“Or care,” said Kurt.
“True. Another hundred thousand people more or less won’t make a difference.
“Maybe it wouldn’t melt at all, go all the way to the ocean. How do they know that won’t happen?”
“Because they tested it in the Saco.”
“The deaths we’ve had!” Todd whistled soundlessly.
“Amanda Russell,” said Kurt.
“The little girl who died. But she wasn’t near the river.”
“She spent her day eating snow, snow we’d just made from Saco River water.”
Todd had been staring out at the snow-covered mountain. “Maybe it’s already here.” He turned to Cilla. “Why couldn’t they have spread the pods weeks ago?”
“Suppose they were paid the six billion. Sure, there’d be a major effort to find them, but nothing compared to the pressure if a half million people died afterward.” A small unspoken doubt. Would there really be much difference in the pursuit? Unproductive thinking. “Maybe there’s some significance to the date, March seventeenth I don’t know. I just think they’ll wait until noon tomorrow to start spreading.”
“But they could be anywhere in the mountains,” said Kurt. “Why here?”
“For widest distribution from the smallest area. Look at the map.” She unfolded it and spread it out so all three could read. “Streams originating on Washington flow not only into the Saco and down through Maine, but the Pemigewasset which, see...” she traced it with her finger...“becomes the Merrimac down here through Concord and Manchester and on into Massachusetts.”
“And the Ammonoosuc,” exclaimed Todd.
“But it flows north, toward Canada,” said Kurt.
“It’s deceiving. Follow it further. It actually turns south and empties into the Connecticut, and that, of course, is the big one.”
Todd’s finger moved across the map. “Yeah! That hits both New Hampshire and Vermont, then the middle of Massachusetts and Connecticut. So right from here on Mt. Washington they can infect five states.”
“Several times,” said Kurt. “With three major rivers carrying presents.”
“So let’s get moving,” said Cilla, shouldering her pack.
“I’m having trouble visualizing how they’d spread it,” said Kurt as they started off.
“A back-carried sprayer like a flame thrower,” suggested Todd.
“Which would only carry a small quantity of the pods. I picture something like a lawn sprinkler,” said Cilla.
“With hose connected to what?”
“A pod tank.”
“Why not dump it from a plane?” said Kurt.
“Didn’t you hear?” put in Todd. “All private planes are grounded. The TV said they’d shoot down any unauthorized.”
The trail got steeper, exertion cutting off conversation. But Cilla couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something had been said that had more meaning for her than the actual words spoken. Something important.
The trail followed the north wall of Tuckerman Ravine, and they climbed with crampons on their feet and skis secured on their backs. In a little over an hour Todd said they were crossing the Alpine Gardens Trail, and a half hour later they rejoined the summer Tuckerman Ravine Trail.
“We’re at Cloudwater Spring,” Todd announced.
Kurt took the rifle off his shoulder.
Todd surveyed the mountainside with field glasses. “There’s no one here.”
“Yet,” said Cilla.
“They’d have to be by now.”
“Why?”
“Set up time. The tanks wouldn’t be easy to get up here.”
Todd took off his watch cap and rubbed his head. “You know, there are a number of little streams off this mountain. How do we know we’re checking the right ones?”
“We don’t have to go to every one. I figure we swing around to Crawford Path. It runs along the ridge of Monroe, Franklin and the other peaks. We can see any activity on either side, if the weather holds.”
The wind had strengthened by the time they looked down at the Lakes of the Clouds nearly a mile away. From high above it looked as if they could reach them with a few giant jumps. Cilla could see no one through her field glasses, but as she watched, the two little ponds and the AMC shelter were being rubbed out by a chalky bank of snow carried on a stiffening breeze.
“Uh oh.” Todd had stopped.
“What’s the matter?” asked Cilla.
“Just above that AMC hut down there is a sign telling hikers climbing up to stop. It’s to make them think twice about going on. It reads that this stretch of terrain between us and the hut has the worst weather in America. And it looks like we’re about to get a demonstration.”
“What’s our option?”
“Climb up to the Observatory and wait it out.”
“We haven’t the time, Todd.”
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and started down. The northwest face of the summit cone had been scoured clean by winter wind that blew hard in their faces. That, along with the treacherous ice that clung tenaciously to the rocks and the diminishing visibility, slowed their descent to a cautious hobble.
A third of the way down, Todd motioned to the others it was time to put on facemasks and goggles. “I’m afraid we’re in for it,” he shouted above the gale. “We have to make it to the hut.”
“Won’t it be closed up?”
“Yes, but there’s a refuge room that should be open.”
Suddenly, the full force of the wind hit like a fist. Cilla was knocked off her feet. Kurt tried to get her up and slipped down himself.
“Rope!” yelled Todd.
It was in Kurt’s pack. Todd crawled over to him, and Kurt turned his back so Todd could get at it. Tied together they inched their way down, only the piled-rock cairns indicating the trail. Cilla, tied behind Todd, could barely make him out just a few feet ahead. The wind became a howling monster, screeching over their heads and battering their bodies like a wild sea against cliffs. She fell again on the icy rocks. It was no consolation that the others did as well. Finally Todd stopped.
“I’ve lost it,” he shouted. “Hunker down and wait for a clearing.”
“Let’s go on,” yelled Kurt. “It can’t be much further.”
“No way. There are major drop-offs around.”
“He’s right,” shouted Cilla. “We just have to wait.”
They huddled together against the piercing wind; Cilla’s legs were numbed. But as cold as they were, colder still was an icy spot that grew in her stomach. For one of the few times in her life she felt completely powerless. The three were glued to those rocks until nature released them. Time was slipping by, and they were no closer to finding any of the Nutcracker’s installations. Or Frank. Who could lead her to Hudson. What was she doing in this blizzard in northern New England when her very life was draining away in the deserts of Arizona? She felt a tug on the rope. Todd.
“It’s let up a bit.”
If it had, she couldn’t tell. Her goggles crusted and nearly covered with ice, Cilla made out no signs of a trail, but Todd started the party moving. A ski pole in each hand, they leaned into the demon whose huffing and puffing
