Earthway (2 page)

Trying to
remain calm, Ella glanced around for Ford, her mouth suddenly very dry and her heart hammering.

Ford looked up, notes in hand, and saw her expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, stepping up beside her.

“Pipe bomb. Get everyone out of this building as quickly as you can,” she whispered.

He nodded, then turned to face the room full of students. “Welcome, everyone. This afternoon is
so nice that I’ve decided to speak outdoors. In order to begin on time, I’d like everyone to proceed immediately to the shaded benches in the commons outside the student union building. I’ll join you there as soon as I gather up my materials.”

Once people began leaving, Ford glanced back at Ella. “I’ll set off the fire alarm as soon as the room’s empty. After that, what do you need me to do?”

“Go outside with the others, keep everyone clear, and call 911. We need our explosives expert here as soon as possible.”

“I’ve had some training with explosives. Remember my background,” he added softly. “I can do more to help.”

“No. I need you to let the other instructors know what’s going on, then make sure the rest of the buildings are evacuated. This may not be the only bomb,” she said.

“All right. I’ll pass the word . . . and pray every step of the way.”

“Do that,” Ella answered in a whisper. She didn’t follow the Navajo Way, nor was she a practicing Christian like him, but right now she’d take help from wherever she could get it. Though she wasn’t sure that prayers did much of anything except offer comfort, they couldn’t hurt.

Soon Ella found herself all alone, the flashing
strobe only a slight annoyance compared to the din of the fire alarm. No matter how hard she fought against it, fear pried into her, the gut-clenching kind that made it nearly impossible for her to even think. With a bomb beneath her hand, knowing that each second could be her last, cold sweat poured down her body. Yet somehow, she had to keep her body steady and her hand from shaking.

The ever-growing
possibility that she’d never make it out in one piece—that she’d never see her daughter or Rose again—clawed into her. Blinking back tears, she forced herself to take a deep breath. It couldn’t be her time to die. She had too much left to do. In the back of her mind, she’d always planned on settling down again someday, maybe even having another child.

Seconds passed with agonizing inertia as
she waited for help to arrive. Trying to stay calm, she cleared her thoughts, and concentrated on what was in the bag. She wasn’t a bomb expert, but unless the explosive was C-4 or the equivalent, it probably wasn’t powerful enough to blow up the entire building. The nails—wicked shrapnel when flying at supersonic speed—told her it was an antipersonnel weapon.

Judging from the location of the
bomb, she guessed Ford had been the intended target. As a Christian minister on the Rez, he had his share of enemies. The question was, who hated him enough to want to kill him—along with maybe a half-dozen other innocents who just happened to be seated at the front of the room?

That brought up yet another question. Had the bomber somehow known
she’d
planned to be there, probably in a
front-row
seat? As a police officer responsible for putting a long list of criminals in jail—and the deaths of several over the years—she had no shortage of enemies.

Before she could give that further thought, Ella heard sirens outside, above the din of the alarm. The police station was close by, and their response time had been quick.

When Officer Ralph Tache failed to immediately appear, Ella reminded
herself that it would take him several minutes to suit up. The possibility that he’d arrive seconds too late ate at her, undermining her confidence. She took an unsteady breath, trying to suppress a bad case of the shakes.

The book bag was heavy, and she was relieved to finally see a big shadow appear in the doorway. It was Ralph, suited up in his PPE—personal protective equipment—and carrying
a heavy ceramic-plated vest for her.

Looking more like a GI astronaut than a police officer, he shut off the annoying alarm, then waddled over in his heavily armored suit. “How long was Reverend Tome supposed to speak today?” he asked without preamble, as he put down the duffle bag that held his equipment. His words sounded hollow behind the clear, thick faceplate, and unnaturally soft after
the din of the alarm.

“Forty minutes—then twenty minutes for discussion,” she answered. If there was a timer, and that appeared likely based on the circuit board she’d seen, the bomb was probably set to go off during that time period. Ella looked down at her watch. “The class was scheduled to end at five, but we have no idea when the bomb was left here.”

Without touching either her or the book
bag, Ralph glanced inside. “I wish our PD had a portable x-ray machine,” he said. “There’s a lot of duct tape around the mechanism, but I can still make out a battery, and what I think is an electronic timer on the circuit board. Typically, pipe bombs are filled with black powder.” His voice was as calm as if he’d just given her a weather update. “Dynamite and
other high explosives usually don’t
require a container. I’m going to use a high-powered water gun to short out the circuits. After that, I’ll haul the device out of here and put it in the vault.”

“You know what you’re doing, Ralph,” Ella said in a surprisingly steady voice.

“I appreciate your trust. Just don’t move your hand yet. I don’t think there’s a pressure switch, but we don’t want to put that to the test,” he said, helping
her put on the extra vest. As soon as that was done, he slipped his now-gloved hand over hers, in the same place as hers, and gave her a nod. “Okay, let go and step back.”

Ella didn’t breathe again until she’d completed his instructions. Every instinct she had told her to run as far away from the building as possible, but she remained where she was, several steps from Ralph. “Tell me how I can
help you.”

“I’ve got the protective suit. I can handle this,” he said. “Go outside.”

“You may still need an extra pair of hands, and I’m already here. I’ll duck down behind one of these tables, and you let me know if you need my help.”

He considered it, then nodded. “Deal.”

Ella moved the chairs away from the farthest table, then tipped it on its side, using the two-inch-thick top as a shield.
As she watched, Ralph opened the book bag wider and studied the bomb. Then, moving slowly, he pulled back his hand, and placed the bag gently on the floor. A moment later he stepped away from the bag, and brought out a high-pressure water gun.

Ella knew it was protocol, but she could feel her skin crawling. “Are you sure about using that thing?” She was shivering, but her entire body was covered
with sweat. The badger fetish around her neck felt scalding hot, too, but with her own body temperature rising because of the vest, she didn’t know whether to make something of it or not.

“Super soaking usually works. Don’t worry. Once the circuits are saturated with water, I’ll take this outside and place it in the containment vessel. Stay low.” He aimed the nozzle at the open bag, pinned the
straps down with his foot, then soaked the interior thoroughly. Finally, with a satisfied grin, he turned and gave her a thumbs up. “Let me check things out just to be sure. Then we can go outside.”

Ella relaxed and took an easy breath. No one would die today. The bomb was inoperable.

Ralph took out a metal manipulating tool, then extended the telescoping rod. As he grabbed the straps of the
soaked bag with a clamp, raising it off the ground a few inches, there was a blinding flash and a roar.

T
he table slammed into Ella like a wooden fist, hurling her backwards, and her head hit the wall with a crack. Alternating waves of darkness and light swept over her, but she fought to stay conscious.

As her vision came back into focus, she pushed away the table, which was blocked by chairs and pieces of other tables that had been thrown against it by the
blast. It took all her strength just to clear enough space to stand in the gray pallor that now encompassed the room.

The air was filled with smoke and the overwhelming smell of gunpowder. With the fluorescent lights shattered, it was difficult to see through the thick haze. Leaning against the wall for support, she edged forward on rubbery legs. “Ralph? Come on, buddy. Talk to me,” she said,
coughing.

Ella called out his name several more times, but there was no answer.

Slowly, she worked her way through the wreckage of table and chairs, orienting herself with the help of the light coming through the open door. With every step, her boots crunched on broken glass and plastic from the light fixtures. There was something sticky and slippery on the floor, too,
and it made walking difficult.
Although she couldn’t see clearly, the coppery scent told her it was blood.

“Ralph!” she called out again.

Hearing a gurgling sound ahead, she moved forward, finding footing difficult on the shredded metal and chunks of wood that covered the floor.

As the haze began to clear, she was able to make out a dark shape against the wall below the chalkboard. Ralph had been blown backwards away from
the bomb, and was sitting with his back to the wall.

When she got up close, Ella saw that a nail had imbedded itself in the clear face plate, but thank goodness it hadn’t gone all the way through. Nails were also stuck in the fabric of his protective suit, which was blackened and shredded in places.

“I’m here,” she said, reaching his side. “The EMTs are probably on their way, too, so hang on.”

“Something caught me in the side. Must have ricocheted off the wall and penetrated between the armor plates. . . .”

He began coughing, and in the dim light, Ella saw blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t talk,” she said softly, sitting next to him. “You’ll be okay.”

An officer appeared in the doorway a second later. “Get the EMTs in here,” Ella snapped. “We’ve got a man down.”

As the seconds passed, Ella held Ralph’s hand, encouraging him, though he appeared to have lost consciousness.

Finally, rescue personnel came in and Ella moved out of the way to give them room to work. She stood beside the chalk board, which had been cracked by a jagged piece of pipe the size of her fist. At least the portable electric lantern they’d brought in provided much-needed illumination.

As the dust settled, one EMT checked Ralph’s vital signs while his partner did a visual inspection and found the
source of the bleeding. “The ballistic cloth was punctured by some really nasty stuff,” he said, dialing the hospital, and getting instructions directly from the emergency-room doctor on call.

As the rescue team worked to stabilize Ralph, Ella felt someone touch her arm. She looked
over and saw it was her partner and second cousin, Justine Goodluck.

“It’s bad, real bad,” Ella whispered.

“I know, but Ralph’s getting the help he needs now. You and I should step outside and let the EMTs work,” Justine answered.

Ella knew her partner was right, but she couldn’t make herself leave. She still wasn’t even sure what had happened. In the blink of an eye, the situation had gone
from under control to total chaos.

After removing his heavy armored suit, two EMTs placed Ralph on a gurney and hurried past Ella and Justine. The third member of the team was picking up their gear when Ella went up to him.

“Is my officer going to make it?” she asked quickly.

“It’s hard to say. He took a piece of shrapnel through his side, maybe a nail, judging from the wound. The suit protected
his front and his spine, but the sides . . . the armor’s not so thick there. A bullet or a blunt object wouldn’t have penetrated, but something slim and sharp, like a knife or nail, can slip through sometimes.”

“How bad is it?” Seeing his reluctance to reply, she added, “Best guess.”

“We can’t tell what kind of internal damage he’s suffered, but from the loss of blood, I’d say it’s going to
be touch-and-go for a while.”

Along with Justine, they picked their way through the debris and walked toward the exit. As soon as they were outside, Ella breathed in her first lungful of clean air. She took a quick survey to assure herself that nobody else had been
hurt by the blast. Nobody was down anywhere, so she assumed the building had contained the explosive force of the bomb. Ford was
at the forefront of the gathered crowd of students, standing taller than most of them, craning his neck to see. She managed a wave in his direction, and saw him wave back.

“You look like crap, Ella,” Justine said, her voice gentler than her words denoted. “You’d better have those cuts and bruises checked out.”

“Later. Right now let’s cordon off the crime scene and get to work. One of ours is
down, and the sleazeball who did this to him is going to pay,” Ella said, her anger coming through loud and clear.

While Justine returned to her unit and opened the trunk to get her gear, the ambulance raced away toward the hospital. The EMT who’d remained behind came up to Ella with a medical kit and insisted on examining her. After checking her vitals and disinfecting her many cuts, he released
her, asking that she visit her doctor for a more thorough checkup as soon as possible.