“What brought you here, Hank?” I called out, leaning near to his ear.

“Money. Good money. Gets lonely without even a phone, but man, you deal. I worked most every day of my life, and I’ll make more in these five years’n all of it put together, bud!” He took a drag off his cigarette and nodded to himself. “I’ll head home and retire and never lift a finger again.”

“Where’s home?”

“California. Way up north by Oregon. Lots of rivers up there. I worked on every dam north of Frisco, I’ll bet.”

“Oh yeah? I bet you know all about these things, huh?”

“You think I could run this sumbitch alone if not? Oh yeah, I know rivers and dams, Heller. Shasta, Monticello, Lake Oroville … tension or cantilever or cement, no prob.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice only slightly over the crashing water. “I’ll tell you, though, this baby just about runs itself. It’s got more fancy computers and machines and all—I just make sure they keep clicking and whizzing. Which they always do. Piece of pie here. Ain’t like the old days.”

He leaned away again and continued more to himself than to me. “But I’ve read all my books. I don’t mind being alone, but it makes me sore not having nothing new to read.”

I was silent for a moment, feigning attention and trying to figure out how to prolong the conversation and turn it my way. Verlassen was clearly not the smartest man, but I sensed a worldly awareness about him that would smell foul play if I didn’t tread softly.

“Where are we right now, Hank? What part of this thing?”

“Just above the powerhouse below the main retention wall.” He pointed down and to the left. I followed his gesture but could see nothing in the gloom. “The reservoir’s up behind us. Almost six miles long and half that wide most parts. Whole fuckin’ thing is man-made.” My stomach turned over. “You should see it, Heller—biggest earthworks I’ve ever seen or even heard of. I go up there and look out over it sometimes. Only for just a couple minutes at a time, of course,” he said, glancing over at me with a knowing nod. I returned the gesture, uncomprehending, and he went on.

“The excess water sluices out of channels over there—” He hooked a thumb to the left, then pointed the other way, and as I leaned over the railing, I could make out falling water in the pale moonlight. “—and there. That’s why it’s so loud right here. We’re kind of near the middle of the bowl, and all the echoes come right here. I love it. Normally ain’t up here for a conversation, though.”