I was rinsing my hair when Jenny hammered on the door, yelling something about an accident at Ralph's place. Despite the hot water I felt a sudden chill.
"Is he okay?" I yelled.
No reply.
I killed the taps, shoved the clingy curtain aside and stumbled from the shower. Half blinded, I slipped and groped around the bathroom until I found the towel. I wiped the soap from my face, wrapped the towel round my waist and ran for the hall. I know the kind of things Ralph messes with in that workshop of his, and an 'accident' could have levelled the street.
Jenny was just putting the phone down when I got there. She gave me a look - the 'Told you he was trouble' look, the one she used whenever Ralph called at 3 am to ask my opinion on lawn mowers, or to tell me about some amazing new website he'd come across.
I adjusted the towel. "Is he okay?"
"Well enough to use a phone."
"Where is he?"
She held out a slip of paper. "That doctor's surgery off Elder Street. You know it?"
"I'll find it. But what happened?"
"You can ask him yourself. He wants you to pick him up."
* * *
I drove to the surgery on auto-pilot, my mind abuzz with worry. There had been nothing on the news - I checked every channel on the radio - so there was a good chance Ralph's suburb was still there. One thing kept nagging me, though. Ralph wasn't a fan of doctors, and he wouldn't have gone unless he was badly hurt.
I pulled into the carpark just as Ralph came out of the surgery. His right arm was heavily bandaged and his face was ruddy, as if he'd spent too long in the sun. He was wearing his 'working clothes' - blue jeans and a T-shirt - and they looked a little singed.
Ralph hauled the door open and sat down, grimacing as his arm brushed the padded seat. "My place," he said. "Let's go."
"What happened?"
He lifted his bandaged hand. "Burnt. The doctor suggested hospital, but I told him it was life or death."
"And is it?"
Ralph has a habit of ignoring awkward questions, no matter how direct. He was silent until I reached the highway, but he cleared his throat as I pulled into the traffic. "Better step on it," he said.
I moved to the middle lane and increased speed until I was almost ten over the limit. "What's the rush?"
"I'll show you when we get there." He glanced at the dash. "Eventually."
"I don't need another ticket."
"If you don't hurry there won't be any more tickets."
I realised he was serious, and I pushed my foot down. The car leapt forward, and within seconds we were travelling at twice the limit. My palms were slick on the wheel as we shot past slower cars, and I cringed when they blasted their horns in anger. Half the drivers would be recording me on their phones, and I was almost guaranteed a role in some cop pursuit show. Jenny would do her nut.
Ralph stared out the side window, beating an offbeat tattoo on the glass.
Ten minutes later I pulled into Ralph's street. It was a cul-de-sac: half a dozen houses in a horseshoe arrangement. His place was near the top of the hill, a modest house dominated by a double garage. The tyres squealed as we came to a halt, and Ralph jerked the door open and ran to the house, holding his arm to his side. I killed the ignition, yanked the key and followed.
Ralph was shaking his key ring when I got there, trying to separate the front door key from the others. "The bronze one," he said, tossing the lot at me. "Square."
As soon as I got the door open he was inside, heading for the back garden. I closed the door and followed.
"Hi Rachel!" I called.
"Don't bother," said Ralph. "She's on her way to her sister's."
I frowned at this. Rachel's sister lived in England, roughly twelve thousand miles away. "When did she plan that?"
"Oh, about twenty minutes ago." Ralph dragged the back door open and hurried outside.
The garden was stark - mostly weed-strewn paving and a few dry pots. The workshop was down the far end, shaded by a large gum tree. It was a small brick building with a tin roof and heavily barred windows. The door wouldn't have looked out of place on a bank vault, and as we hurried down the overgrown path I searched through the keys until I found one with a triangular barrel. Even Rachel didn't have a copy of this one.
There was a crow in the tree, a one-eyed warrior which Ralph fed now and then. It cawed as we approached, angling its one good eye to watch us.
I stopped at the door. "Tell me what we're doing."
"No time," said Ralph sharply.
"There is time. I have the keys, and I'm not opening that door until you explain."
His face hardened, and for a split-second I thought he was going to grab me. Then he shook his head impatiently. "It's just an experiment."
"I guessed that much."
"There was something in the local paper - an article on landfill. All those plastics buried underground."
I nodded. I'd seen the same thing. Years from now the rising gases would cause all sorts of problems for the suckers who built on top of the site.
"Right. Well I started thinking, and I came up with a new disposal method."
"What's dangerous about that?"
"I can't turn it off."
"Is that all? What about your arm?"
"I got too close to the field when it flared up. Now, are you going to open this door or do I have to kick it down?"