The Back of the Turtle (30 page)

GABRIEL COULD FEEL THE MUD SQUISH ABOUT IN HIS SHOES
as he walked across the parking lot. It was a disagreeable sensation and reminded him of baby diapers.

“The hound’s uncanny,” shouted Crisp. “I wagered you’d find a captain’s share of inconvenience and bother on your journey, but Master Dog said ye would be along shortly and none the worse for wear.”

“I appreciate your waiting for me.”

“Nay, we didn’t wait,” said Crisp, “for as ye can see, we’ve been engaged in some measure of toil.”

The back of the Ford was filled with appliances and furniture.

“Are you moving?”

“Nicholas Crisp. Finder-Minder.” Crisp moved to the side of the truck and gave a large cast iron stove a pat. “This be the grandmother’s,” he said. “Her pride and joy. Many’s the time I stood before it and warmed my blood to the boiling.”

“Mara’s grandmother?”

“The same.”

“I thought the stove had been stolen.”

“Stolen?” Crisp thought on this for a moment. “There was thievery, to be sure. Enough to raise the hackles and sour the
milk, but much was moved into storage for safekeeping. For when the People return.”

“I don’t think Mara knows that.”

Crisp slapped his head with his hand. “Have I done it again? Forgot to mention the matter to Mistress Mara?”

“She’ll be happy to have the stove back.”

“And there be the reward, certain sure,” said Crisp. “Still, the omission’s a worry-weight on my faculties.”

“Are those the appliances from the house, too?”

“They are indeed.”

“And the table and the chairs? The bed?”

“Matching cuffs and collars, near as I can remember,” said Crisp. “I marked the lot so I could put them back as needed, but some of the sign has faded, and a measure of speculation is in play.”

Soldier came around the truck, snorting and mumbling to himself.

“Yes, yes,” said Crisp, holding up his hands. “I do talk too much, though it’s no great mischief, for I loves conversation and the company that comes with it.”

Soldier waited for Gabriel to slide to the middle before he jumped in. Crisp climbed behind the wheel.

“Keep an eye,” shouted Crisp, “for she’s heavy at the topsail and likely to capsize in a rolling sea.”

Crisp took the turns slowly, keeping the truck flat and level, but when the road began to rise, he pulled over and stopped.

“I was optimistic,” he shouted. “She’ll tip on the next tack for sure, unless we brace the cargo.”

“How?”

“Master Dog is of no use in this matter, for he’s all brain, and I must tend the tiller. Which leaves yourself and your strong back.”

“So Soldier is the brains, and I’m the brawn.”

“Control the top,” said Crisp, “and the rest will follow.”

There was no room to stand in the back of the truck.

“Ye needs ride the bumper,” said Crisp. “Both feet here. One hand on the tailgate, the other on the fridge.”

“Stand on the bumper?”

“Keep her upright, and the rest is clear sailing.”

The bumper was flat and corrugated. Gabriel tried to angle his feet, but there was little room.

“I don’t think this is going to work.”

Crisp didn’t help the situation. He wasn’t as careful as he had been before. Gabriel’s standing on the back end had given Crisp an unwarranted confidence, and he careened up the road, diving into the bumps and potholes and heaving out the other side. Gabriel bolted his feet to the bumper as best he could, took a death grip on the tailgate, and set his whole body against the white enamel box that wanted to tip on him like a chainsawed tree.

All the way up the road to the reserve, Crisp shouted instructions from behind the wheel, while Soldier sent sheets of slobber flying out the passenger window.

“Brace! Damn your eyes! Brace!”

When they got to calm ground and the houses were in sight, Crisp stopped the truck and came back to check on Gabriel.

“Brilliant!” shouted Crisp. “For we thought we’d lost ye to the last wave.”

Gabriel couldn’t feel his fingers, and the muscles in his legs were locked. He pulled his hand away from the refrigerator and discovered it was cramped in position.

“Are ye in need of assistance?”

“I’m okay.”

“For ye appear to be somewhat sprung.”

“Maybe some help getting down.”

The ground felt strange, and he had to take a few steps to correct for tilt and balance.

“Hop in,” said Crisp, “for she’s a smooth sea, now, and a deep harbour.”

The passenger door handle was covered in drool.

“I think I’ll walk,” said Gabriel.

“As ye wish,” said Crisp. “Master Dog and I shall disembark the cargo, while we awaits your arrival.”

GABRIEL’S
legs were still stiff from the ride up the hill on the bumper, and he didn’t stop limping until he got to the water tower. It was probably the sunshine, but, as he walked through the townsite, the reserve didn’t feel quite as lonely and abandoned.

Crisp and Soldier were waiting for him on the porch. They had been busy. The only things left on the truck were both stoves, the refrigerator, and a mattress.

“I could have finished it myself,” Crisp sang out. “But Master Dog insisted I wait, so ye might have a hand in the ordering of this new world.”

“Where’s Mara?”

Soldier grumbled and chased his butt around the porch.

“Not answering the flags or pipes.” Crisp jammed the tongue of the dolly under the refrigerator. “Might have gone to town on foot and been missed by us going and coming.”

“Then why didn’t she go with me?”

“Thought about it later perhaps,” said Crisp. “Or she might have gone back to the house for something forgot and needed.”

“She’ll be surprised when she gets back.”

“Lend a hand, now,” said Crisp, “for there’s no surprise but at the finish.”

IT
didn’t take long to get the truck unloaded. Putting the bed together took more time than it should have, and both men had to wrestle with connecting the stovepipe to the venting collar in the ceiling.

“The electricity will have to be arranged,” said Crisp, “but the water should be little more than an obliging valve and a long wrench.”

“You can get the water working?”

“The main’s at the community centre. It were turned off when the People was removed.”

“So, we can just turn it back on.”

“That would be the plan,” said Crisp. “Course, the pump might be in the scuppers or the valve froze up, but if all’s well, we’ll have water by evening.”

Soldier led the way. He was off the porch at the run, dancing across the ground. Crisp and Gabriel followed.

“Did your mum ever talk about the Smoke?”

“I don’t think she had any good memories of the place.”

“There’s truth in that,” said Crisp. “Her dad ran off, you see. Mother died hard. She herself was badly used by some of the boys in town.”

“But she came back.”

“Salmon, birds, turtles. They all come back.” Crisp began walking again. “Humans ain’t no different. Don’t need a reason.”

THE
community centre was white clapboard with green trim, raised out of the ground on a cinder-block foundation.

“Many a feast were had here.” Crisp opened the door and stepped across the threshold. “Singing, drumming, dancing, eating. All the fine things in life.”

“Sounds a little romantic.”

“Aye, so it does, for there were drunkenness as well, with hard words exchanged over money and women, and hot blood leading to altercations. It were no paradise, if that be the question. But it were a community.”

Gabriel looked around. The room was a long rectangle, with a basketball standard at either end. One of the rims was missing. It had been pleasant in the sun. Inside the building was chilly and damp.

Soldier appeared at the doorway, sniffed once, and then raced away into the warmth of the day.

“They would set the drum up here and the tables with the food over there. There were folding tables and folding chairs, a microphone for the announcements, the storytelling, and the
bingo.” Crisp rubbed his hands together. “I once won a mountain bike in a blackout game.”

“The water shutoff?”

“Nostalgia,” said Crisp. “It will surely lead a body astray. Come now, for there’s more to do than listen to windy tales.” The basement of the centre was dark and gloomy. The only light came from the narrow windows set high on the wall, where the foundation broke ground. Crisp made his way to the far corner, wrench in hand. Gabriel moved closer to one of the windows and looked into the rafters.

“Here’s a puzzle,” Crisp shouted to Gabriel.

“Another one over here,” Gabriel shouted back.

Crisp appeared out of the shadows. “The water’s already been turned on.”

“Mara?”

“Perhaps,” said Crisp. “Perhaps. What have ye found?”

“The wiring,” said Gabriel, pointing to the heavy beams that ran the length of the basement. “Much of the wiring has been cut away.”

CRISP TOUCHED THE END OF THE WIRE THAT WAS STILL
attached to the ceramic insulators. “Clean cuts,” he said. “Bright and recent. I was wondering how he was to bind it all together.”

“Bind what together?”

“Why, the tower,” said Crisp. “Have ye not seen the tower the boy’s building on the beach?”

“Sonny?”

“You must admire the lad’s ingenuity.”

“He took the wire?”

Soldier appeared at one of the windows and began scratching at the glass.

“It seems that Master Dog would like a moment of our time,” said Crisp. “Come along, for he’s not one to be kept waiting.”

“He’s a dog.”

“And what better thing is there to be?”

Soldier was waiting for Crisp and Gabriel when they emerged from the basement. He skipped off the steps, ran out for fifty yards, and then came back on the fly. He began groaning and throwing himself at Gabriel’s legs.

“Yes, yes,” said Crisp, “we can see that ye has an important matter to put before us.”

Gabriel watched the dog as he took off on another rambling loop. As Soldier turned to come back, Gabriel saw it.

Smoke.

There was smoke coming out of one of the chimneys. Smoke the colour of fog.

“Your sister’s place,” said Crisp. “And that’s smoke true enough.”

“Mara?”

“If it’s not,” said Crisp, “then it must be a surprise. And life don’t have enough of them.”

This time, Soldier didn’t come back. He kept going, striking a straight line to the house with the smoke. Crisp raised his head and expanded his nostrils.

“Do ye smell that?” Crisp licked his lips and drew a hand down his beard.

Gabriel sniffed at the air.

“Put your lungs into it,” said Crisp.

“Food.”

“Food, indeed,” said Crisp. “And let’s hope we’re not too late.”

Crisp hurried off towards the house, leaning forward, his nose on point. Gabriel had to hurry to keep up. When they got to the porch, Crisp held up a hand.

“Best to come in quietly, so as not to frighten dinner,” said Crisp, and he opened the front door gently and stepped inside. Gabriel stayed at his shoulder.

The scene was unexpected. Mara was sitting on the floor, surrounded by plates of food. And she wasn’t alone. Soldier was curled up by the fireplace, next to the trunk from the beach.
And sitting around the room on the floor and on makeshift beds were a dozen other people.

Mara waved a hand at him. “I think you two know each other.” It took Gabriel a moment, and then he recognized the young girl he had pulled out of the water.

“Company,” boomed Crisp, and he whacked Gabriel on the shoulder. “Ballast and barnacles, but we’ve got company!”

The girl smiled and got to her feet. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, and she began to sing the song that Gabriel had sung on the rocks that foggy morning.

And one by one, the other people stood and sang with her.

DORIAN ARRIVED AT THE TELEVISION STUDIO EARLY, SO HE
would have time to relax in the green room and go over the talking points that Winter had prepared for him.

Athabasca River? Tragedy.

Oil extraction? National priority.

Safety protocols? The best in the industry.

Environmental damage? Minimal.

Legal liability? Unfortunate accident.

It was all a waste of time. North American Norm didn’t give a damn about the environment. Cancel a favourite television show. Slap another tax on cigarettes. Stop serving beer at baseball and hockey games. That was serious.

Spoil a river somewhere in Humdrum, Alberta? Good luck getting Norm off the sofa.

Of course, Dorian wasn’t going to say any of that on national television. He was going to smile his charming smile, plump up his voice, drop it into a soothing octave, and look regal. No one was going to listen to the interview. It would be his appearance that carried the day, his manner that set the agenda.

Was he well dressed? Did he look honest? Did he sound trustworthy?

“Mr. Asher?”

The woman had a clipboard in one hand and a stopwatch in the other.

“Ready, are we?”

“Ms. Khan has to do the top of the hour news,” said the young woman, “and then the two of you will talk. Do you need any coffee, water?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then if you would follow me.”

MANISHA
Khan was on a set made up to look like a model living room in an upscale furniture store, talking about a murdersuicide gone wrong, in which the perpetrator had died and his intended victim had escaped with only minor injuries.

Dorian watched Khan work. The woman was sincere and efficient. She exuded power and compassion, with a strong sensual undertone. And she knew how to dress. Tonight Khan had selected a simple business suit with a dark skirt, a plum blouse, and a soft grey jacket with black and green flecks.

Franco Mirabelli perhaps. Or Vivian Shyu.

They would look fantastic together on the set.

“Mr. Asher.” Manisha was up from her anchor seat and on her way to where he was waiting. “I really appreciate your agreeing to be on the show.”

“Always happy to chat with our friends at the fourth estate.”

Manisha put her hands on her hips. “I do believe you’re trying to charm me.”

“Just a simple businessman.”

“Who happens to be the head of one of the largest and most powerful corporations in the world.”

“You can’t believe everything you read at the checkout counter.”

“We have about twenty minutes, and I want to cover as much territory as possible.”

“You ask,” said Dorian, practising his smile. “I’ll answer.”

A large man, who looked as though he stocked shelves at a big box store, stepped onto the set.

“On in ten, nine, eight, seven …”

As the man counted down, Dorian closed his eyes and reminded himself who he was. A warrior. A scholar. The Regent of Domidion, Protector of the Realm.

“Good evening,” Manisha began, “and welcome to
En Garde.
”

Dorian drew in a long breath and opened his eyes.

“Tonight we’re talking with Dorian Asher, CEO of Domidion International. Thank you for coming tonight, Mr. Asher.”

“Dorian, please,” said Dorian.

“Not one of the company’s better days.”

“Energy extraction has its difficulties.”

“I’m not sure the word ‘difficulty’ quite describes the destruction of the Athabasca River and the Mackenzie River system.”

“We have crews on the river right now. We expect that it will take several weeks to clean up the discharge. And we will be there until the cleanup is complete.”

“We’ve talked to experts in the field who say that the damage is already done, that the cleanup is simply for show.”

Dorian flashed a smile and shook his head sadly. “Let me assure you that Domidion doesn’t spend millions of dollars simply for show.”

“Well,” said Manisha, “this
was
Domidion’s fault.”

Dorian held up a hand. It was something that politicians did to cut off debate, and he liked the gesture. “It may not be quite that simple. As you know, Domidion has been the subject of a series of cyber attacks by a terrorist group known as the Zebras.”

Khan leaned forward. “Are you suggesting that the holding ponds were sabotaged?”

“At this time, we have no evidence to suggest sabotage.” Dorian paused to let everyone catch up to the idea. “But I can tell you that we have an investigative team on site and that we’re co-operating with provincial and federal authorities.”

“Feels like a smokescreen.”

“Due diligence, Manisha,” said Dorian. “Due diligence.”

Khan turned to one of the cameras. “We’re told that the Athabasca may never recover. What do you say to people whose health and livelihoods have been destroyed by the spills.”

“The modern world runs on energy, Manisha. Domidion can’t change that. The spills are unfortunate, but our first priority has to be the security of the nation and the protection of our children’s future.”

Dorian was getting bored. If the questions didn’t present any more of a challenge, he might fall asleep.

“That all sounds brave and responsible, Dorian,” said Manisha, “but Domidion’s track record with regard to disasters such as the Athabasca River is not all that sterling.”

Dorian ran a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid,” he said, his voice full of fatherly concern, “you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

Khan sat back in her chair. “Let’s talk about Kali Creek.”

Suddenly, Dorian was awake. Wide awake.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Kali Creek,” Khan repeated slowly. “March 9, 2011.”

Dorian held up a hand, but Khan continued.

“An experimental defoliant known as GreenSweep was used near Kali Creek in British Columbia to clear undergrowth for pipeline construction. The crew spraying the defoliant made a mistake with the concentration, and the result was a massive environmental disaster.”

Dorian managed a smile. “Defoliants are used for many applications.”

“GreenSweep was developed and manufactured by Domidion during your term as CEO, wasn’t it?”

“I’d like to talk about our cleanup efforts on the Athabasca. I’ve brought some footage that I’m sure your viewers will find interesting.”

“A storm put the defoliant into Kali Creek, and it was washed into the Smoke River and then into the ocean at Samaritan Bay. One hundred and thirty-seven people lost their lives. Over three hundred were hospitalized.”

“Manisha …”

“A Dr. Gabriel Quinn headed the GreenSweep project, and, according to Dr. Warren Thicke, Dr. Quinn has gone missing. Would you like to comment on that?”

DORIAN
didn’t stop at the green room to gather his overcoat. He’d have someone pick it up later. Khan wanted to get a photo, and her assistant asked Dorian to sign the guest book. Instead
he walked straight from the set to the Front Street entrance, where the limo was waiting for him.

It was only after the car had crossed University that Dorian realized he had no idea where he wanted to go.