Fracked (4 page)

“I just want this to stop,” Earl said as he stared at the pavement. “Other people live here, you know. It’s not fair to them…”

Hahn signed the check, tore it out of the checkbook, and handed it to Earl.

Earl took the check and his eyes widened as he looked at the amount.

“Fair? What is fair, really Earl?” Hahn asked as he put his checkbook back into his coat. “We’ve breathed new life into this ghost town. We’ve created jobs. Sure, there may be an occasional issue that arises, but in the grand scheme of things… it’s just collateral damage. It’s a part of doing business and every business has a price.”

Earl folded the check and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans, shaking his head. He kept his eyes on the ground and his face was shadowed by his cowboy hat.

Hahn walked next to Earl and patted him on the shoulder with a smile.

“Aw, shucks, Earl, don’t be so gloomy,” Hahn said. “I think you’re just looking at this from the wrong perspective. Turn around and look at the lake… What do you see?”

“A poisoned lake,” Earl said in a low voice without looking up or turning around.

“What about over there?” Hahn said as he gestured towards the horizon.

Earl glanced up and looked at the drill sites that stretched out for miles. They looked hazy through the diesel fumes.

“Just a bunch of oil wells,” Earl mumbled as he lowered his head again.

Hahn nodded.

“See? That’s why you need to change your perspective,” Hahn said. “I looked at that half-empty lake and all I saw were a few dead fish.” He pointed towards the drill sites. “However, when I look ahead, towards the future, I see money, lots and lots of money. In the grand scheme of things, which holds more value, your dead fish or the revenue our company is providing to your town?”

Hahn slapped Earl on the back with a smile.

Earl startled but kept his eyes on the ground.

“Change your perspective and your whole life changes,” Hahn said as he started walking back towards his Audi. “Have a good rest of the day, Earl.”

When Earl finally looked up, the Audi was gone.

He pulled the check out from his pocket and stared down at it.

“Goddammit,” he muttered with disgust.

He put the check back in his pocket and glanced down at his watch.

It was almost five, but he could make it.

He got into his truck, pulled out of the empty parking lot, and turned left onto TX-72 as he hurried towards the bank.

Hahn sat in the back seat and stared at his phone, waiting until he finally got a signal. He dialed a number and put the phone against his ear as he stared out the window.

“Yes?”

“The situation down in Tres Rios is contained,” Hahn said. “The problem was… as we expected.”

“Groundwater?”

“No, it was the lake this time.”

“Bad casings again?”

“No, this time I think that they dumped the wastewater into the lake to save time because the waste injection wells are being overworked.”

“This is unacceptable and expensive.”

“I completely agree.”

“Go the site and deal with this situation.”

Hahn glanced down at his Rolex.

“It’s almost five here. The site supervisor and daytime foremen will be leaving shortly. I’ll have to go there first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes. Clean house if you must.”

“I understand.”

“Give us a status update when you’re finished.”

“I will.”

The person on the other end disconnected the call.

Hahn sighed and put his phone away, shaking his head. He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

“Yes sir?” the driver asked.

“Find the cleanest looking hotel you can find in this armpit of a town,” Hahn said as he sat back and stared out the window. “Unfortunately it looks like we’re spending the night here.”

John and Mike walked amongst a steady procession of dirty workers as they filed past the time clock towards the vanpool parking lot with the setting sun on their back. The men’s uniforms were covered with sweat and dirt. They walked with their hunched backs and saggy shoulders.

It was eerily quiet.

Going the opposite direction, the swing shift workers shuffled past them into the worksite like mindless zombies.

Tracy’s trailer was locked and his truck was gone; he slipped away hours ago.

John glanced over at Mike.

Mike’s face was sunburnt and his cheeks were covered with grease. Judging by the stains, his new uniform already looked broken in.

“How was the first day?” John asked.

“Harder than I expected,” Mike admitted as he stared blankly ahead, exhausted.

John chuckled.

“Why do you think we’re getting paid so much?” John asked.

The group started to break apart as they each made their way to their respective vans.

Mike sighed and shook his head.

“I knew it’d be hard… I just didn’t have any idea I’d be doing so much,” Mike said. “Honestly, I thought that I’d just be driving a forklift.”

John laughed again.

“Yeah… You’ll learn pretty fast that everyone gets their hands dirty around here,” John said. “If the job was easy then everybody would be working down here, you know?”

Mike reached up and massaged his aching left shoulder, groaning.

“I sure found that out today,” Mike muttered as he climbed into the van.

John crawled into the van and sat next to him, cracking his neck. He tossed his hardhat by his feet, closed his eyes, and leaned the stiff seat back as far as it would go.

The others entered the van and in a few moments they were on their way back towards the highway.

Tejano music started coming through the radio as the signal picked up.

The others in the van started chattering amongst themselves.

John didn’t even care about the music selection since the air conditioning felt so exquisite on his face. He took his unlit cigarette and finally lit it. He took a deep, long drag. He cracked his window and blew the smoke out with a deep sigh.

After a few minutes his cigarette was gone and the ashes were all over his chest.

John brushed the ashes off and flicked the cigarette butt out of the window. He looked over at Mike, half-asleep.

“So… are you coming in tomorrow or is this goodbye?” John casually asked as he rolled up the window.

Mike was leaning back in his seat with his hardhat still on, eyes closed.

“Hell yeah man,” Mike muttered. He opened his eyes and glanced at John with a grin. “It’s going to take more than a sore back and a little sunburn to take me out of commission.”

Mike closed his eyes again and pulled the hardhat down over his face, relaxing into the seat.

John studied the kid and nodded, impressed.

“Maybe you do have what it takes,” John said as he closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. He leaned back in his seat and tried to enjoy the bumpy ride, ignoring his aching body.

After thirty minutes of stop-and-go traffic along Tres Rios’ main street, the van finally arrived at the Love’s Travel Center. It was located just off of the only exit from I-37 that led into town. Tres Rios was a mere eight miles away from the travel center and that made it an ideal location for the vanpool to meet.

Since it was two hours to San Antonio, forty-five minutes to Beeville, and an hour to Corpus, the stop was convenient for everyone.

Personally John hated the vanpool, but he didn’t have a choice since the jobsite didn’t allow personal vehicles to park on the premises– unless of course you were somebody important.

The Love’s Travel Center was a massive truck stop that was open 24/7 and served as a central hub for hungry tourists headed towards the beach. It also served as a convenient stop for truckers who were headed to and from the drill sites. The gargantuan building sold everyday convenience store items like fountain drinks, lottery tickets, and basic groceries in the front of the store. The back side of the store sold last-minute gifts, DVDs, odd trinkets, and specialty items catered towards professional truckers. The travel center also featured a Subway restaurant and a McDonald’s inside and neither restaurant was ever empty.

Gasoline pumps were situated along the front of the building, while the diesel pumps and semi-truck parking areas were located in the back.

The van pulled to the dirt parking lot next to the travel center, the area designated for Triburton’s vanpools, and parked in a row of identical looking vans.

The occupants poured out of the van and headed into the store wearing their dirty uniforms to stock up on their usual supply of beer, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco.

John tucked his hardhat under the crook of his arm and started walking the opposite direction towards his car.

He drove an old Ford sedan. It wasn’t anything fancy; the cloth seats were dirty and torn, the dash was cracked, and the tires were nearly bald, but it worked well enough for going back and forth to work.

“See you tomorrow,” Mike said as he limped towards his Toyota Camry.

John nodded and waved.

“Take it easy, kid,” John said as he opened his car door and tossed his hardhat on the passenger seat. “Remember… Icy Hot and hot showers are your friends for the first few weeks.”

Mike chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll remember that,” Mike said.

John grinned, got inside his car, and slammed the rusty door shut.

The heat was abysmal.

He stuck the key in the ignition and tried to start the engine.

After a few cranks and a plume of black smoke from the tailpipe, the engine started and hot air blew from the air conditioning vents.

Of all the things that had stopped working in the car during the years, he missed the air conditioning most of all.

John manually rolled down both front windows and turned on the radio.

A country station from Corpus started playing.

At least the radio works, he thought with a smile.

He pulled a cigarette out of his crushed pack and lit it, blowing the smoke out of the window as he drove out of the Love’s parking lot and turned onto a country road that stretched out into the horizon. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as an old Hank Williams song started playing.

The road leading to his house was surrounded by nothing but arid farmland and scattered homesteads that were miles apart from each other. The derelict wooden fences that lined the street were overgrown with thorny weeds and the remnants of rusty old tractors sat on the side of the road in the ditch, collecting dust. Most of the homes were abandoned, rotting, and had their windows boarded up. Others were empty and simply looked dark and ominous.

There were a few patchy corn fields, but they were dry and dying.

Towering oil wells, waste ejection wells, and natural gas wells covered the desolate farmland. Some of the wells were tapped dry while others were still surrounded by chain-link fences and had manned security shacks.

John made it a point to keep his attention focused on the bumpy road and not on the scenery. Semi-trucks sped past his car in the opposite direction as they headed into town. He flicked his cigarette butt out of the window and shifted in his uncomfortable seat.

A commercial played on the radio.

“Are you looking for an exciting and energetic career with unlimited growth potential?” a female asked as upbeat music played in the background. “Triburton is now hiring entry-level positions for our expansion of the Eagle Ford Shale operation. We offer competitive salary, paid training, and an excellent benefits package! Simply fill out the easy online application or visit one of our convenient local recruitment centers and sign up today! At Triburton we’re creating a safe, sustainable future for America and would like you to join our team. Visit us today at–”

John turned off the radio with a sour expression and drove the next three miles towards his house in silence.

He turned onto the dirt road that led to his house and stared out the window.

His acres were barren and the mesquite trees on his land were dead. The old abandoned cattle barn that sat in the middle of his property was in serious disrepair; the wood was rotting and the tin roof was falling apart. He mainly used it as a place to store his junk and pieces of scrap.

It depressed him to see what his family legacy had become.

He turned his attention towards the house and felt a little better.

It was a modest two-story brick home with an attached carport. Unlike the cattle barn, the home was in immaculate condition and had been renovated through the years. Even with the renovations the house managed to keep its country charm. It even had an old rooster weathervane on the highest point of the newly-shingled roof. A covered, screened-in patio wrapped around the entire house. The old cobblestone well, the very same well that John’s grandfather helped dig, sat next to the house alongside a massive propane tank.

John parked underneath the carport and trudged up the steps to his patio. He heard cicadas all around him.

As soon as he opened the screen door, he was ambushed by a four-legged ball of black fur.

“Oh calm down Lucy,” John said, laughing. “It’s just me.”

Lucy excitedly wagged her tail and kept her front paws on his chest. She stared at him with her soulful brown eyes and tried to lick his face. She was a big lab, but she seemed to think that she was still a small puppy.

“Okay… Okay… Enough of that,” John said as he ran his fingers through her thick coat, petting her and trying to dodge her licks. “Go on. Down girl, down.”

Lucy lowered her paws off of his chest and started prancing around him, panting with her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She was wagging her tail so furiously that her whole bottom half was shaking and bumping against the rocking chairs; she couldn’t even walk straight.

John glanced over at her bowls; the water one was full but the food bowl was licked clean.

“Are you hungry girl?” he asked as he leaned down to pet her.

Lucy barked and circled around him a few more times, looking up at him expectantly.

John laughed and nodded.

“Well! I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” he said with a grin as he opened the door and stepped inside. “I’ll be right back with something for both of us.”

Lucy got down on her haunches and stared at him with her ears perked up as he entered the house, whimpering quietly.

John kicked off his dirty boots and sat them in their usual spot next to the door. He sighed as he basked in the air conditioning and walked through the living room towards the kitchen.

The house was nicely appointed inside. The furniture was a little rustic but it held a certain charm that seemed to go along with the house. Naturally, Rebecca’s influence was everywhere when it came to the distressed European décor.

He didn’t know anything about that type of stuff.

If it wasn’t for his wife, the house would be decorated with neon signs and empty cans.

John sauntered into the kitchen, grabbed the bag of dog food out from underneath the sink and tucked it under his arm. He reached over and pulled a can of beer out of the fridge and ran the cool can across his sunburnt forehead with a smile.

Words couldn’t describe how exquisite such a simple pleasure felt.

He popped the top and took a greedy gulp of beer as he grabbed his cellphone off of the counter.

No missed calls, just one new text message from Rebecca.

He opened the text and read it with a smile. He took another sip and clumsily tapped out a reply across the glass touchscreen with his dirty thumb.

Satisfied with the message, he pressed ‘SEND’, sat the phone on the kitchen counter and walked outside onto the patio with his beer in one hand and the bag of dog food in the other.