Chapter 4 The Road to the Rockies
A different storm had settled over the Nelson farm—made of data, maps, and coiled tension. The farmhouse kitchen was now a war room. Emma’s monitor dominated the table, showing a map from the Pacific Northwest deep into the interior. A highlighted line pulsed southeast.
A tremor stronger than before shook the room. Coffee mugs rattled in the cupboard.
Emma stared at the map. “We’re out of time.
We have the mural’s direction and the old data.
Now we need the exact source.” She turned to the team.
“Jack, search historical earthquakes. Lily, map hot springs and volcanic zones. Michael, do any stories mention a ‘breathing mountain’ in that direction?”
The next hours were a focused silence broken only by keystrokes and the rustle of paper. Jack’s screen filled with tremor dots. Lily’s map sprouted geothermal markers.
Michael found the first clue. Leaning over Lily’s shoulder at a map of indigenous place names, he pointed. “The oldest stories tell of a mountain range that was the source of the world’s first fire. Forbidden. Too dangerous to live near.”
Jack cross-referenced. The area overlapped perfectly with the densest tremor cluster and a massive geothermal zone. He ran the data against their model. The probability spike was immediate. He zoomed in, revealing a jagged spine of peaks. BITTERROOT RANGE, ID/MT BORDER.
The room went still.
“And the Yukon?” Lily asked.
Emma brought up a map of Alaska. “A different branch of the same deep system. Twenty-two years ago, the pressure wave travelled northwest. The Yukon ice dam failed. Rainier is the weak point now.” She looked at Lily. “We’ve been looking at symptoms. Now we have the address.”
Grandpa Henry, cleaning his rifle by the wood stove, let out a low whistle. “The Bitterroots in November—bear country, wolf country, weather that’ll turn on a dime. Trails’ll be gone under early snow.”
“We’re aware,” Emma said. “Which is why the team is expanding.” She turned to Michael. “Your knowledge of the corridors and contacts will be invaluable.”
Michael nodded. “The stories from that place are the oldest and darkest. That your lines point there does not surprise me.”
Jack input the coordinates into a logistics algorithm. “Minimum sixty-five kilometre round-trip trek. Base altitude 1,800 metres, climbing to over 2,500. Temperature range minus ten to plus five. Blizzard probability: forty percent.”
Emma broke the silence. “The Federal Survey is designating this a Priority 1 Expedition. Satellite overwatch, emergency extraction, specialized equipment budget.” She looked at Lily and Jack. “Your status is formalized. Lead field technicians. This is your operation as much as mine.”
The following days were controlled chaos. Delivery trucks arrived: cold-weather tents, power stations, ground-penetrating radar, ration blocks, four snowmobiles.
Lily paired with Jack for most preparations. In the barn, they inventoried gear among the crates. The mural’s bison watched in silence.
“Thermal camera, batteries, data drives,” Jack recited.
“Check, check, check.” Lily paused, looking at the painted wall. “It’s strange. We’re packing based on a shopping list, but also… based on that.”
Jack set his tablet down. “It is a form of translation. Symbolic data into material requirements. The most important translation project I will ever work on.”
Lily looked at his profile. Their shoulders brushed. Jack cleared his throat and returned to the checklist. “The mass spectrometer requires calibration.”
Lily, heart beating faster, went back to the crates.
One evening, Lily found Emma in the cold front room, sitting alone, turning a silver tag over in her fingers—the one she wore at her neck.
Emma sensed her and looked up. She seemed younger, tired. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Too many maps behind my eyelids.” Emma held up the tag. “My mother died in the Yukon. I was there. My newborn sister was lost. An ice dam broke without warning.” Her fingers tightened. “Now I’m taking a team into remote terrain. It feels like walking back into the same story.”
Lily sat on the sofa arm. “You’re not repeating it. You’re finishing it. She found the first clue. You found the connection. We’ll find the source.”
Emma stared at her. “When did you get so wise?”
Lily shrugged. “Good teachers.”
Emma grasped her hand. “You are not expendable. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
Lily gripped back. “I promise. You too.”
Emma nodded. “I promise.”
The night before departure, a final briefing.
The team: Emma, Jack, Lily, Michael, and two new hires—Karl, a mountaineer with a quiet, weathered face, and Aine, a geochemist with sharp eyes and a soft Irish accent.
Karl wore a faded red wool hat patched with mismatched threads.
“Mom made it,” he said, catching Lily’s glance. “Wear it everywhere.”
Maps spread, routes finalized. Nothing left to plan.
Grandpa stood. “Well, ain’t nothin’ left but to do it.
” He clapped Jack on the shoulder, hugged Lily, shook hands with the others, then stopped at Emma.
“You bring my boy back. And yourself. And you,” he glanced at Lily, “bring that squirrel back. The land’s talkin’, but this family’s startin’ to talk back. You hear?”
Emma nodded. “We hear you, Henry.”
Later, a soft knock at Lily’s door. Jack held out a small device. “Personal locator beacon. Independent of the team’s system. A redundancy.”
Lily took it, warm from his hand. “For the squirrel?”
“For my partner,” he said, voice low. “The most critical variable in my calculations.”
She slipped it into her chest pocket. “Thank you, Jack.”
At the door, he paused. “Get some sleep. The road to the Rockies starts early.”
She didn’t sleep. She lay awake, feeling the weight of her promise to Emma and the beacon over her heart. At dawn, they would leave, pointing east toward the snow-clad spine of the continent, following a line drawn in ochre and confirmed by data. Together.