Over the Edge Page 5

  “…about her. Snotty? Arrogant?”

  “Hey, I was letting off steam. I didn’t know he’d post it. Snipe’s mad about the way the government broke in and took me away from my home. He’s using what happened to me as an example.”

  “When did you write the e-mail?” This from Steven.

  “While you were at the Grand Canyon, that first morning.” Morgan’s voice sounded tight as he continued, “But I wouldn’t write the same stuff now. Try to understand, my freedom was taken away, and I was mouthing off to a friend. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Inside, Jack groaned. So it was true. Morgan had flamed Ashley. How dumb could he be?

  Olivia’s voice was sharp. “I’m afraid it means a great deal to me.”

  “But I swear, I didn’t know Snipe would post it. Blame him, not me.”

  “You’re always the victim,” Olivia snapped. “The thing is, Morgan, I can take the harsh words you wrote about me. You think I’m a brainless, government pawn whose joy is suppressing your freedom? Fine. I’m an adult. I can take your nastiness. But I can’t—no, I won’t allow you to trash my daughter. It’s obvious to me that bringing you here was a mistake.”

  “Olivia!”

  “I mean it, Steven. I want to call Ms. Lopez and see if other arrangements can be made.”

  “You can’t do that! I’ll be sent to juvenile detention,” Morgan cried. “Mr. Landon—”

  “You should have thought of the consequences before you wrote that e-mail,” Olivia insisted.

  “I don’t want to go!”

  Olivia’s voice was equally forceful. “This isn’t about what you want. Look, I have a CNN interview to do, and then Steven and I will decide on the next step. For now, I don’t want Ashley to know what was said on that Web site. Is that clear?”

  “I’m supposed to obey you when you want to ditch me?”

  “OK, OK, let’s all calm down here,” Steven broke in. “Morgan, this is an important interview for Olivia. We’re all going to go and support her. Behave yourself, and then we’ll see what’s next.”

  Jack carefully pulled the door shut and tried to swallow the knot that had tightened his throat. His sister was hurt, his mother was angry, Morgan was being sent away, and the condors were still dying. How could this trip get any worse?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Morgan hunched so low in the backseat of the car that his knees almost touched his chin. Outside, the park slid by, its small, snug buildings overrun by people scurrying about like ants. Inside the car, no one spoke—silence crept around them like a thick cloud. Olivia checked the map and gave instructions on how to get to Mather Point; Steven answered briefly, then lapsed once again into silence. Jack suspected that they were quiet because they were replaying the conversation that had taken place moments before about the Web site and the fact that Morgan might have to leave. Although Ashley wasn’t letting on that she’d listened in, Jack could tell how angry she was. She dug her fingernails into her palm until little half-moon marks made a pattern on her skin.

  “Look, we all should talk. Morgan, I’ve been thinking,” Olivia began, turning in her seat. She hesitated then gave a forced smile. “On reflection I can see the condor deaths have really put a strain on me, so, well, perhaps I overreacted back in the hotel room.”

  “What did Morgan do?” Ashley asked, pretending she hadn’t heard the whole conversation.

  “I’ll tell you about it later, sweetheart. For now, I think I need to apologize to Morgan for some things I said.” Reaching out her hand, she said, “I’d like to bury the hatchet.”

  Morgan didn’t answer. He planted his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers around the back of his neck.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yeah, you said you want to bury the hatchet. Where—in my back?”

  “Morgan!” Steven exploded.

  Olivia sighed and faced front again. “It’s OK,” she told Steven. “I tried. Look, I want to get my head focused on this interview. Ashley, is my hair OK?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject. “It feels like it’s going wild.”

  “You look great, Mom,” Ashley assured her. With the tips of her fingers, she smoothed the back of her mother’s hair. “Really. Hey, look at the crowd!”

  A lot of tourists had already gathered in the parking lot, excited about the two cameramen with their CNN logos. As Olivia got out of the car, a woman in a trench coat took her arm, saying, “Would you come over this way, Dr. Landon? We need to test the mike.” Olivia tossed a smile in a backward glance to her family, and then took off toward the CNN news truck.

  “Mom’s going to be a celebrity,” Ashley exclaimed. “If she gets famous, will she still cook for us?”

  “Well, if she doesn’t, I will,” Steven answered, tugging a lock of Ashley’s dark hair to tease her. Steven wore the usual warm, fond expression that he saved for Ashley. Maybe it was because she was like a smaller version of Olivia, with dark, curly hair, big, dark eyes, and a petite build. To Jack, Steven showed his affection in a different way, ruffling his hair, giving him pretend punches to the biceps, grabbing him playfully around the back of the neck to pull him close for a quick, manly hug. Just as Ashley looked like their mother, Jack looked like their dad: almost a clone, in fact—tall and thin, blue-eyed, with stick-straight blond hair.

  “Come on, we want to find a good spot where we can see and hear everything,” Steven said. “I wonder if this will be telecast live? Maybe I ought to get the cell phone and call your grandparents.”

  As Steven hurried back to the car for the cell phone, Morgan asked Jack, “How does your dad feel when people make so much fuss over your mother?”

  “What do you mean? He feels fine about it. Why wouldn’t he?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I dunno. I was just thinking about my own parents. In my house, my dad’s the total boss. Like, if our family had taken in a foster kid, there’d be no way my dad would let my mom throw the kid out. But I guess your mom’s the one who rules the Landon family, right? What she says goes.”

  “My mom is not going to throw you out, Morgan. Not if you act decent, anyway. Why were you so obnoxious when she was trying to talk to you in the car?”

  “I have a long cool-down period when I’m mad. Did you know your mom said she wanted me to leave?”

  “No. Well—yeah,” Jack admitted.

  Again, Morgan raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “So I get sent back like defective software. Only it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to just sit back and get sent to detention.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Jack wondered. He was about to ask when Ashley raised her finger to her lips. “Shhh, they’re putting Mom on camera now.”

  With his aspiring-photographer’s eye, Jack glanced at the cliffs to check the scene where his mother was going to stand, with her back to the canyon, facing the cameras. It seemed a perfect background—red-orange vertical fractures and pinnacles in the Kaibab limestone along the rim, green trees whose roots would eventually crumble part of the rocks, ravens winging overhead. The vivid blue sky framed Olivia’s dark hair as it ruffled in the breeze; the same breeze lifted the rust-colored silk scarf she’d slung around her neck. Wearing a black leather belted jacket over stonewashed jeans, she seemed almost too young to have a teenage son. Jack felt a swelling of pride. Not only had the park turned to his mother for answers on the condor mystery, but the whole nation was listening to what she had to say.

  “Three, two, one,” a cameraman said, counting down with his fingers before pointing at Olivia. As the cameramen started to roll their film, the trench coat lady spoke into the microphone. “This is Claudia Franklin, here on the rim of the magnificent Grand Canyon. Next to me is Dr. Olivia Landon, wildlife veterinarian and specialist in endangered species. Dr. Landon, you’ve been telling me about a serious problem with the condors. Could you give us more details about this lead poisoning that threatens them?”

  Looking relaxed, with her hands in her pockets,
Olivia answered, “I’d be happy to, Claudia. There was a time when these big, graceful birds soared all over the Southwest. Then in the 1800s settlers moved West, and the condors suffered. By the 1980s, there were fewer than 30 California condors in the world.”

  “What caused the decline?” Claudia asked.

  “Oh, shootings, electrocution from power lines, poisoning, attacks by golden eagles. Also, condors don’t reproduce very fast. Mature females may lay only one egg every two years. The number of captive birds, the ones in zoos, became fairly stable, but condors in the wild became more and more scarce. In 1987, the last one was removed from the wild and placed in captivity.”

  Not waiting for Claudia to ask another question, Olivia continued, “Then the captive-breeding program in zoos began to produce enough condors that scientists decided to reintroduce some of them into the wild—in California and north of here at the Vermilion Cliffs. Those condors did well, until—”

  “What happened?” Claudia asked, right on cue.

  “They began to sicken and die. From lead poisoning. Condors feed on carrion—dead animals. If condors eat a carcass shot with lead pellets and they ingest the lead, it can kill them. Has killed at least five of them in the past few months, and maybe more. What we don’t understand is the source of all this lead. That’s why I’m here.”

  Claudia shook her head in concern. “Can anything be done to stop the deaths?”

  “Yes!” Olivia spoke so vehemently that Jack jumped, and a soft murmur went through the crowd of people gathered in a semicircle to watch the interview. “First, let me say, Claudia, that the team of scientists and park rangers trying to save these birds are the most dedicated people I’ve ever known. They work every day—and I mean every day, no time off—to help the condors. After the five deaths, they recaptured almost all of the wild condors in this area and have kept them caged for the birds’ safety. That means they have to remain locked away until the source of the contamination is located. The last bird, an adolescent they call Number 72, has just been spotted in the area of Grandeur Point, which is where I’ll be for the rest of the day. When that condor is caught, visitors will once again be deprived of experiencing these magnificent birds.”

  “What can be done?” Claudia prompted.

  “The most obvious solution is for hunters to stop using shotgun shells that contain lead pellets. Other types of shells are available that won’t hurt the condors. Oh, I know it would cost a little more, but responsible hunters are already changing to non-lead ammunition.”

  “Do you believe all the hunters will comply?”

  Olivia shook her head no. “We already know some will not do this voluntarily. And so, I want to propose a more drastic solution.”

  Half watching the cameramen, Jack got the impression that they now zoomed in for a close-up. Maybe Claudia had given them some kind of signal. “And what is your plan, Dr. Landon?”

  “I propose that a law be passed,” Olivia said, pausing for effect, “that would ban all lead-pellet shells within 200 miles of the boundaries of Grand Canyon National Park. Anyone using lead shot would be subject to a hefty fine and possible jail time.”

  Claudia turned to look directly into the cameras. “That sounds like a drastic proposal. Won’t there be a lot of opposition?”

  “Not from responsible hunters.”

  “What about the perception among certain hunters that the government is already assuming the role of ‘Big Brother’ in regulating the use of their guns? Many gun owners complain that they are being unfairly targeted by environmentalists. What is your response to them?”

  “Well, to put it simply, my concern is for the condors. Condors need protection, even it that means stepping on a few hunters’ toes.”

  “But is passing a new law the right approach?”

  “It’s the only option I can see. Legal action will be necessary because people don’t always do the right thing of their own volition. Regulations have to be made and then enforced in order to protect animals.”

  “Can you give me an example?” Claudia prompted.

  Olivia paused for just a moment before saying, “Yes, an example of this would be the Cash-for-Carcasses hunts, something I just learned about today. Most hunters would never even think about participating in this wholesale slaughter, but a minority are blasting away at mountain lions, foxes, and certain predators for cash prizes. At this time, this environmentally disastrous kind of hunting is legal. Once again, legislation needs to be passed to protect the animals who can’t protect themselves, and I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to stop these abuses.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Landon.” Again, speaking to the cameras, Claudia said, “You’ve just heard Dr. Olivia Landon, specialist in threatened and endangered species, telling us how she hopes to ban lead shot in order to protect the condors, and also put an end to Cash-for-Carcasses hunts. This is Claudia Franklin, CNN News Hour, reporting from Grand Canyon National Park.”

  It was over. Applause broke out in the crowd surrounding the scene of the interview, and as Olivia walked toward her family, her face flushed with excitement, people rushed forward to shake her hand and pat her on the back. Many of the people were park rangers, wearing their uniforms of light gray shirts and dark green pants.

  “That was terrific, Olivia,” a red-haired ranger named Pam told her, and a park biologist with a name tag that said “Elaine” enthused, “I’m so glad you brought that up about the Cash-for-Carcasses hunt. Only, I think I would have been a lot nastier about it than you were. Of course, if I’d said what I really think, they’d have bleeped me off the air.”

  All the Landons plus Morgan and the CNN team were invited back to park headquarters for something like a victory celebration. They crowded into the park superintendent’s office and adjoining meeting room, talking excitedly about Olivia’s interview.

  “You must be Olivia’s daughter,” a ranger was saying to Ashley. “You sure look like her. I bet you were real proud of your mother today. And are these your brothers?” he asked, pointing to Jack and Morgan.

  “That one is. But the one with the facial fuzz is not my brother,” Ashley answered firmly. “Morgan is the one who showed my mom the Cash-for-Carcasses hunt on the Internet. His friend Snipe goes out and kills animals for prize money, which Morgan thinks is OK.”

  “Really?” the ranger said disapprovingly.

  Suddenly self-conscious, Morgan fingered his attempt at a goatee. When the ranger turned his focus on Jack and Ashley, asking them questions about school and the wildlife around Jackson Hole, Morgan turned and walked away, disappearing into one of the halls. Jack listened as his footsteps echoed down the corridor like soft drumbeats, until no sound but the ranger’s rhythmic voice remained.

  When the ranger finally left, Jack turned to his sister and demanded, “What you said about Morgan was rude. Why do you have to diss him every chance you get?”

  “Why do you care?” she answered. “I thought the ranger should know who Morgan really is. Besides, if you want to talk about rude, Morgan said some bad things about me that got posted on Snipe’s Web site. Why aren’t you mad about that?”

  Jack didn’t have a reply, because he wasn’t clear about it in his own mind. What Morgan had done was wrong—no one could argue that. But the more Jack got to know Morgan, the more he began to feel that beneath that prickly outside, beyond the smart mouth, a half-decent kid might be lurking somewhere. If Jack’s mom sent Morgan away, he might never know who Morgan really was, and the idea bothered him. And yet, what if he discovered that Morgan was even worse than Ashley imagined? When a rock is turned over, ugly things can crawl out.

  “Look, Jack,” Ashley said, putting her hands on her hips, “I don’t want to fight with you. Let’s call a truce. I saw some cool stuff in the bookstore gift shop. Want to come with me?”

  “No, you go ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

  “You’re looking for Morgan, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. He’s disap
peared. I just want to know where he’s—” But Ashley didn’t wait for him to finish.

  “Fine, whatever!” she snapped, marching in the direction of the gift shop.

  Jack drifted over to where his father was deep in conversation with one of the CNN cameramen, hoping to ask if he’d seen Morgan but afraid to interrupt. He tried to listen to what they were saying, but it was too technical for him, so he wandered around looking for Morgan on his own. Twice he walked up and down the halls, peering through office doors that were lighted but empty before finally stumbling across Morgan coming out of the men’s room.

  “Hey, where’ve you been?”

  “You checking up on me?” Morgan demanded.

  “No. I just wanted to talk.”

  Eyeing him warily, Morgan asked, “About what?”

  “About…I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

  “Good!” Morgan broke into the beginnings of a smile. “I’ve had enough moralizing to last me awhile. I mean, your mom was out of control back there. I hope Snipe doesn’t see that report—he would freak if he thought the hunt was going to get banned.”

  “She’s pretty intense when it comes to animals. But everyone in my family is. I think that hunt is gross.”

  “Except no one mentioned that Cash-for-Carcasses shoots mostly coyotes, which reproduce even faster when they’re killed off.”

  “If they’re dead, they can’t have babies.”

  “Really?” Morgan asked sarcastically. “I’m talking about when they’re thinned out they’re fewer of them competing for food, so the survivors’ litters get bigger, which means there’s no way hunters can ever wipe them out.” Nodding with satisfaction, he added, “Snipe told me.”

  “So? That’s still no excuse to use animals for target practice.”

  Beneath lowered lids, Morgan stared down at Jack. “Everything dies. It’s only a matter of when.”

  “That’s the same as saying one human can kill another human because ‘they all die anyway.’” Jack could feel the color rising in his cheeks, until he saw the amused grin bending the corners of Morgan’s mouth.