threatened to blow them off the mountain. They fought for every foot. She figured at the rate they were going it would take a solid three hours to ease down the half-mile or so to the cabin. It felt even longer before its dark shape loomed in front of them. Todd led them to a door, solidly encased in ice. Kurt and Todd got to work and had them inside in twenty minutes. It was a tiny ten-foot square enclosure, only to be used in life-threatening situations. Cilla had no question this was one, as each collapsed on one of the three double-decker bunks, the long battle against hurricane force winds taking its toll. She slept; later she woke to undiminished howling outside. And too dark to continue even if the storm had abated. They’d have to wait for daylight, and just a handful of hours to spot the Nutcracker’s work. And find Frank. And get to Hudson. It wasn’t snow that blurred her eyes. She closed her mind to pictures. And soon again her eyes.
When she next woke it was quiet. She opened the door to look at her watch. It was too dark to read it, but she felt it must be morning. She searched for her cell phone. Gone. It must have come out when she fell on the way down. It would be light enough to travel soon. She looked back in the refuge room, that Todd called the ‘dungeon’. He was sleeping soundly. Kurt was missing. She could see one pack other than her own, which she’d used as a pillow. She pulled it to her and reached a hand inside. It closed on a small box, safety matches. She lit one and peered in the pack. On top was a long wallet, which she picked up. Kurt’s. She was about to put it back when a folded paper fell out. She lit another match and scanned it, an article on foreign substances found in snow. She heard footsteps outside and hurriedly put everything back, lying down and feigning sleep. Kurt. He lay down quietly. But Cilla’s mind was working furiously. Kurt knew what they were looking for before being told! Was he one of them? She was becoming paranoiac. But…
If he was part of the Nutcracker’s gang why was he here, helping her? Keeping an eye on her? Making sure she didn’t find the snow sprayers? But he hadn’t tried to change their course; he didn’t show concern where they went on the mountain. That could mean they were on the wrong track. Even on the wrong mountain. She found she still had the matches in her hand. Quietly she reached in her pack, then opened the door and went out. Though a kitten to last night’s tiger, the wind was still stiff and cold. She moved to the opposite side of the cabin from it, sat on her gloves leaning against what must be the hut’s propane gas supply in season, and unfolded the AMC map of the Mount Washington Range she’d taken from her pack. The matches wouldn’t stay lit. Fortunately, a glow was beginning behind the mountain’s rocky cone. As her eyes became used to the light she could make out the lines and words.
She realized something had been bothering her about Mount Washington. People. There were too many of them. Not only was there the Observatory staff at the summit, in addition there were the hikers, those young enough or foolhardy enough to challenge ‘the Big One’ in winter. On a rare sunny day there could be several dozen pairs of eyes on the mountain. Would The Nutcracker take a chance with that kind of a crowd? Then what?
Was there any other place like Washington itself? Any other mountain with headwaters for five states? Monroe, Franklin, Eisenhower and Pierce didn’t, and they were all part of greater Mt. Washington, and as such, might have climbers. Others? The problem was if you got south of that ridge water couldn’t reach the Connecticut River; north of it and you rule out Maine, central New Hampshire and eastern Massachusetts. East of it and the Connecticut is lost again. West it could only be Mt. Tom, Mt. Field or Mt. Willey, all three across Crawford Notch in Grafton County. And in the town of...the letters were spaced out to cover a large area and difficult to read...B...E...T...H...L...E. Bethlehem? The village of Bethlehem was fifteen or twenty miles away But towns are a lot bigger than the villages that provide their names. She didn’t need the map for any more. She knew which one of those three mountains was the killer, supplying water for five states, for three rivers bearing deadly gifts. Probably the only one in the White Mountains, more the source than even Washington.
I’ve been stupid, she whispered to herself. Oh, Hudson, I’ve let you down. I was so sure I had it right. If I’d just taken a few more minutes with the map. She closed her eyes. It had been three days he’d been in the desert, perhaps hurt. Was he really still alive or only so in chambers of her mind. She shook off the moment of weakness. There was still time; she had to believe that.
She pulled open the refuge room door.
“Todd! Kurt! Time to get moving.” It was 5:30 AM, March 17.
Route 495 had been slow, but 290 was a parking lot. Nothing moved in the southbound lanes. A series of fender-benders and worse, caused by frantic people who’d waited until the last minute and were now trying desperately to escape New England, had practically closed off both routes. Almost no one was going north: national guard vehicles, an occasional ambulance and state police cars were all that used this strip of paving, two traveling lanes, plus breakdowns. Sitting empty. Shit, thought Mike Guaranga, even half a lane would do for that traffic. If it wasn’t for a ridge of crusted snow that remained in the center section he’d...The car was jammed as well: wife, two kids, dog, birdcage, three suitcases, six boxes, a knapsack, stuffed animals and the hand-woven rugs his mother had made. Everything of value, monetary or sentimental from their house in Lawrence, Massachusetts. He’d thought of taking I-93, but he’d have had to go through Connecticut to get out of New England. And the traffic through Boston or on Route 128 around was apt to be a crush. Like this. He pounded on the steering wheel. He’d figured he’d take the Mass Pike, New York State was closer that way. Looks like others had the same idea. They should have left yesterday, just like Janice said...
They heard about accidents en route from Joe Harrison in the WEYE copter. Traffic monitors were the only private planes allowed in the skies over New England. Some in fixed wing and some helicopters, these airwaves flyers that hovered daily over metropolitan areas at peak traffic periods alerting drivers to what lay ahead on their homeward commute, were vital support during this sudden crush to abandon New England. Their eyes in the sky were able to spot trouble points and focus emergency vehicles at a time when ground services were unable to cruise about freely. They had been making flights all night. That they were still at it on the morning of March 17 was a tribute to their courage or foolhardiness, take your pick.
“We shoulda taken 93,” said Janice Guaranga for the third time.
“We been over that,” growled Mike. “Susie, don’t lean out the window.”
“Nothing’s happening, why are we stopped?” asked his daughter, age twelve.
“Cause we shoulda taken 93,” repeated Janice.
“Did you hear him? Did you listen, huh? Joe Harrison said Boston’s locked up tight and so’s 128. So we take 93, to where? There’s no friggin place to get off it!”
Janice folded arms across her chest. “You know what time it is? It’s almost seven o’clock. We got just five hours to get out of Mass. Then we’re dead.”
Susie started to cry.
“Geez, Janice, whyn’t you just break her arm! It’s okay, Suze. This trip’s just a precaution. It’s probably all a big bluff. Six billion, and all they done was send six letters! I shoulda sent one to the mayor; think he’d pay me a couple mill? What I don’t like is leavin Maple Street.”
“I sure wasn’t going to stay there!”
“But everybody was leavin: the Gillises, the Santiagos, the Velises, the whole street. Nobody’s left to look after the houses. Maybe this is all a big scheme to scare people out of town so they can burglarize the houses, just take whatever they want.”
Janice turned to look at him. “You think that might be it?”
“Well it could be, couldn’t it?”
Janice thought about it. “They’re not going to bother with Lawrence when they got Newton and Brookline and money places like that.”
A few seconds of silence. All Janice could stand. “Oh Mike, suppose it’s a bomb. All kinds of countries have atomic bombs now, Koreans, Indians, Pakistanis anybody can get a hold of them.” She turned to him. “If an atomic bomb went off in the center of Boston, how far away would you have to be to be safe?”
“I don’t know. Fifty miles?”
“How far are we from Boston right now?”
