Chapter 8 - The Forty-Second Turn
We threw our combined weight against the brass handle.
For a terrifying second, nothing moved. The metal groaned under the strain, and my boots slipped an inch across the frozen gravel. The smell of raw gas was so thick in my throat I could taste the sulfur, making my lungs burn with every ragged breath. Fifty yards away, the geyser roared like a jet engine, tearing another slab of asphalt from the street with a sound like a gunshot.
Then, with a sharp, resonant *ping*, the ice inside the valve casing shattered.
The stem moved an inch.
“Keep turning!” Calvin roared, his voice cutting through the thundering spray. “Don't let it bind! Keep the momentum!”
We threw ourselves into the rotation. Half a turn. One turn. Two turns.
The freezing spray from the geyser drifted over us in a blinding white fog, instantly glazing our jackets and skin with sheets of ice. My hands through my work gloves felt completely numb, screaming with the deep, throbbing ache of sub-zero cold, but I didn't let go.
Ten turns.
Fifteen turns.
With every rotation, the resistance inside the valve grew heavier as the massive bronze gate descended into the path of the eighty-PSI water flow. The hydraulic back-pressure fought against us, trying to force the stem back up, vibrating through the wrench so violently that my teeth clicked together.
Twenty-five turns.
Calvin let out a strangled groan of pain, his left leg buckling completely beneath him as his deteriorated hip joint gave way. He slipped into the mud, his weight coming off the wrench.
The handle kicked back instantly, the pressure trying to rip it out of my grip.
I dropped my chest onto the bar, wrapping both arms around the cold metal, using my entire body weight to stop the back-spin. The handle slammed into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me with a white-hot flash of agony, but I held it.
“Naomi!” Calvin yelled from the ground, struggling to pull himself up on his elbows.
“I’ve got it!” I gasped through clenched teeth, my vision swimming. “Get back up, Dad! Get back on the bar!”
He grabbed the rim of the concrete manhole, dragged his ruined leg forward, and reached up with his calloused hands. He gripped the brass shaft right beside mine.
“Thirty!” he shouted, tears of pain cutting through the ice on his face. “Twelve more! Push!”
We pushed.
Thirty-five.
Thirty-eight.
Across the intersection, the roaring column of water began to lose its height. The sixty-foot geyser collapsed to thirty feet, then twenty, sputtering and choking as the water supply was starved at the main.
Forty.
Forty-one.
With one final, shuddering surge of strength, Calvin and I threw ourselves against the wrench until the bronze gate hit the bottom seat with a dull, solid *thud*.
Forty-two.
The geyser died completely.
In an instant, the thundering roar that had dominated the night vanished, replaced by the terrifying, high-pitched hiss of escaping natural gas and the distant, wailing sirens of approaching fire trucks.
The water cascading down the road slowed to a muddy trickle, leaving behind a steaming, shattered canyon in the center of the asphalt.
Calvin collapsed onto his side in the slush, his chest heaving violently, his breath coming in ragged, whistling gasps. I fell to my knees beside him, my arms shaking so violently I couldn't uncurl my frozen fingers from the wrench.
Headlights swept across the scene.
Three heavy fire engines, their red lights reflecting off the ice-coated trees, slid to a halt at the edge of the intersection. Firefighters in yellow bunker gear leaped from the trucks, dragging gas-detector wands and foam lines toward the crater.
A paramedic unit pulled up directly beside my SUV.
Two medics ran toward us with emergency blankets and trauma bags.
“Don't light anything!” Calvin croaked, pointing a shaking, ice-encrusted finger toward the crater. “The four-inch gas distribution line is sheared! Shut down the perimeter before you use any electrical gear!”
The lead firefighter gave a sharp nod. “Questar’s already at the sector gate, Vance! We’ve got the gas isolated in two minutes! Let the medics take you!”
They wrapped Calvin in heavy thermal blankets, lifting him onto a gurney. He was shivering uncontrollably, his lips blue, but his eyes were clear.
As they loaded him into the back of the ambulance, he reached out a trembling hand, grabbing the sleeve of my soaked down coat.
“Naomi,” he whispered.
“I’m here, Dad.”
“The line,” he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. “It held downstream. The elementary school… the water never reached the foundation.”
I looked over my shoulder. The icy flood had stopped ten feet short of the school's sports complex.
“It held, Dad,” I said softly. “You shut it down.”
He closed his eyes, a deep, shuddering breath leaving his chest as the paramedics closed the ambulance doors and sped away toward the hospital.
I stood alone on the salted asphalt, the yellow fire lights painting the snow in flashes of amber.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out with stiff, clumsy fingers. The screen was cracked from the impact against the valve wrench, but the display still worked.
It was a text from Elena:
*Elena [5:12 AM]: Boss, state auditors just executed a search warrant at the Vance Infrastructure yard. State Police impounded Russell’s truck and confiscated the hard drives. Mom is at the precinct.*
May you like
I turned off the phone, slipped it back into my pocket, and stood in the freezing silence of the morning, watching the sun begin to rise in a thin line of pale gold over the jagged peaks of the Wasatch Mountains.
***
