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Authors: Ethan Hauser
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cockpit, behind the instruments. Occasionally it was just Kingman alone, in a smaller helicopter whose cockpit was a glass bulb.
âWhere do you think he goes?â Cynthia asked, staring through binoculars.
Jack shrugged. âBoston, maybe.â
âWhy there?â
âItâs the closest big city. He probably meets with businessmen, or with people he knows from MIT.â
âHe seems like maybe he doesnât want to talk to anyone.â
âWhy do you think that?â Jack asked.
âDonât know,â Cynthia said. âWhy else hide in the middle of all this land?â
âMaybe he doesnât think of it like hiding.â
Often Kingman looked toward the fence where the two of them were standing, as if he sensed someone was watching him. Yet they were far enough away that their bodies wouldnât have registered as anything other than fence posts or tree stumps, maybe wandering deer. Still, they tried to stand as motionless as possible.
Sometimes Jack thought he and Cynthia might be interested in Kingman for different reasons. Jack wanted to know about all those boxes, the information they were collecting, all the secret projects he was funding. Cynthia, though, seemed like she might actually want to be the millionaire. Slip through the fence and have that big house and all those acres to herself.
Chapter Six
Field Notes
Data Entry: Jack C.
Historical Crests for the Sparhawk River at Groverâs Crossing
(1) 25.37 ft. (est.) on Jun. 28, 2006
(2) 25.02 ft. (est.) on Jul. 16, 2007
(3) 23.32 ft. (est) on Jun. 16, 2006
(4) 22.12 ft. (est) on May 28, 1999
(5) 21.76 ft. (est) on Aug. 18, 2001
(6) 21.00 ft on Jun. 19, 2004
(7) 17.98 ft. on Apr. 3, 2005
(8) 17.33 ft. on Sept. 18, 2004
(9) 16.31 ft. on Jan. 19, 1996
(10) 14.84 ft. on Jan. 9, 1979
(11) 13.42 ft. on Mar. 15, 1986
(12) 13.19 ft. on Feb. 12, 1981
(13) 12.03 ft. on Dec. 2, 1996
(14) 11.49 ft. on Mar. 14, 1997
(15) 11.28 ft. on Nov. 9, 1996
FLOOD IMPACTS
21 ft. (major): Maximum possible reading on river gauge
16 ft. (major): Wilsonâs Supermarket parking lot begins to flood
13 ft. (moderate): Bank parking lot begins to flood
12 ft. (moderate): Some low-lying homes north of the Pike bridge begin to flood
11 ft. (minor): River gauge switches from daily readings to hourly
10 ft. (watch): FEMA alerted
8 ft.: Mean temperature of water decreases/increases by greater than 2 degrees per 12-hour block
The lab for the climate component of the flood study was in the basement of a nondescript building on the northern edge of the campus. Jack did most of his work far from this warren, on the psychology floor of the humanities library, where he would sit in a carrel, slip headphones on, and transcribe interviews. But as part of his internship orientation he was shown the lab and given a key.
He went there occasionally, mostly to pick up or drop off his data sheets, and he was always mesmerized. Bisecting the room was a scale model of a twenty-mile stretch of the river, topographically faithful to the actual one. It had ridges and divots, deep pools and shallow, random reefs. There were skinny islands scrubby with bunchgrass, some no longer than a pinkie. It was filled with water, too, and you could control the current. Etched on the bottom were the names of towns and hamlets and the mile markers they cut through. Just as with the real river, a highway ran along the eastern side, high above the forest. The model makers had even carved the trees and shrubs that jutted from the banks, aswell as glued miniature structures to simulate houses and barns and garages. These were meant to stand in for the homes of the people who lived along the water, whose voices Jack had come to know through the recordings he was always pausing and rewinding to get exactly right. Some of them drifted uninvited into his head just before he fell asleep, stubborn and momentary as a song.
A long rectangular vitrine took up most of
âWhere do you think he goes?â Cynthia asked, staring through binoculars.
Jack shrugged. âBoston, maybe.â
âWhy there?â
âItâs the closest big city. He probably meets with businessmen, or with people he knows from MIT.â
âHe seems like maybe he doesnât want to talk to anyone.â
âWhy do you think that?â Jack asked.
âDonât know,â Cynthia said. âWhy else hide in the middle of all this land?â
âMaybe he doesnât think of it like hiding.â
Often Kingman looked toward the fence where the two of them were standing, as if he sensed someone was watching him. Yet they were far enough away that their bodies wouldnât have registered as anything other than fence posts or tree stumps, maybe wandering deer. Still, they tried to stand as motionless as possible.
Sometimes Jack thought he and Cynthia might be interested in Kingman for different reasons. Jack wanted to know about all those boxes, the information they were collecting, all the secret projects he was funding. Cynthia, though, seemed like she might actually want to be the millionaire. Slip through the fence and have that big house and all those acres to herself.
Chapter Six
Field Notes
Data Entry: Jack C.
Historical Crests for the Sparhawk River at Groverâs Crossing
(1) 25.37 ft. (est.) on Jun. 28, 2006
(2) 25.02 ft. (est.) on Jul. 16, 2007
(3) 23.32 ft. (est) on Jun. 16, 2006
(4) 22.12 ft. (est) on May 28, 1999
(5) 21.76 ft. (est) on Aug. 18, 2001
(6) 21.00 ft on Jun. 19, 2004
(7) 17.98 ft. on Apr. 3, 2005
(8) 17.33 ft. on Sept. 18, 2004
(9) 16.31 ft. on Jan. 19, 1996
(10) 14.84 ft. on Jan. 9, 1979
(11) 13.42 ft. on Mar. 15, 1986
(12) 13.19 ft. on Feb. 12, 1981
(13) 12.03 ft. on Dec. 2, 1996
(14) 11.49 ft. on Mar. 14, 1997
(15) 11.28 ft. on Nov. 9, 1996
FLOOD IMPACTS
21 ft. (major): Maximum possible reading on river gauge
16 ft. (major): Wilsonâs Supermarket parking lot begins to flood
13 ft. (moderate): Bank parking lot begins to flood
12 ft. (moderate): Some low-lying homes north of the Pike bridge begin to flood
11 ft. (minor): River gauge switches from daily readings to hourly
10 ft. (watch): FEMA alerted
8 ft.: Mean temperature of water decreases/increases by greater than 2 degrees per 12-hour block
The lab for the climate component of the flood study was in the basement of a nondescript building on the northern edge of the campus. Jack did most of his work far from this warren, on the psychology floor of the humanities library, where he would sit in a carrel, slip headphones on, and transcribe interviews. But as part of his internship orientation he was shown the lab and given a key.
He went there occasionally, mostly to pick up or drop off his data sheets, and he was always mesmerized. Bisecting the room was a scale model of a twenty-mile stretch of the river, topographically faithful to the actual one. It had ridges and divots, deep pools and shallow, random reefs. There were skinny islands scrubby with bunchgrass, some no longer than a pinkie. It was filled with water, too, and you could control the current. Etched on the bottom were the names of towns and hamlets and the mile markers they cut through. Just as with the real river, a highway ran along the eastern side, high above the forest. The model makers had even carved the trees and shrubs that jutted from the banks, aswell as glued miniature structures to simulate houses and barns and garages. These were meant to stand in for the homes of the people who lived along the water, whose voices Jack had come to know through the recordings he was always pausing and rewinding to get exactly right. Some of them drifted uninvited into his head just before he fell asleep, stubborn and momentary as a song.
A long rectangular vitrine took up most of
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