Prophet by Suzanne Leonhard

Author:Suzanne Leonhard [Leonhard, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798616738509
Publisher: Kingdom Media
Published: 2020-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

In the early hours before first light, I stood with Eli on the catwalk between the twin six-story digesters and tugged the hood of my new Canada Goose jacket tighter over my ears. The chilly air carried with it an uncommon bite for deep summer. The temperature would rise with the sun, but instead of the ninety degrees usually seen on the Palouse in late July, the most we could hope for was something in the low seventies. Eastern Washington had essentially become Alaska.

I lifted the night-vision binoculars to my eyes, looking toward the horizon through the glowing mist. I could see for miles in every direction. To the north, the bright waning moon reflected off the dead, towering turbines of a bent and broken wind farm. To the east, the winding Yakima River rushed toward the Columbia. Beyond that lay the buckled, ash-encrusted pavement of Interstate 82. To the west rose the pine-dotted foothills of the Cascades, peaking at fourteen thousand feet on the summit of Mount Rainier.

When the volcano first blew, many suspected Rainier or even Mount Saint Helens, but David Donner had delivered the shocking news about Yellowstone, describing the massive caldera eruption as an extinction-level event. Now, looking southwest over the sprawling city of Yakima, I finally understood the magnitude of that statement. Beneath a heavy blanket of grimy smoke from a thousand barrel fires sat downtown districts half-swallowed by a hard layer of ashcrete. I could see collapsed buildings, enormous sinkholes, and fissured pavement that had swallowed city busses. Further south, in the lowlands, the Yakima River had reclaimed much of its former territory, drowning entire neighborhoods, and transforming others into little islands of desolation.

“There.” Eli pointed toward the distant southwest.

I lifted the binoculars higher.

“That’s the Facility.”

I adjusted the focus, squinting toward the glowing horizon where the gray ash plain met the pine green foothills. I couldn’t discern the shape of any buildings at that distance. I handed him the binoculars. “About how far?”

“Ten, maybe eleven miles.” He raised the binos to his own eyes to look for himself. “It’s a four-hour walk, barring any surprises. Once we reach the city, we keep to the crowds. Meaters love strays.”

As he swept the binoculars left and right, scrutinizing the landscape, I assessed the modified shoulder holster he wore over the top of his flannel shirt, tailor-made for his sawed-off shotgun. My eyes drifted down to the automatic sidearm he had clipped to his belt. He was loaded for bear. He’d warned me that this Facility was a dangerous place. I was starting to believe him. And I felt a little guilty for imposing.

“You know, if you just draw me a map, I’m sure I can find the place on my own.”

He lowered the binoculars to scowl at me. “This isn’t a trip to Walmart, son. This place is full of men who’d rather cut your throat and leave you in an aisle to bleed than look at you twice.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

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