A Fountain Filled With Blood

“How about the water coming from that crevasse? Does that go into the aquifer?”

“Yeah, it does. But that’s from a stream that originates way up. That gorge it runs through knifes right down the mountain. It’s never been used for storage or anything. Too inaccessible.”

“So where do you think the pollution’s coming from, then?”

“There was a fresh contamination site discovered in ’ninety-one,” he said, “if fresh is the right word to use. An abandoned mill that had been used by G.E. Tons of sediment, seepage into the rock and groundwater—very high percentage of the stuff. Some of it was almost pure PCB. This area has had some heavy winters and rainy summers since then, which causes the contaminated sediment and water to travel through the aquifers in ways it didn’t before. The PCB contamination in Millers Kill is coming from the Allen Mill site.” He nodded in a satisfied way.

“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Clare said.

“I am.”

Ray laughed. “See why I’m not worried, Reverend?”

Waxman hoisted his backpack. “I was just about to take my Jeep back up. Why don’t I give you two a ride? It’s an awful steep road.”

“You done already?” Ray looked impressed. “You just got here a little while ago.”

Waxman popped the back gate of the Jeep and lifted his backpack inside. “You’re just used to the rate your guys work at, Ray. Fifteen minutes, coffee break, another fifteen minutes, cigarette break…”

Ray let out his short, explosive laugh. Waxman opened the passenger door and gestured for Clare to get in. She squeezed past the flipped-down front seat and climbed into the back, pushing aside crumpled shirts and shorts, empty soda cans, back issues of Science magazine, and an oily box containing unidentifiable engine parts. “Sorry about the mess,” Waxman said. Ray got in the front, the Jeep sagging to one side beneath his weight. Waxman hopped in and slammed the door. The Jeep’s ignition sounded as if it needed new spark plugs, and from the sound of the exhaust, a new muffler, as well. As Clare peered into the box, they lurched, and the Jeep began chugging up the hill.

“This is a bear to climb.” Waxman spoke loudly over the noises coming from the Jeep. “They’re going to have to regrade it if they expect to have regular traffic here.”

“Bill’s plan is to have a bunch of those little golf carts,” Ray said just as loudly. “People will be able to drive themselves all around the complex if they want to.”

Clare leaned forward. “How have you found working with Bill?” she asked Waxman.

There was no reply. For a moment, she thought she hadn’t been speaking loudly enough, but then Waxman said, “I don’t know him very well. Peggy, the landowner, is the person I deal with usually. And sometimes John Opperman. He’s responsible for the permits.”

A pothole jarred the Jeep, flinging Clare back into her seat. She jabbed at her hair, which was falling out of its twist in earnest now. She wasn’t going to get many insights from Waxman, evidently. “Are you used to large developments like this?” she shouted toward the front seat. “Or is this the first big project you’ve worked on?”

“This is the first I’ve soloed on,” Waxman yelled back. “I assisted on several surveys while I was getting my doctorate.”

Which couldn’t have been all that long ago, Clare thought. Everything about Waxman screamed graduate school poverty. He was probably still living off peanut butter sandwiches and Ramen noodles. The Jeep bumped hard again and let out an alarming rattle. “It must be gratifying, working for the state. I can’t imagine there are a lot of teaching jobs out there.”

“You got that right.” Waxman twisted the wheel and downshifted. “State and federal agencies hire a lot more geologists than universities do. Private’s really the way to go, though. You get a berth with an oil company, and you’re set for life, man.”

The Jeep heaved over the top of the hill and Waxman shifted into park. The sudden drop in noise level left Clare’s ears ringing. “Are you two headed back, or what?”

Ray turned around in his seat. “Anything else you’d like to see, ma’am?”

So far, the only thing she had gotten from this venture was a coating of dust and a couple of mosquito bites. She didn’t have any more of a feel for Bill Ingraham’s life than she’d had when she started out that morning. “What else is there?” she said, stalling.

“Well, up that way is going to be the waste-reclamation plant and the power plant,” Ray said, pointing to where the rutted track led up and out of sight between the trees. But there’s nothing there now but a dump. It’s a pretty-enough walk, if you like that sort of thing.” The tone of his voice revealed that he hoped she didn’t. “You can get real close to that gorge Leo was talking about. See it from above. Along this way.” He gestured back toward the way they had walked. “We’ve cleared land for a garage for those golf carts I was telling you about. There’s a helipad farther along the—”

“Whoa. Did you say helipad?”

“Yeah, but it’s only temporary. For bringing in cargo that’s too delicate to hump over the road, and for the VIPs to fly in and out. When construction finishes up, it’ll be converted to a tennis court.”

“I want to see the helipad.” Something in her voice must have been different, because Ray and Waxman looked at each other. Ray shrugged.

“Okay,” Waxman said. “The helipad it is.”

Chapter Fourteen

“We have to backtrack to the central complex and get on the other road there,” Waxman said.

The road leading back to the main site had been a pleasant walk but was a terrible ride. They lurched through the trees into the blinding sunlight of the construction area, then bounced along a beaten dirt track running along the uppermost terrace and plunged back into the forest. The Jeep jumped and jolted, until Clare thought she would suffer permanent kidney damage. The sample bottles in Waxman’s backpack clinked together violently.

“You okay back there?” Waxman shouted.