Chapter 29, Happy Valley again
They had seen and heard the explosion from where the posse stood in the back parking lot and Sheriff Middlebrook was getting antsy.
"Ok, this' gone on fer long enough. Alan, c'mon an' let's get that door open an' them people out," Middlebrook said as he trotted towards the door. Several of the men of the posse followed, the rest stood still as Ed Sr. shook his head in dissaproval.
Down the loading ramp and up the small steps of the concrete loading dock to the door. With little thought about the radient heat coming off of the door or the burning from the handle and lever Middlebrook pressed down on the lever.
The door blew open before Middlebrook could so much as pull back on the handle. The force of the blast threw those around and near the door off of the loading dock and a plume of flame shot out from the opening. Those unlucky enough to be nearest the door opening became human torches writhing on the ground. The fire, fed new air from the outside shot up in intensity on the inside and by what would be a matter of controversy for years to come amoungst the locals as to the cause of the second explosion heard, did opening the door cause Vat four to explode with the change in pressure or did opening the door cause the fire to heat up and then cause the vat to burst it's seams would never really be known.
The force of the second explosion burst every window in the shop area and blew out the concrete wall behind the vats causing the roof to crumble immediatly as flames shot out of every new opening and an greenish hue colored the flames.
The blast knocked everyone down in the parking lot and showered concrete chunks and cinder block bricks all about. Aside from the shock of the suddenness of the disaster, no one outside was hurt, but that could not be said of thier vehichles. Hoods were dented inward, cabs crushed, sides dinged, and tires flattened. The group outside stood up slowly in awe of the fire and the crumbling building. The heat was unbearable and fed more by the chemicals inside that it seemed even the metal was on fire. There seemed little hope of anyone coming out of there now and a few brave souls ran down to the loading dock to see if any of the party who'd a moment ago had been running down the ramp were alive. But the heat from the fire stopped most short of thier goal.
The Tate's stood in awe as well but seemed less concerned about what they had done as they did their own health. A few men of the posse turned and looked at Ed Sr. with pained expressions. Ed Sr. shrugged in response as if to say "it wasn't my fault". A wailing could be heard from the parking lot and drew everyone's attention towards Ed Jr.'s squad car. It's roof was caved in and several cinder blocks lay in it's center and the passenger side had been forced inward from the force of the blast. The wailing came from inside his car. Slowly, as if drawn out of thier lethargy and fascination at the destruction around them, the men walked towards the car. The wailing ebbed and flowed in short bursts. Ed Jr. got to the car first and peered into the backseat. The infant, his ill-begotten daughter was knocked to the floor board of the back seat and had been knocked about from the pounding the car had taken. She was bleeding as the rear windws had been broken inward and shattered glass lay everywhere.
The men looked to one another and then to the Tate's then away from each accusatory glance of the others, each feeling the guilt of collective action and inaction. The wailing continued as did the roar of the fire that lit the parking lot in a queer sunset like hue. Silently the men, valley men who loved thier families, prayed at the dinner table for thier provender, and minded thier own buisness as a golden rule began to peel off to thier own vehicles and pull away from the conflaguration that began to roar anew. There was finality in the parting but not that of a job well done, but of a collective desire to have it all behind.
Ed Jr. forced open the driver's side door of his battered squad car and fished out the squaling child. It was his child, but even though he had gotten what he wanted even the pale light of the fire lighting the darkenss did not hide the crease of shame and worry on his face. The two Ed's, father and son, walked silently back to Ed Sr.'s old Chevy and climbed in, neither one saying a word. The ruins of the chemical plant lit the entire valley in faux sunrise and sent plumes of smoke high into the air. The valley had rid itself of its greatest nemisis; progress.
****
Jim had been studying the abandoned and burning car when he heard the explosion. Though the copse of trees hid the view of the source, it could only have been the Petro-Chem plant. The trees where lit with orange and a fire plume rose high above their tops. Jim's first thought was for all of the hill toppers who were there for the meeting and where he had no doubt he would find the posse. Theresa Shields was still in the drivers seat and slumped over the steering wheel, or who he could only guess was Theresa as the fire had burned whoever it was badly.
Jim knew it would be useless to do anything about it, but the compulsion to see it with his own eyes carried his feet down the road. Soon after he had started off again a string of headlights rounded the curve on Happy Valley Road and made thier way towards him. By ones and twos they peeled off of the road and onto side roads leading to the farmsteads. Jim stopped and turned back around to head up the hill. He knew the posse had been there and probably where responsible for the explosion, but the confirmation of that only caused Jim to feel ashamed of his own membership in the valley club, that unspoken badge of farmerly honor worn by any who worked the fields for thier families and for the markets.
Jim found himself walking back up towards the hill and past the burnt out car in the field. It seemed forlorne and lonely out there, surrounded by singed earth much the same as his soul felt at the moment, singed and burnt of feeling and pain at all that twenty four hours can bring. As he neared the base of the long climb up the hill a solitary set of headlamps lit up the landscape from behind. The vehicle was moving slowly and as it passed him Jim noted both Ed's in the front seat. Ed Jr. sat in the passenger's seat and looked over at Jim and Jim thought he caught sight of something in his arms wrapped in a bundle. Ed's face, for the brief moment the car's excelleration allowed Jim to glimpse it, was stoney and drawn, not the usual hollow brained smirk Ed Jr. usually sported.
Jim loved the valley, loved his farm and the profession his father and his father's father had given him and he loved his family. He supposed it was that latter that propelled his legs up the hill to retrieve them from the hotel and put the valley far behind him; he'd seen the new face of the valley and like Tate's obsiquious evil grin, it sported a look of malevolance.
The early morning mist was settling upon the land, that muggy pre-dawn moisture that coated everything and fell on Jim's shirt and head like a fine rain. The houses were quiet, dark, and still and it struck him that they would remain so. The Shield's house loomed large in front of him, it's front door still open and inviting anyone inside and the thought struck him of Billie's whereabouts. Had she perished in the fire at the plant? Was she with her mother in the car? Then the brief conversation with Benton came to him as Jim drove Benton to the plant that afternoon. The bundle in Ed Jr.'s arms sent a chill down Jim's spine. He stopped for a moment. The shame of not stopping the mob before things got more out of hand and the thought of little Billie in the paws of her real father cried out for something to be done about it. But, enough had already been done and if the day had shown him anything, it was the lengths some people would go to have thier way. His family or doing something about the little infant?
****
The sun rose over the mountains and peeked into the valley, illuminating the still burning chemical plant and lighting the houses at the crest of the hill. The solitary stop light blinked green and Jim pulled through the light and was soon descending down the hill. The children were slumped in the backseat in groggy sleep. Sally sat next to him in the front bucket seat with a forlorn look upon her face. Jim pointed to the car in the field as they passed by. Sally looked at him with her sad and red eyes and all he could do was shake his head in agreement. Crossing the bridge and under the trees that crowned the creek's banks was like reliving a childhood memory for the last time. As State15 turns to the right a dirt track peels off of it's route and leads to Robert Mumsford's farmstead.
Robert was just fixing the gate leading to his property and turned to see the car approaching. Jim didn't stop but just slowed down long enough for he and Robert to make eye contact and give a weak wave of goodbye. Robert returned the wave, a slow and final wave ending with a tip to his ball cap in the time honored gentleman's greeting when a lady was present. Jim accelerated past the wreckage of the plant and down the road, leaving Robert standing by his pickup.
Jim passed the dirt road leading to the Hilcock farmsteads and felt an odd pang of habit to not have slowed down to turn. He conciously pressed the gas to speed past the entrance. The houses, those of his father and mother and his own stood alone down that road, inviting him to come and rest and stay a while. It was the call of home that he felt more than heard and he set his eyes upon the road as the acres of budding corn stalks whipped by his window, corn he had planted and invested money in to produce, each stalk a dream and hope for another season speeding by. He would deal with that later. The houses would be there when he returned, if he could bring himself to return.
Sally leaned over from her side of the bench seat and put her arm around Jim's neck. She too heard the call and resisted the temptation for one last look behind. It was against nature to leave things behind and the siren call of the valley, though changed to more of a squak like that of a carrion bird was shut out of thier minds as State15 finally diverged from Jim's planted fields to curve through Hudson's Gap and finally removed from thier vision the last reminder of home.
The valley had changed just as all seasons of time must come to an end and usher in the next in line, a season of winter followed leaving the empty houses and buisnesses upon the hill cold and empty.
"Ok, this' gone on fer long enough. Alan, c'mon an' let's get that door open an' them people out," Middlebrook said as he trotted towards the door. Several of the men of the posse followed, the rest stood still as Ed Sr. shook his head in dissaproval.
Down the loading ramp and up the small steps of the concrete loading dock to the door. With little thought about the radient heat coming off of the door or the burning from the handle and lever Middlebrook pressed down on the lever.
The door blew open before Middlebrook could so much as pull back on the handle. The force of the blast threw those around and near the door off of the loading dock and a plume of flame shot out from the opening. Those unlucky enough to be nearest the door opening became human torches writhing on the ground. The fire, fed new air from the outside shot up in intensity on the inside and by what would be a matter of controversy for years to come amoungst the locals as to the cause of the second explosion heard, did opening the door cause Vat four to explode with the change in pressure or did opening the door cause the fire to heat up and then cause the vat to burst it's seams would never really be known.
The force of the second explosion burst every window in the shop area and blew out the concrete wall behind the vats causing the roof to crumble immediatly as flames shot out of every new opening and an greenish hue colored the flames.
The blast knocked everyone down in the parking lot and showered concrete chunks and cinder block bricks all about. Aside from the shock of the suddenness of the disaster, no one outside was hurt, but that could not be said of thier vehichles. Hoods were dented inward, cabs crushed, sides dinged, and tires flattened. The group outside stood up slowly in awe of the fire and the crumbling building. The heat was unbearable and fed more by the chemicals inside that it seemed even the metal was on fire. There seemed little hope of anyone coming out of there now and a few brave souls ran down to the loading dock to see if any of the party who'd a moment ago had been running down the ramp were alive. But the heat from the fire stopped most short of thier goal.
The Tate's stood in awe as well but seemed less concerned about what they had done as they did their own health. A few men of the posse turned and looked at Ed Sr. with pained expressions. Ed Sr. shrugged in response as if to say "it wasn't my fault". A wailing could be heard from the parking lot and drew everyone's attention towards Ed Jr.'s squad car. It's roof was caved in and several cinder blocks lay in it's center and the passenger side had been forced inward from the force of the blast. The wailing came from inside his car. Slowly, as if drawn out of thier lethargy and fascination at the destruction around them, the men walked towards the car. The wailing ebbed and flowed in short bursts. Ed Jr. got to the car first and peered into the backseat. The infant, his ill-begotten daughter was knocked to the floor board of the back seat and had been knocked about from the pounding the car had taken. She was bleeding as the rear windws had been broken inward and shattered glass lay everywhere.
The men looked to one another and then to the Tate's then away from each accusatory glance of the others, each feeling the guilt of collective action and inaction. The wailing continued as did the roar of the fire that lit the parking lot in a queer sunset like hue. Silently the men, valley men who loved thier families, prayed at the dinner table for thier provender, and minded thier own buisness as a golden rule began to peel off to thier own vehicles and pull away from the conflaguration that began to roar anew. There was finality in the parting but not that of a job well done, but of a collective desire to have it all behind.
Ed Jr. forced open the driver's side door of his battered squad car and fished out the squaling child. It was his child, but even though he had gotten what he wanted even the pale light of the fire lighting the darkenss did not hide the crease of shame and worry on his face. The two Ed's, father and son, walked silently back to Ed Sr.'s old Chevy and climbed in, neither one saying a word. The ruins of the chemical plant lit the entire valley in faux sunrise and sent plumes of smoke high into the air. The valley had rid itself of its greatest nemisis; progress.
****
Jim had been studying the abandoned and burning car when he heard the explosion. Though the copse of trees hid the view of the source, it could only have been the Petro-Chem plant. The trees where lit with orange and a fire plume rose high above their tops. Jim's first thought was for all of the hill toppers who were there for the meeting and where he had no doubt he would find the posse. Theresa Shields was still in the drivers seat and slumped over the steering wheel, or who he could only guess was Theresa as the fire had burned whoever it was badly.
Jim knew it would be useless to do anything about it, but the compulsion to see it with his own eyes carried his feet down the road. Soon after he had started off again a string of headlights rounded the curve on Happy Valley Road and made thier way towards him. By ones and twos they peeled off of the road and onto side roads leading to the farmsteads. Jim stopped and turned back around to head up the hill. He knew the posse had been there and probably where responsible for the explosion, but the confirmation of that only caused Jim to feel ashamed of his own membership in the valley club, that unspoken badge of farmerly honor worn by any who worked the fields for thier families and for the markets.
Jim found himself walking back up towards the hill and past the burnt out car in the field. It seemed forlorne and lonely out there, surrounded by singed earth much the same as his soul felt at the moment, singed and burnt of feeling and pain at all that twenty four hours can bring. As he neared the base of the long climb up the hill a solitary set of headlamps lit up the landscape from behind. The vehicle was moving slowly and as it passed him Jim noted both Ed's in the front seat. Ed Jr. sat in the passenger's seat and looked over at Jim and Jim thought he caught sight of something in his arms wrapped in a bundle. Ed's face, for the brief moment the car's excelleration allowed Jim to glimpse it, was stoney and drawn, not the usual hollow brained smirk Ed Jr. usually sported.
Jim loved the valley, loved his farm and the profession his father and his father's father had given him and he loved his family. He supposed it was that latter that propelled his legs up the hill to retrieve them from the hotel and put the valley far behind him; he'd seen the new face of the valley and like Tate's obsiquious evil grin, it sported a look of malevolance.
The early morning mist was settling upon the land, that muggy pre-dawn moisture that coated everything and fell on Jim's shirt and head like a fine rain. The houses were quiet, dark, and still and it struck him that they would remain so. The Shield's house loomed large in front of him, it's front door still open and inviting anyone inside and the thought struck him of Billie's whereabouts. Had she perished in the fire at the plant? Was she with her mother in the car? Then the brief conversation with Benton came to him as Jim drove Benton to the plant that afternoon. The bundle in Ed Jr.'s arms sent a chill down Jim's spine. He stopped for a moment. The shame of not stopping the mob before things got more out of hand and the thought of little Billie in the paws of her real father cried out for something to be done about it. But, enough had already been done and if the day had shown him anything, it was the lengths some people would go to have thier way. His family or doing something about the little infant?
****
The sun rose over the mountains and peeked into the valley, illuminating the still burning chemical plant and lighting the houses at the crest of the hill. The solitary stop light blinked green and Jim pulled through the light and was soon descending down the hill. The children were slumped in the backseat in groggy sleep. Sally sat next to him in the front bucket seat with a forlorn look upon her face. Jim pointed to the car in the field as they passed by. Sally looked at him with her sad and red eyes and all he could do was shake his head in agreement. Crossing the bridge and under the trees that crowned the creek's banks was like reliving a childhood memory for the last time. As State15 turns to the right a dirt track peels off of it's route and leads to Robert Mumsford's farmstead.
Robert was just fixing the gate leading to his property and turned to see the car approaching. Jim didn't stop but just slowed down long enough for he and Robert to make eye contact and give a weak wave of goodbye. Robert returned the wave, a slow and final wave ending with a tip to his ball cap in the time honored gentleman's greeting when a lady was present. Jim accelerated past the wreckage of the plant and down the road, leaving Robert standing by his pickup.
Jim passed the dirt road leading to the Hilcock farmsteads and felt an odd pang of habit to not have slowed down to turn. He conciously pressed the gas to speed past the entrance. The houses, those of his father and mother and his own stood alone down that road, inviting him to come and rest and stay a while. It was the call of home that he felt more than heard and he set his eyes upon the road as the acres of budding corn stalks whipped by his window, corn he had planted and invested money in to produce, each stalk a dream and hope for another season speeding by. He would deal with that later. The houses would be there when he returned, if he could bring himself to return.
Sally leaned over from her side of the bench seat and put her arm around Jim's neck. She too heard the call and resisted the temptation for one last look behind. It was against nature to leave things behind and the siren call of the valley, though changed to more of a squak like that of a carrion bird was shut out of thier minds as State15 finally diverged from Jim's planted fields to curve through Hudson's Gap and finally removed from thier vision the last reminder of home.
The valley had changed just as all seasons of time must come to an end and usher in the next in line, a season of winter followed leaving the empty houses and buisnesses upon the hill cold and empty.
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