Broken Ground
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 7
Taylor pulled out of the sheriff’s office parking lot and drove toward the edge of town, following the directions the cook had given him. Campbell Road was supposed to branch off from the main state road that headed up into the hills, which was at least marked on his map, but that didn’t mean it would be easy to find.
In his experience, roads like this were rarely well-marked.
His phone rang as he passed the last few houses on the outskirts of town, the cell towers still providing strong coverage before he’d lose the signal in the mountains.
“Taylor,” he said as he answered.
“Mr. Taylor? This is Ellis Watson with the Department of the Interior. Agent Whitaker gave me your number and said you had some questions about activities in your area.”
Taylor slowed and pulled into a gravel turnout beside the road, wanting to give the conversation his full attention before he lost cell service.
“That’s right. I’m looking into Mountain Vista Industries up here in Glacier Falls, Minnesota. Trying to understand what they’re doing exactly.”
“One sec,” Watson said, and Taylor could hear him tapping away on his keyboard. “Yeah, we’ve got a file on them. Huh, this is interesting. They filed a patent application about eighteen months ago for some kind of advanced processing system for radioactive materials.”
“Radioactive materials?”
“High-level waste processing, according to their documentation. They claim they’ve developed a method to break down radioactive byproducts from industrial manufacturing, clean them up, and extract valuable materials that can be resold. Supposed to render the waste products inert and harmless. If that works, it would be big.”
Taylor watched a pickup truck drive past, heading back toward town with what looked like camping gear in the bed. Probably someone who’d been up in the hills for a few days. “But does it work?”
“Seems to. I have notes here about an inspection where they demonstrated the technology, and both our people and the state regulators were pretty convinced. The science seems solid, at least on paper and in their pilot demonstrations.”
“Isn’t this a thing for Commerce or the Patent Office? Why was Interior involved in the first place?”
“Water rights and environmental impact. Their process is apparently pretty water-intensive, so they need to pull significant volumes from the Missouri River. But according to their specs, they’re putting it back cleaner than when they took it out. Still, anytime someone wants to divert that much water from a major waterway, we have to sign off on it.”
“What does ‘significant volume’ mean?”
“According to the paperwork, a couple million gallons a day during peak operation, which sounds like a lot, but it’s not enormous by industrial standards. Still, it is enough that we needed to make sure it wouldn’t impact downstream users or the local ecosystem.”
“And you were satisfied with their answers?”
Watson paused, and Taylor could hear papers rustling in the background. “Like I said, the technology seemed legitimate. They brought in some heavy-duty engineers and scientists to walk us through the process. MIT-trained chemical engineers, former DOE people, that kind of pedigree. The state environmental agency was involved, too, along with EPA and BLM.”
At the mention of BLM, Taylor’s mind went back to the newspaper article he’d found about the missing inspector. “You said BLM was part of the review?”
“Sure. There’s a land management area up in those hills, plus some old mining claims that fall under federal jurisdiction. Standard procedure when you’ve got industrial development near federal lands.”
“I read something about a missing BLM inspector in the area. You know anything about that?”
“Missing inspector?” Watson’s voice carried genuine surprise. “When was this?”
“The article I saw was from about six weeks ago, but it was light on details.”
“Hmm. That’s not something that would necessarily cross my desk, but...” More paper rustling. “I don’t see anything in our files about a missing federal employee. But if BLM sent someone out to survey the area, it would likely be to assess potential impact on the land management zones from Mountain Vista’s operation.”
“What kind of impact would they be looking for?”
“Groundwater contamination, air quality, noise pollution, truck traffic on federal access roads. Standard environmental assessment stuff. These big industrial operations can affect a pretty wide area, even when they’re on private land.”
“But you have nothing on this guy?”
“I’m afraid not. Different department, different jurisdiction. BLM handles its own personnel and survey operations. If someone went missing, it would be an internal matter for them unless it became a law enforcement issue.”
“Okay. So the stuff Mountain Vista is working on is on the up and up, though, right?”
“Seems to be. I mean, the technology is pretty cutting-edge, but that’s not necessarily unusual. There’s a lot of innovation happening in waste processing these days, especially with radioactive materials. The liability and disposal costs for that stuff are so high that there’s real money to be made if you can develop better handling methods.”
“And you believed their claims about making the waste harmless?”
“The demonstrations were convincing. They showed us samples of processed material that tested clean according to our equipment. But I’ll admit we didn’t do extensive independent testing. Our role was mainly to evaluate the water usage and environmental impact, not to validate the underlying technology.”
“Who would have done that kind of validation?”
“EPA would have looked at the environmental and safety aspects. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission might have been involved if it’s handling certain types of radioactive materials. And the state environmental agency would have done its own review.”
“But as far as you know, everyone signed off on it?”
“According to this, they did.”
“How long ago did this review process happen?”
“Let me check...” Watson paused. “Looks like the initial application was filed about two years ago, with the final approvals coming through last spring. They’ve been in the construction phase since then, building out their facility.”
“And there haven’t been any issues since then? No complaints or follow-up investigations?”
“Nothing that’s in the file, though again, once we issue the permits, ongoing monitoring usually falls to state and local authorities unless there’s a specific federal concern or a lot of reports of problems in the area.”
All of which meant Mountain Vista looked like the real thing, which didn’t answer any of Taylor’s questions. He knew they were involved, but he couldn’t see how they’d be willing to go to these lengths to buy up the land.
They’d already had their inspections and gotten everything passed. True, the BLM guy added more questions, but that might not be tied to them.
“Okay, I think that about covers it. Thanks for the information.”
“Sure thing. I owed Whitaker anyway.”
“Don’t we all,” Taylor said, and hung up.
As he pulled the car back onto the road, he started to file the information away. This thing was turning out to be a massive pain in the ass. He had a lot of stuff pointing to something going on, and even a lot of it tied together, but nothing solid.
There was some piece of information he was missing that would explain what was going on. He just needed to find it.
The turn off was about six miles outside of town, just where the cook had said it’d be, the road changing from state-maintained asphalt to gravel, then to little more than two ruts cut through pine and scrub. Taylor’s rental bounced over rocks and roots, the suspension working hard, and he kept his speed down because the last thing he needed was a broken axle in the middle of nowhere. The trees closed in on both sides, branches scraping the windows when the ruts forced him too far left or right.
Pete had said the cabin was about three miles past the old mine shaft, which meant Taylor had to watch for the turnoff. The first landmark came up after twenty minutes of slow driving, a rusted gate hanging open on one hinge, and beyond it, the collapsed remains of what might have been a barn. Another mile and he passed a second ruin, this one just foundation stones and a pile of rotted timber that could have been anything.
The road to the mine shaft came up on his left, marked by a barricade that must have been put up twenty years ago with a faded sign that said, ‘Mine Closed.’
Or at least, Taylor assumed that was the road to the old mine.
Three more miles and the trees opened up into a clearing. A cabin sat in the center, small and weathered, built from logs that had turned dark gray from years of exposure. A stone chimney rose from the center of the roof, and smoke drifted up from it.
Somebody was home.