On Earth's Altar

Chapter 0

1992

Southeastern Oregon, USA

The barbed wire fence traced a rusty meridian through the sagebrush, dividing the arid plain into rival kingdoms of dust and dirt. High above, the burning sun held its station, while cirrus clouds assembled in the atmosphere.

Near a gate in the fence, a raven perched on a post, panting in the midday heat. The bird cocked its head and cawed at something in the distance. Then it flew away.

On the shimmering horizon a plume of dust appeared. A white passenger van streaked across the plain, hurtling along a dirt road toward the open gate. Barely slowing, the van rumbled across the steel grate of a cattle guard and skidded to a stop at a sudden fork in the road. It sat there a moment, tailpipe ruminating. Then it lurched forward, veering left.

Climbing a low mesa, the van rolled to a stop at a vista, and its driver shut off the engine. As the dust settled, the van's side door slid open, and out stumbled eight or nine college students blinking in the brilliant sunlight. They all wore T-shirts, jeans, and hiking boots. Yawning and stretching, the students stumbled to the vista that overlooked a broad, dry canyon bordered by cliffs of sheer, umber rock.

The instructor, who was also the driver, got out from behind the wheel and moved to the rear of the van. She was tall and stocky, not much older than the students, her dark brown skin unbothered by the sun. She wore a black Oregon State University baseball cap pulled down tight over her closely cropped hair. Despite the hot weather, she wore cargo pants and a thin fleece jacket. She threw open the van's rear doors to an avalanche of orange safety helmets. Picking one up, she bellowed over her shoulder, "Let's go, people! We're on a schedule here."

The students shambled over, and each took a helmet. The instructor fitted hers with a battery-powered headlamp. Then she clasped a red first aid pack around her waist. "Everyone brings two sources of light. That's the rule. And wear something warm."

After locking the van, she led them through the dense sagebrush to a rocky depression in the ground. At the bottom was a rusty iron hatch bolted and cemented to the underlying rock.

A lanky kid wearing a Nirvana T-shirt put on his helmet, licks of sweaty blond hair sticking to his pale forehead. "Let's do this!"

Everyone moaned. Someone pelted the back of his helmet with a pebble.

The instructor knelt and inserted a key into the weathered brass padlock, saying to no one in particular, "We have to get this key back to the BLM office in Burns by five p.m."

"Why is at all locked up?" asked Nirvana Boy. Two more pebbles ricocheted off his helmet, one after the other, and he whipped around. "What's your fucking malfunction?"

A female student sneered at him. "Dude, she explained it all on the way out here."

"Yeah, well I was tired."

She pinched thumb and index finger together and raised the imaginary joint to her pursed lips. Everyone snickered and began putting on their helmets.

It took three of them to lift the hatch, and when they had finally laid it open, everyone gathered around and gaped into the jagged hole at their feet.

The instructor sat at the edge and dangled her legs. Then she switched on her headlamp and gestured for a particular student to come near.

A pale girl stepped forward, her tiny, bird-like frame swimming beneath an oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans, the orange helmet listing on her dainty head. A long watchman's flashlight swung from a clip attached to her belt. She approached the hole but stopped short.