The Fire and the Anvil Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Fire and the Anvil

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  About the Author

  The Fire and the Anvil

  Secrets of the Elements Book III

  By Michael Galloway

  © 2018 by Michael Galloway. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without written permission from the author.

  www.michaelgalloway.net

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locations, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  John Sayers propped his beloved road atlas onto the steering wheel with tingling hands. The atlas was dog-eared at the corners; its cover was missing, and the Kansas pages hung on by a lone staple. The Montana page had a coffee stain near the Canadian border and the panhandle of Oklahoma was marred by barbecue sauce. His pulse raced as he flipped to the map of Nebraska and zeroed in on the area south of Valentine. He had never chased storms in the Sand Hills and the map offered little help in giving him a picture of the terrain.

  Today’s target was not a storm but Dr. James Ferganut—a prolific inventor, a renowned professor, and his girlfriend’s father. Instead of studying atmospheric soundings he read articles in preparation. Instead of poring over computer forecast models he researched miniature flying robots. Instead of launching rockets full of sensors into rotating wall clouds, he prepared an arsenal of probing questions. He rehearsed the questions in his mind one last time as he memorized the route to Dr. Ferganut’s house.

  A grasshopper flew in through the driver side window of his truck and landed on the atlas next to his hand. He flicked the insect back out the window and slid the atlas on top of his dashboard. He got out of his truck, took a deep breath of fresh spring air, and stretched. The morning sky was piercing blue and cloudless.

  As he ascended the stairs of his best friend’s apartment building he admired the deep green lawn and the blooming marigolds that dotted a nearby balcony. The sidewalks were swept clean of winter debris and in a nearby apartment a dog barked. When he reached the security door of the apartment building, he buzzed his friend’s apartment and waited.

  A moment later the security door clicked open. He jogged up three flights of stairs and then rapped on his friend’s front door.

  The door swung open seconds later and James Yancey stood in the doorway with a black suitcase in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He stood a little over five-and-a-half feet tall, had short dark brown hair, and a round face. He wore a black tee shirt, blue jeans, and bright white sneakers. On his shirt in white letters was the phrase, “There are 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary and those who don’t.”

  “No, no. I checked with her,” James said to someone on the phone. “All the reports should run fine. I automated them last month.” He rolled his eyes and locked his door. Once the conversation ended, he pocketed the phone and followed John out to the truck.

  “I hope you know it took an act of God just to get this week off,” he said to John.

  “Are you saying you’ve turned into a praying man?” John said as he reached the truck.

  “I’m saying my workplace acts like the whole company is going to collapse when I’m gone for a day. This is the first time I’ve taken a week off in two years. The way they talk it’s like the stock price is going to drop by half overnight.”

  James slipped his suitcase into the backseat and withdrew his laptop computer. He glanced over at the equipment in the bed of the truck. In the bed were two racks made of white plastic pipes and thin metal rods that John used as rocket launchers. Next to them were several black duffel bags packed with hobby rockets that would be fired into the heavens during storm chases. Each rocket contained a handful of sensors that tracked pressure, velocity, and moisture and were dispersed inside of a storm cloud. The sensors then transmitted data back to John’s laptop computer where the results were crunched, stored, and analyzed at a later date. In time John hoped to amass enough data to predict developing tornadoes long before they did their damage.

  “I thought we were going to go visit Dr. Ferganut,” James said. “And take a tour of his lab.”

  “We are. But looking at the forecast for late in the week, if the storms set up right, maybe he might be game for another chase or two. After all, more data, more numbers to play with.”

  “That’s the Data Guy I know,” James said as he cracked a wide smile and climbed into the passenger seat.

  John jumped in and fired up the engine. Dr. Ferganut lived approximately twenty miles south-southeast of Valentine, Nebraska, which made this trip a four-and-a-half hour drive from Sioux Falls. John took the week off from his software testing job at the bank in hopes of interviewing the professor over a few days. For over a year, he planned to write a research paper about the professor but the more he jotted down ideas for interview questions, the more he wondered if he had enough material for a book.

  As soon as they reached the interstate, James propped open his laptop and started typing. He brought up several weather models on the screen before tilting it to face John.

  “What is it?” John said. “See something?”

  “Three days out. Only a slight risk, but I think that’s gonna change,” James said as he pointed at a Storm Prediction Center map on the screen. He then glanced up at the dashboard of the truck and picked up John’s tattered atlas. “When are you going to get a new atlas? This thing is five years out of date.”

  “It’s not that old. It feels like I just picked it up from a gas station yesterday.”

  “I’m sure the gas station you got it from has been sold and renamed several times by now.”

  “Oh come on. It’s not that bad. That atlas and I have been through a lot together. I’m sure she’s got a few chases left in her.”

  “Her? Do you have a name for her? Wait, let me guess. Her name starts with an ‘m’. Melinda. Monica…”

  “I didn’t name it yet.”

  “I got it. Madeline?”

  “No.”

  James raised an eyebrow and turned the laptop screen back toward himself.

  “So what makes you think we’ll be chasing in three days?” John said. “Day four looks more promising.”

  “Upper air patterns. Some of the models paint a nice low level jet shooting right from Kansas up into southern Nebraska.”

  “No. Dewpoints will be too low. You know they have a drought going on down there, right?”

  “So why did you bring all the rockets?”

  “Because four or five days out they might get the drought buster they’ve been waiting for. And maybe by that point we’ll get our first big data set of the year.”

  * * *

  Valentine had a population of fewer than three thousand people. John had passed through innumerable small towns on his journeys over the years and over time those memories blurred together. What startled
him about this town was that only a handful of businesses and homes had green grass punctuated in a few places by planters full of pink, white, and indigo flowers. The rest of the grass was a faded yellow-brown color that appeared ready to kindle in an instant.

  As they wound their way through the town and south on Highway 83, James spoke up. “Hey can we stop there?” He pointed out his window at a small shop on the edge of an aging strip mall.

  “Hams?” John said.

  “What? No. The military surplus store. Over there.”

  “Right. But the first letter of every word spells out hams. Hannibal’s Almighty Military Surplus. Hams.” John parked the truck in front of the store but was confused as to why James was interested. “Need something?”

  “No. They’re just fun to look at. C’mon. You’ll see.”

  They both got out and went inside the store. Behind them a bell tinkled as the door closed.

  At first, John was struck by the claustrophobic feel of the aisles. Narrow shelves were crammed full of a huge variety of items that included military uniforms, canned goods, hats, and weapons on the back wall. On an adjacent wall a yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag hung sideways along with a United States Marine Corps banner.

  As James rifled through the stacks of clothes and uniforms, John wandered over to the rack of camouflage hats. None of the hats fit his personality so he moved on to a rack of sunglasses. He tried on a few pairs, then investigated a pile of helmets, until finally he rifled through a table full of winter boots on clearance.

  “Hey, check this out. What do you think?” James yelled from across the store. He held up an aluminum-colored suit with a matching hood. “I think it’ll fit me. Barely.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a proximity suit. For fires or working in high temperature environments.”

  “Uh huh. And what would you use that for?”

  “Did I tell you I’m going to get training for handling fireworks?”

  John could not discern if James was kidding so he just played along. “Oh, right. Is that for your first day?”

  James smirked and stuffed the suit back into a white cardboard box. He closed the lid and tucked it under his right arm. He continued to scan the aisles.

  Eventually, they got bored and ended up at the front counter. The entire time John did not see another person in the store including the cashier. As he stood in front of a glass counter near the cash register, he hit the hand bell to call for service.

  As he waited, he stared at a rack of buttons along the back wall. Each button spouted a provocative political slogan. He then eyed two rifles welded together in the shape of a cross and finally a framed photo of George Peppard with the words “Thanks a million, Hannibal!” scrawled on it in black marker.

  James set his white cardboard box on the counter and drummed his fingers on the countertop. He stopped his fingers as soon as a gray-bearded man with too many patches stitched to his blue vest emerged from the backroom.

  The man wore a gray-and-blue plaid shirt under the vest and spots of grease dotted his faded blue jeans. His shaggy beard came to a point in the middle of his chest and he swept back a lock of wiry hair before addressing them. He eyed James suspiciously.

  It was then John spotted the cameras in every corner of the store. He had no reason to be nervous but the cock-eyed look of the cashier made him uneasy.

  “Is this all you’re gonna buy?” The cashier said with a grumble.

  “Oh no,” James replied quickly. He snatched a pair of sunglasses off a nearby rack along with a tube of Chapstick.

  John grabbed a dust-covered Twix bar off the shelf next to the counter and set a pair of dollar bills on top.

  The cashier furrowed his eyebrows at James. “You payin’ in cash or credit?”

  “Cash,” James said. He pulled out a pair of twenty dollar bills and set them on the counter.

  The cashier first took John’s bills and made change. He then punched the prices for James’ items into a dusty manual cash register that dinged when it displayed the total. He swept the bills off the counter and tossed the change back onto the counter without saying a word.

  John led the way out of the store without looking back. Just as he exited out the front door he heard a voice behind him.

  “Thanks a million, Hannibal! Wish we could talk more. Maybe next time,” James yelled.

  Hannibal grunted in response.

  John tore open the wrapper of one of the Twix bars and bit into it. The candy was so hard he thought it would shatter half of his teeth. He flipped the candy bars into a garbage can on the street. “Guess he doesn’t get much business.”

  “Or repeat customers. Did you see his fake grenade collection on the side wall?” James said.

  John shook his head and drove back out onto Highway 83. South of the city a vast area known as the Sand Hills stretched as far as the eye could see. Trees were scattered across the open country and towns were fewer. Grass-covered hills dominated the landscape like dunes trapped in a windless desert. In previous travels through this area John remembered the grass looking greener but now it took on a sickly pale yellow tinge. He wondered if bringing the rocket launchers was a bad idea since it looked like a single spark could set off a firestorm in a hurry. Even though it was early May, he worried that if rain did not come soon the hills would crumble into dust and be whisked away by the wind.

  As he progressed south toward Dr. Ferganut’s house and counted down the miles, his cell phone rang. It was John’s girlfriend, Madeline Kinney, and the thought of hearing her voice made him smile. He answered the call.

  “Have you made it my dad’s place yet?” She said. Her voice was warm with a melancholic undercurrent.

  “We’re within about ten miles of it. Are you still going to hold out on us?” John said, hoping to change her mind.

  “I don’t know yet,” Madeline said. “We haven’t spoken to each other in a long time.”

  “People change, Madeline.”

  “I know you mean well, but I want to think about it some more.”

  “You’ve thought about it for months. If you do come down here, I’ll make you the best steak dinner ever. With twice-baked potatoes. Extra cheese.”

  Madeline sounded unconvinced. “I can’t just take a week off like you can right now.”

  “But you could take a day or two off.”

  “It’s a long drive.”

  “Drink lots of coffee.”

  James put a hand to his face.

  Their conversation went on for another minute until Madeline hung up. Afterward, John began to have doubts about whether all his efforts to interview her father would be worth it in the end. If the interview confirmed his suspicions that Dr. Ferganut was a good man would the knowledge only serve to rupture his relationship with Madeline? By the time he parked in Dr. Ferganut’s driveway his doubts multiplied themselves.

  “What is it?” James said as he collapsed his laptop computer. “You’re hesitating. That’s not a good sign when you hesitate.”

  “Think I’m doing the right thing? By interviewing Madeline’s dad? She’s still not on board about this.”

  “You’re thinking about this now?” James put a hand to his face again and then threw back his head. He let out a loud sigh. “You talked this trip up all winter.”

  “I know. It’s just…awkward. She doesn’t want anything to do with him. Besides, what if we get bored? What if I’m just wasting time and he doesn’t have any new inventions to show us?”

  “Good point,” James said in a deadpan voice. “Maybe he grew a beard longer than Hannibal back at the surplus store. Or worse, what if he shoots at us from his porch? C’mon, we drove this far. Let’s go.” James stepped out of the truck and slammed the door. He waved John forward, but when John did not move he walked up to the driver side window.

  “Maybe what you need is an escape route,” he said like a used-car salesman who had not sold a car in weeks. “A way to bail if this goes
south.”

  “You’re right,” John said. “Any ideas?”

  “How about I say my mom is sick back home and we gotta go.”

  “She’s not sick is she?”

  “She’s got the flu.”

  “I thought you said your mom was a champion cyclist. Always healthy. Not even the flu knocks her down.”

  “I got it. My boss in panicking because the reporting server had a meltdown and the stock price of the company is dropping to single digits.” James shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands up in the air. “Okay, I wouldn’t even drive back for that.”

  John rolled his eyes and got out of the truck. As he looked up into the sky, he spotted a cloud of black dots on the southwestern horizon. He squinted and tried to gauge their distance, composition, and flight path. “What do you think those are?” He said as he pointed at the dots. “Those aren’t Sand Hill cranes are they?”

  “No. Not a chance,” James said. There was a confident air of superiority in his voice.

  “And how do you know this?”

  “You don’t travel much, do you? John, you need to get out more. Everybody knows the Sand Hill crane migration ended in early April. They look more like bugs. Maybe locusts?”

  “Your wealth of knowledge astounds me.”

  A smile broke across James’ face. “Actually, my dad was into bird watching. Let me check the radar and see if there’s anything on there.” He reached back through the passenger window and opened up his laptop again. He set it onto the hood of the truck and clicked a few keys. On the screen a replay of the most recent radar time lapse from the North Platte site cycled over and over. “I’m not seeing where it’s picking up anything. It’s probably bugs.”

  John watched as the distant cloud shifted and drifted like smoke from a fire. He had seen footage of locust swarms before and the thought of millions of insects flying over and around them made him uneasy. The cloud had an eerie shimmer to it, almost as if the bugs were made of metal, and moved in a mechanical manner. “Maybe Dr. Ferganut is testing new devices.” He said after a moment. “If they’re his, I wonder how he built so many so fast.”