Wildcat

WILDCAT

By

William Kercher

Copyright 2016 William Kercher

Published by William Kercher at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

THANKS AND A LITTLE PREVIEW

OTHER BOOKS BY WILLIAM KERCHER

CONNECTING WITH WILLIAM KERCHER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

William Kercher obtained a Master’s Degree in geology from Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio. He worked in the oil industry as a petroleum geologist, in Houston. One of his favorite hobbies has always been writing. He was constantly writing stories about the comings and goings of everyday life. It was his way of expressing his feelings about what was happening around him. When hard times hit the industry, he switched gears and devoted his full time to writing. He currently lives in the great northwest, on a few acres just outside Vancouver, Washington.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are far too many people to begin listing all those who have helped in my drive to become a writer. I’ve had many writing classes, with very helpful instructors and classmates. I’ve also had a great many writing critique groups. However, above all of the people who have prodded, edited and critiqued my writing, three stand out – James, Renee and Judy. You three did so much to help me refine my style and put real life into my characters, dialogue and action. I only hope I did as much in return. Bits of the blood and sweat from our sometimes heated critiques are in every paragraph. Thank you, all of you.

Next, I want to give a tip of my hat to Sandra Wellborn. Sandra was the publisher of Waltsan Publishing. Because of her unending patience, I was able to learn the basics of editing for Waltsan. Thank you, Sandra

DEDICATION

I dedicate this novel to my wife, Linda. Without her support and encouragement, I could not have endured the tough times. Thank you. I love you.

PROLOGUE

NASA, Johnson Space Center,

Clearlake, Texas.

Look over there, just beyond those trees. You can see the top of the rocket that took the Mercury astronauts into space. I think it was an Atlas rocket.

Seen from the tan BMW window across six lanes of Interstate 45 and the broad South Texas coastal plains, the silver nose section of the NASA rocket glistened like a polished diamond in the bright Texas summer sun.

You’re right, Mom. It was an Atlas rocket, eight-year-old Sean Roberts said. We learned about it in school last week. A guy named Glenn flew it. He was the first man in space.

Sandy Roberts turned to her son, who was sitting in the rear seat of the car. You’re almost right, Sweetie, she said with a grin. The man’s name was John Glenn. He was the first American to orbit the Earth. Yuri Gagarin, a Russian, was the first man in space.

Meg Sanders, also eight years old, was sitting beside Sean in the car’s rear seat. She smiled. See, dummy? You never listen in class! she said with a slap on Sean’s arm. Miss Arthur told us some foreign guy did it first.

I do, too, listen, Sean insisted and slapped her arm.

Ouch, Meg shouted. Mom, he hit me. Make him stop.

Camille Sanders looked at Sandy, then rolled her eyes. Oh, Lord. You know Sandy, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Nonsense, Sandy said with a faint smile, then turned to the rear seat. She raised her index finger, Sean, you were the one who wanted to come to NASA. I’m in no mood for horseplay. It’s going to be crowded and hot, so if you don’t cooperate, we’ll turn right around and go back home. Do you understand?

But, Mom…!

Meg, Camille said, staring at her daughter in the rear view mirror. The same goes for you, too.

Mom...

Not one more word! Both of you just sit still and try to act like good kids. You know what good kids are, Camille said and smiled at Sandy. You saw them once on TV. Then she added, Here’s the NASA exit now.

Sandy smiled at Camille. She leaned over and whispered, It’s almost like they’re brother and sister, they fight so much.

Camille nodded, smiling faintly.

As she was leaning toward Camille, Sandy lightly touched her leg. Camille, you’ve been quiet ever since we left home. Is anything wrong?

It’s not serious, nothing worth talking about.

Humph. Usually when people say ‘It’s nothing serious,’ it usually is. When we reach NASA, we’ll let the kids run around. It’s huge. There’s no way they can get into trouble. We’ll talk then, Sandy said and paused, waiting for an answer. We’ll talk then? she repeated, her finger pulling on her earlobe.

Camille drove, eyes fixed on the road.

Okay?

Okay, Camille finally acknowledged with a slight laugh. Maybe we should talk. It involves the company, so you might be interested.

The company?

Oh, she said with a renewed smile, it’s probably nothing. Bryan tells me I overreact.

Camille flipped the turn signal and moved over to the far right lane. She tapped the brake pedal as she entered the exit ramp. The smile ended, replaced very quickly with a clenched jaw.

Sandy looked over at her friend. Camille, we’ll talk, Sandy said. It’ll be okay.

Camille’s eyes widened as her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her mouth opened, as if to speak, but nothing came out.

Cam... Sandy’s words froze in her throat as her eyes went to the roadway along the exit ramp. A blur of green grass and bushes was rushing past the car much faster than it should. Camille, slow down. You’re going too fast.

Dear God... Camille whispered as her foot repeatedly smashed the pedal into the floorboard, ...the brakes!

Still at interstate speed, with two stopped eighteen-wheelers completely blocking the end of the ramp in front of her and with a steep drop-off to the right, Camille shouted, Hang on, and aimed for a small space between one of the trucks and the concrete overpass abutment.

She swerved in front of a slower moving car, bounced over the curb and sped out of control down the grassy embankment.

The left fender hit the concrete, sending the car to the right, struck one of the truck’s wheels and started spinning. Contact with the curb flipped the BMW onto the main drive into NASA.

It came to rest on its side, in the center of the southbound lanes. For a long moment, nothing moved; the world seemed strangely muted. Camille looked first at Sandy, then at the kids. An exhale seeped out of her lungs and mouth.

They’d made it.

She looked up. A car was rushing toward them, a terrified expression on the driver’s face. The high-pitched cry of squealing tires filled the inside of the car. The front of the BMW exploded in a spray of glass fragments and bits of metal. They sailed backwards, spinning and flipping over, landing on the passenger-side doors.

For an instant, nothing happened. Then the acrid odor of gasoline fumes filled the car. With a faint whomp, fire erupted under the hood. Partially blinded by a stream of blood from a deep gash in her forehead, Camille fumbled with the buckle to the seat belt. A wave of heat swept over her as the flames ate through the firewall, into the passenger compartment. The buckle finally gave. She turned to check the others.

Sandy wasn’t moving and had a blank, open-eyed expression.. Blood ran from a gash in her neck. Flames attacking the car burned away the leather dashboard. The back seat was empty. Smoke filled the car, choking and nearly blinding her.

Searing pain tore at her face and arms. Panicked, Camille pulled on the sides of the broken out window and pushed up with her feet. Blisters bubbled on her arm. Bits of smoking flesh fell away as she dragged herself out of the window and onto the car door.

She checked the car. No children. Sandy was dead.

She was about to jump, when a faint voice caught her ear.

Camille. Help.

Jesus, she whispered and looked into Sandy’s eyes.

Daggers of yellow-orange flames exploded from the dashboard, flicked at the seat covers. The once tan leather turned dark brown.

Sandy...

Flames swirled around the interior of the car, igniting the seats and steering wheel, then erupted out the window in a wide column of fire. Camille fell back, her hair smoking, and rolled off the car door and onto the street.

No. No. God, don’t do this, she said when she righted herself.

Meg! Sweet Jesus, where are you Megan? she shouted.

Silence.

Please, someone... she cried out to the rapidly gathering crowd, ...find my daughter.

Hey, lady, a voice called out, over here.

Camille ran to the voice. Meg was lying in the median, face down in the grass.

No, Honey, no! she screamed and rushed to her. She rolled her over and hugged her. A soft breath blew across her neck. Meg’s eyes opened. Mom... she managed, then passed out.

Camille picked up Meg and carried her away from the flames.

At the front of the car, Sean stood, his hands pressed on the windshield staring at his mother as the flames brushed across her face and body. Mommy! Mommy! he cried.

As the flames filled the car, Sandy shrieked, Get out. Get out now!

From out of the crowd, a man in shorts and T-shirt grabbed Sean. The man shouted. You gotta get away. This might blow up.

No, Sean cried as the stranger snatched him out of the broken window.

Camille held Meg to her breast then, as if hypnotized by the horror, turned to face the car.

A blackened hand, then an arm appeared through the window as a ball of fire engulfed the BMW.

CHAPTER ONE

Six Years Later

No! Sharon McGovern gasped as she slammed on her brakes.

She’d crested an overpass on the Southwest Freeway and found, spread out across the full width of the freeway, a glittering ribbon of red, wildly flashing brake lights. She rolled her eyes at the prospect of dealing with stop-and-go traffic for the next seven miles. She had graduated from the University of Houston six months earlier. With her degree in Geology, she’d received several job offers from oil companies in the Houston suburbs, but she had accepted the offer from Sanders Oil Company and the Sanders’ offices were in downtown Houston. She loved the job and the challenge, but not the traffic. However, it was too late for remorse

Surely the gods that rule over the freeways must have been in a good mood because Sharon pulled her light blue Mustang into the entrance of the cavernous Texas Tower parking garage at exactly 8am. She fumbled through the glove compartment for her parking card. After several seconds, she found it under a stack of Country-Western CDs. When she reached the automatic gate, she jammed the card into the slot. Hurry, she murmured as the gate shook twice, then slowly opened. At 8:05, the elevator doors slid silently open on the eighth floor, and she dashed out of the elevator and through the large glass doors leading to the Sanders Oil Company reception area.

Good morning Sharon, Liz Baxter, the receptionist called out as Sharon rushed past her. Traffic bad today?

Morning, Liz. Another wreck, she said on her way to her office, three doors down the hallway. Had everything backed up for miles.

I keep telling you, Liz said, pulling a strand of her black hair back behind her ear. She watched Sharon slide her key into her door lock, you should move nearer to downtown. There’s going to be a vacancy in my apartment complex, real soon.

One of these days I may look into it, Sharon answered as she opened her office door and dropped her briefcase on her desk. Anyone looking for me?

Bryan. He’s in the conference room with Mark and Steve. I think it’s about the new land purchase in East Texas.

East Texas! You mean, Mount Angel?

I believe that’s the one.

Damn it, that’s my area, Sharon said as she looked down the hallway at Liz. How do you know it’s Mount Angel?

A few minutes ago, Bryan asked for the files. I didn’t know that was yours. When’d you get it?

Last night. Bryan told me just before I left.

The telephone on Sharon’s desk startled her with a monotone electronic buzz.

Sharon, Bryan Sanders’ deep voice boomed over the phone, would you come into the conference room for a few minutes? I want to talk to you and Steve.

Certainly, I’ll be right there.

She quickly dug through a stack of files, maps and papers on her drafting table until she found her clipboard. Then she hurried down the long hallway to the main conference room, which connected with Bryan’s office and occupied the entire northeast corner of the eighth floor. Pausing outside the door, she smoothed her teal skirt and white blouse. Feeling organized, she pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Bryan Sanders, the founder and President of Sanders Oil sat at the head of a long mahogany conference table in the center of the room. The Vice-president, Mark Roberts, was on his right and Steve Erickson, the senior geologist, sat on his left. Behind them, a US flag, a large Texas state flag and several geologic maps covered most of the back wall.

Good morning Sharon, Bryan said with a wave. Come on in and have a seat.

Sharon considered explaining being late, but then decided against it and chose a chair near Steve. Yes, sir.

Sharon, I want you in on these initial meetings concerning the Mount Angel Prospect. As I told you last night, I’m putting you on the evaluation with Steve. Give us a fresh opinion.

What? Mark shouted, rising to the full extent of his six-foot, four-inch frame. Bryan, have you lost your mind? You can’t be serious.

As the force of Mark’s outburst blew past her, Sharon slumped back in her seat, exhaling an audible, staccato-like sigh. In the following silence, she dropped her pencil, fumbling for it while she felt Mark’s eyes burning into her.

After a moment, she managed to meet his stare. She tried to remain strong, in command of her emotions. However, under the intense pressure of his piercing gaze, her confidence wilted.

Bryan, Mark continued as he shifted his attention away from her, she’s barely six months out of college! She’s not qualified to handle an evaluation as important as this one!

Mark, what’s gotten into you, Bryan said with a puzzled expression. You’ve never gotten so worked up over assignments? Why now?

We’ve never been in such a critical situation, Mark snapped. Have you forgotten our losses over the last few years?

No, I haven’t, Bryan answered as he stood to look Mark directly in the eyes. I’m keenly aware of our need for a producer on our next wildcat. I know damn well how much we need a positive cash flow. Cash flow is my main concern.

Sharon closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear, then wondered if she had in fact done just that, the way they were talking past her.

Then, Mark said, why in the hell are we giving this to a geologist right out of college? We need someone who knows what they’re doing.

Because everyone has to start somewhere. Besides Steve could use some help. Right, Steve? Bryan looked at Steve Erickson, sitting uneasily next to him.

Steve nodded weakly without looking up. Yeah, sure, Bryan.

Frustrated and growing more so by the minute, Mark leaned forward, his clenched fists pressed against the table.

As Mark stood over her, Sharon thought back to the only other times he’d spoken to her. In each of those two encounters she had come away with a much different impression of him than what she was seeing now. Their first meeting was at the office Christmas party, just two days after she’d begun with Sanders Oil. She’d taken up a position next to the punch bowl. As she swirled the ice in her glass, Mark casually walked past her.

This is a very nice party, Sir, she told him.

Thank you, Miss McGovern, he said with a warm smile.

She stood silently, then started to fill her glass.

Here, let me, he said taking the crystal ladle from the bowl. I’m glad you could make it to our party. I haven’t had a chance to formally welcome you to the company. She nodded a silent greeting. Surrounded by the crowd, she found him very cordial and engaging.

That was the first time they’d spoken. The second came several months after that. She had been working late and her car wouldn’t start. Stranded in the empty garage, she sat staring at her key in the ignition, as if her anger and contempt for the useless device would somehow convince it to work. She had just decided to call a mechanic when the elevator doors opened and Mark walked out.

I thought you left a long time ago?

I did. But, I guess my car thought differently, she laughed weakly.

Car won’t start?

No. Maybe it’s the battery.

Let me try, he said. I have a way with cars.

After several unsuccessful attempts, he gave up.

Well, I guess my magic isn’t going to work this time, he told her. I’ll go get Security. They have jumper cables. We’ll have you going in minutes.

Following those two encounters, Sharon couldn’t quite put her finger on the feeling she had for him. While unable to name the emotion, she had put an image to it – red wine in long stemmed crystal glasses and a large, stone hearth fireplace.

Her warm memories shattered like those wine glasses, back handed off a table and hitting a tile floor with a nerve jarring crash. Bryan, Mark shouted, we can’t experiment at a time like this.

Sir, Sharon said softly, shifting her attention to Bryan, as much to talk to him as to avoid Mark’s burning eyes, if it’d be better, I could wait in my office.

No, you stay, Mark said, I’ll leave. He threw the folder in his hand down on the table then stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him

Sir, I... Unable to speak, Sharon scanned the paintings on the walls, the geologic maps on the corkboard in the front of the room, the minute patterns in the carpet, then shook her head and slumped down in her seat.

Sharon, I’m not sure what that was all about, but I’m sorry you had to hear it. Wait here. I want to talk to Mark. With that, Bryan followed Mark out the door.

Is he always that way? Sharon asked Steve, who had not moved since the exchange began.

Oh, Mark can be a real bear at times, Steve said as he collected himself. "I’ve seen him rip a few heads off every now and then, but you gotta realize everyone in this office is under a lot of strain