Constant Fear

CHAPTER 16

Four miles from the tanker crash, Officer Ellie Barnes didn’t know anything terrible had happened. She was sitting in her patrol car, hoping to snag unsuspecting motorists. She wasn’t going to ticket all the speeders, only the frequent violators. Essentially, she was a mobile-radar-speed display, there to inspire motorists to adopt slower driving habits on a stretch of road notorious for speeding.

Ellie glanced in her rearview mirror and saw an SUV slowing down as it approached. Normally, she would have been on guard, but Ellie recognized Jake’s Tahoe from a signature dent in the front fender. Jake pulled up alongside Ellie’s cruiser and lowered his window.

“Morning, Officer. I thought you might be thirsty, or sleepy, or both.”

Jake slid over to the passenger side so Ellie could reach the Dunkin’ Donuts coffee he bought for her. One cream, two sugars, just the way she liked it. Ellie took a sip and made a delighted hmmmm sound.

“You free for dinner tonight?” Ellie asked.

Jake shook his head. “I need to be there for Andy right now.”

Ellie returned a nod.

Two nights ago, Jake had called with the bombshell news that Laura had shown up at his house. Ellie was caught off guard both by the news and a sudden flash of jealousy. It wasn’t entirely logical; Jake had never expressed any lingering feelings for Laura, but they still had a long history.

“I wish I could see you,” Ellie said. She tried to sound more understanding than disappointed. She was both.

“Next week, I’m all yours,” Jake said. “Monday, dinner at your place?”

“Always at my place,” Ellie said, sounding a bit doleful.

Jake gave this some thought. “How about dinner at my place?”

Ellie’s face broke into a bright smile. “I’ve been waiting for that invitation a very long time, Mr. Dent.”

A cryptic expression came over Jake’s face, one Ellie found both curious and endearing.

Jake blew Ellie a kiss. “Seven P.M., sharp,” he said. “And bring your handcuffs.”

He drove off with his arm out the window, waving good-bye.

Ellie’s mind wasn’t 100 percent on speeders. When Ellie saw the Chevy Impala crest over the hill, she had been thinking about Laura and wondering what it was like to be with Jake back when he played baseball. Laura and Jake had just started their life together when it all came crashing down. In a way, Ellie could understand Laura’s motives, but that didn’t justify abandoning her son.

The Chevy blew by Ellie as if her cruiser were hidden behind shrubs, not out in the open. She checked her computer to make sure no calls needed her attention.

This would be fun.

Ellie put on her flashers and got right up on the Chevy’s bumper. Although this was a routine traffic stop, Ellie’s training kicked in. She didn’t know what she didn’t know. Was this driver high on drugs and potentially dangerous, or just late for work?

She picked up her radio mike and announced her intentions to dispatch. “644 Traffic.”

“Go ahead, 644.”

“Minnesota plate GTL732 at Wade and South Merrimack.”

“Minnesota GTL732 at Wade and South Merrimack, copy.”

The name came back Laura Collins, not Dent, but Ellie was wondering if this was Jake’s Laura. She approached the Chevy steadily, but carefully. She checked to make sure the trunk was latched, satisfied nobody would pop out to surprise her. The driver had her window down.

“Hi, I’m Officer Barnes. The reason I stopped you is because you were going eighteen miles over the speed limit. May I see your driver’s license and registration?”

Jake hadn’t described Laura in detail, but Ellie was increasingly suspicious. With documents in hand, Ellie returned to her cruiser. Using the computer, Ellie ran the plate and saw that the car belonged to the driver. When Ellie returned, Laura looked sheepish and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry I was speeding, Officer,” Laura said.

“What brings you from Minnesota to Winston?” Ellie asked.

“I’m here to see my son,” Laura said. “He goes to the prep school in town.”

Confirmation. “Well, Mrs. Collins, I’m afraid I do have to issue you a citation today. Watch your speed and have a nice day.” Ellie’s face showed a stern expression as she handed Laura her citation, but inside she was beaming. It was petty for sure, but Laura deserved a lot more payback for what she had done to the man who now shared Ellie’s bed.

At quarter past nine, Ellie pulled up stakes and set off for Pepperell Academy. The access road was notorious for speeders who were running late for class. Minutes later, Ellie made the right turn off 120 and drove another mile when she saw the accident. Her instinct was to put on the strobes and rush over to help, but she could see from a distance that it was a tanker truck that had crashed. Ellie instinctively applied the brakes. This was a hazmat response. She’d been trained to proceed with caution. Until Ellie knew what that tanker was hauling, she would stay back, even if the driver were in distress.

Stepping out of the car, Ellie made sure she was upwind before retrieving her department-issued binoculars. The air was definitely foul. Whatever was leaking out smelled poisonous. Through the binoculars, Ellie searched for the hazmat placard posted in several locations on the tanker. This would identify the material without exposing her to any deadly fumes. Ellie saw what she was looking for. She had also observed the condition of the cabin. If the driver of the truck were alive, it would be a miracle to rival the turning of water into wine.

The mobile data terminal in her patrol car gave access to the material data sheet, and Ellie entered, “aluminum sulfide.” The MDS returned a plethora of data: The material with a chemical formula, Al2S3, causes irritation to the respiratory tract, skin, and eyes. Harmful if swallowed. The hydrogen sulfide gas, if formed, is poisonous. Victims who suffer from inhalation exposure need to be closely monitored for signs of respiratory distress. There was no data on explosion limits or auto-ignition temperature, but firefighters were advised to be equipped with a NIOSH-approved, positive-pressure, self-contained breathing apparatus and full protective clothing.

Police procedures required Ellie to stay back and put in a call to the fire department. They had the expertise to handle the spill, and would take command of the situation. It wasn’t long before fire and ambulance arrived on scene. Ellie coordinated the roadblocks, rerouted traffic, and kept the area clear of pedestrians, while Captain Steve Singer assumed incident command.

Steve Singer was a fifteen-year vet of the Winston FD. He had at his disposal a 2005 Smeal engine, a newer Spartan truck, a Tower truck, two ambulances, and a Hackney heavy-duty rescue truck. Singer dispatched them all. He called in support from two neighboring towns as well.

The first task was driver rescue. To ensure their safety, the first responders donned respirators. Singer could see the body of a man-the driver, presumably-thrown about twenty feet from impact. The man, heavyset and in his midfifties, wasn’t moving. It appeared his neck had been broken. Poor guy, Singer thought. Some of the EMT folks might have grown accustomed to seeing horrible things, but Singer would never be numb to the sight of a dead body.

Minutes later, Singer’s suspicions were confirmed. The fatality was placed on a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance. Singer had dealt with plenty of blazes over his career, but a chemical spill of this massive proportion was a nightmare scenario for all involved. Singer’s team had already been overexposed to the noxious fumes, and they needed proper chemical suits before doing anything more. Somebody would need to remove all sources of ignition and make sure they did not contaminate the air by raising dust levels.

Morning dew clung to the tall grasses and reflected the many lights from the dozen or so emergency response vehicles on the scene. Singer returned to his car and dialed a number he had called maybe a total of three times during his tenure with the Winston FD.

“This is Jackson.”

Jackson West was the field coordinator for Clean Air Environmental (CAE) Services, one of the largest private environmental and hazardous-waste management services in the country. Singer had worked with West in the past, so the two were familiar with each other. Clean Air dealt with incidents as small as bottle mercury and as large as an oil spill. This disaster was probably a Level B or A, closer to the oil spill category.

“Hey, Jackson. This is Steve Singer with Winston Fire Department.”

“Steve, how are you? What can I do for you?”

“We have a major incident here,” he said. “A tanker carrying what has to be thousands of gallons of aluminum sulfide tipped over on the access road to Pepperell Academy by Route 120.”

“Aluminum sulfide, you said?”

“That’s right.”

West groaned, confirming Singer’s suspicion that this would indeed be an ugly mess.

“Okay, I’ll dispatch a team right away. We can assist with the evacuation effort as needed.”

Clean Air had a network of emergency-response service centers. With a phone call, it could deploy hundreds of experienced and certified workers to tackle any level of incident.

“What’s the recommended radius?” Singer asked.

“For safety, I’d give it a half mile.”

Singer checked his map. “Okay, so that’s two businesses and about a dozen residential properties. We have four chemical suits. That will be our evacuation team for now.”

“Again, we can help with that once we get on-site. I’ll bring in extra crew.”

“That would be great,” Singer said. “We could use all the help we can get here.”

“Is there any immediate risk of fire?”

“No,” Singer said. “We’ve got one fatality. That’s it. I’ll put in a call to the trucking company and see what we learn about the driver.”

“Okay,” West replied. “For now, I’d advise that you keep your crew a safe distance away and make sure everyone outside has on a respirator. We’ll be there soon.”

“Will do,” Singer said.

Twenty minutes later, the first emergency trucks from Clean Air Environmental Services arrived on the scene. Singer led the Winston FD on evacuations. A team leader from CAE greeted Captain Singer with a quick, perfunctory hello. They had work to do. The first task was absorption, and for that, Clean Air had brought along their tanker truck. Clad in yellow protective suits, five workers set to the task of applying a mix of vermiculite, sodium carbonate, and other dry noncombustible adsorbents. Soon enough, the scene was swarming with workers in bright yellow chemical suits. They worked efficiently and without direction from the Winston Fire Department, even though Captain Singer remained in command of the entire operation.

Captain Singer checked in with Ellie Barnes to make sure the roads were still blocked.

“Hey, I just heard on the radio that somebody over at Pepperell Academy called the station to report an ammonia smell in the air,” Ellie said.

Shit.

Singer got West on the phone and told him the bad news.

“We’re going to have to expand the evacuation radius,” West said. “I’d say two miles, just to be safe.”

Winston checked his map. “That includes another three businesses, a whole bunch of residences, and Pepperell Academy.”

“I guess the prevailing winds decided not to cooperate,” West said.

Singer sighed loudly. He didn’t have enough manpower to manage something this large, and West knew it.

“Don’t worry, Steve,” West continued. “We’ll help you out with the evacuations. I can even get buses there if you’d like us to deal with the school.”

“That would be great,” Singer said. “We can transport the students and faculty to Winston Regional High School until this gets sorted out.”

“Might want to have the Red Cross help with shelter.”

“Can you take care of that, too?”

“Of course,” West said. “I’ll dispatch a crew over to the school right now. I bet we can get buses there in about twenty minutes.”

“Sounds pricey,” Singer said.

“I’m sure your taxpayers aren’t going to love it, but what can you do? You’ll be able to recoup some of the cost from the trucking company, I’m sure.”

Singer chuckled. He could already imagine who at the upcoming town-budget meeting would be most vocal about the bill.

Singer agreed with West’s plan and dispatched police and fire to Pepperell Academy. Hopefully, with CAE’s help, the chaos would be kept to a minimum.

Hidden in the trees on a hilly rise overlooking the school, Fausto Garza waited in a parked white cargo van until he saw the blue and red strobe lights of the emergency responders racing down the access road before he radioed his crew. He took a moment to check his phone again. The photo Carlos had sent him was perfect. He had followed Fausto’s instructions to the letter. The image showed four large oil drums each linked together by thick wires. The wires terminated into a brass box affixed to the side of a fifty-five-gallon lime-green metal drum. Lining the top of the lime-green drum was a special seal that was secured in place with a five-inch bolt. A metal tag bolted onto the drum beneath that seal would mean something very significant to the right people. He was glad to have the photo, even though Fausto hoped he would not have to use it. If he did, it would mean their mission here had been compromised. This operation had many variables, many moving parts, and Soto who understood the necessity for such a contingency plan arranged with Carlos to have the contraption created, photographed, and sent to Fausto without delay.

Through high-powered binoculars, Fausto studied the unfolding emergency response. Sanchez had been right. The evacuation-zone radius would not initially include the school. This gave his team time to get into position. The members of the police and fire departments scurried about like ants on a chaotic but controlled march.

Patience… patience…

He had waited until the hazmat crew had shown up at the tanker crash before phoning the police to report an ammonia smell at the school. He could wait a little bit longer before he blended his crew in with the actual emergency responders.