Part 31 (1/2)
A pair of thick hands appeared and scooped away more of the dirt and gravel that had buried Pitt's head and torso. Pitt's arms finally broke free, and he helped push the small mountain of dirt away from his body. Reaching up with his sleeve, he wiped away the matted blood and dust from his eyes and finally took a look at his surroundings. With the seat belt tugging uncomfortably across his chest, he finally realized that he was the one upside down, not the dachshund. The helping pair of hands reached in and found the release b.u.t.ton on the seat belt, dropping Pitt to the ceiling of the car. Pitt shuffled toward the driver's-side window, but the hands yanked him toward the open pa.s.senger door.
”You don't want to go that way, mister. The first step is a doozy.”
Pitt heeded the voice and crawled toward the pa.s.senger door, where he was helped out and onto his feet. The pounding in his head eased as he stood upright, but a light trickle of blood still rolled down his cheek. Looking at the damaged car, he shook his head at the good fortune that had saved him.
The sliding ma.s.s of rock and gravel that had battered the car and flipped it on its roof had also pushed it across the road, to the very edge of the steep chasm that fell to the river below. The car would have easily gone over the edge, taking Pitt to his death, but for a firmly cemented mileage signpost. The slim metal post caught the car just behind the front fender, pinning it to the edge of the road, as tons of loose rock plunged down the hill around both ends of the car. The road itself was buried under a mound of dirt and rocks for a stretch of fifty yards.
”Must be some clean living that kept you from going over the edge,” Pitt heard his rescuer say.
He turned to face a robust older man with white hair and beard who stood gazing at Pitt through a pair of jovial gray eyes.
”It wasn't clean living that saved me, I can a.s.sure you,” Pitt replied. ”Thank you for pulling me out. I would have suffocated in there if you hadn't dug your way in.”
”Don't mention it. Why don't you come on back to the RV and let me patch you up,” the man said, pointing to a motor home parked on unblemished asphalt a few yards away. It was the same motor home that Pitt had pa.s.sed earlier on the road.
Pitt nodded and followed the man and the little black-and-tan dachshund as they climbed into an open side door of the RV. Pitt was surprised to find the interior finished in teak and polished bra.s.s, which gave the look of a luxury cabin on a sailing s.h.i.+p. On one wall he curiously noticed a bookcase filled with reference guides on mining and geology.
”Why don't you get yourself cleaned up while I find my medical kit?” the man said.
Pitt washed his hands and face in a porcelain sink as a Royal Canadian Mounted Police car raced up with its lights flas.h.i.+ng. The old man stepped out and spoke to the police, then returned a few minutes later and helped Pitt apply a bandage to a thin gash that zigzagged across the left side of his scalp.
”The Mounties said there's a highway construction crew working just a few miles away. They can get a front-end loader over here pretty quick, and should have a lane cleared through the rocks in just an hour or two. They'll want to take a report from you when you feel up to it.”
”Thanks for putting them off. I'm just starting to get my bearings back.”
”Forgive me for not asking earlier, you must surely need a drink. What can I get you?”
”I'd kill for a tequila, if you have any,” Pitt replied, sagging into a small leather-upholstered chair. The dachshund immediately jumped into his lap and coaxed Pitt to pet him behind the ears.
”You are in luck,” the man replied, pulling a stubby bottle of Don Julio tequila out of a cabinet. Swirling the bottle around, he said, ”Still a few shots left.”
”I'm lucky twice today. That's a fine brand of tequila,” Pitt remarked, recognizing the expensive label of blue agave cactus juice.
”Mauser and I like to travel well,” the man said with a grin as he poured two healthy shots for Pitt and himself.
Pitt let the warm liquid trickle down his throat, admiring its complex flavor. He felt his head clear almost immediately.
”That was quite a slide,” the man said. ”Good thing you weren't a few yards farther down the road.”
”I saw it coming and tried to back away from it but came up a little short.”
”I don't know what kind of fool would be blasting above an open highway,” he said, ”but I sure hope they catch the b.u.g.g.e.r.”
”Blasting?” Pitt asked, suddenly recalling the white sedan he saw parked up the road.
”I heard the pop and noticed a puff of white smoke up the hill right before those boulders started dancing. I told the Mounties about it, but they said there are no blasting crews working anywhere around here.”
”You don't think it was just a large boulder that let go and kicked up the rest?”
The man knelt down and opened a wide drawer beneath the bookshelf. Digging beneath a thick blanket, he exposed a small wooden box marked DYNO n.o.bEL. Pitt recognized the manufacturer's name as the offshoot of Alfred n.o.bel, inventor of dynamite. Opening the lid, the man showed Pitt a number of eight-inch-long yellow cartridges packed inside.