by Larry LaVoie
He got back to his assignment and sat down in front of his computer. He needed to double check the best possible spot to intersect the lava tube deep within The Three Virgins. To do this, he relied on ground penetrating radar, satellite imaging, and a program he had developed while working on his Doctorate. Perhaps that’s why I was chosen for this assignment, he thought, as he pushed a button on his computer forwarding the exact coordinates to Colonel Frost. There was nothing left for him to do but monitor the volcano’s gasses and record the earthquakes on the mountain. His best hope was to keep the tunneling crew from perishing in an early eruption.
An hour later, he breathed a sigh of relief when the gas sample collected by the remote drone showed a reduction in carbon dioxide, a gas liberated from rising magma. Hopefully the volcano was going back to sleep, not taking the more frightful alternative. A lava tube could be blocked, causing the rising magma to build pressure within the system. To understand what was happening, David tapped into the bank of data from tilt meters strategically located on the mountain slopes. Slight changes in attitude or height from the tilt meters, were relayed via satellite to USGS facilities around the world. The data bank gave him instant access to every movement on the mountain. Unfortunately, what he saw confirmed his worst nightmare.
Chapter 2
Eight weeks earlier, June 12th, Yellowstone National Park
Nathan Langford woke abruptly from a sound sleep. Another earthquake! He watched the swag lamps, one on each side of the bed, swaying in a wide arc. It’s not as bad as the one last night, he tried to convince himself. It was true, the one the night before dumped him and his wife on the floor of their cabin. Still, his heart was racing just as fast. He put his hand to his forehead and felt beads of sweat. He was terrified of earthquakes and the damn things were happening all too often lately. He couldn’t remember sitting up, but he was; his back pressed hard against the headboard. He glanced over at his wife, lightly snoring, seemingly unaware of the shaking bed, the dishes rattling in the kitchen cupboards, and the back door rattling in its casing. He didn’t know how she did it. After the start of the earthquakes a few weeks ago, every time his wife rolled over in bed, he woke with a start and found himself staring at the swag lamps to see if they were moving. The lamps had become his makeshift seismograph. If they were swinging, he knew there had been another earthquake and not a false alarm, such as his wife turning over in bed. It seemed there were false alarms every night and he was finding it hard to ignore them and fall back to sleep. The lack of sleep was getting old, and was causing him to become irritable.
When he had taken the job as Yellowstone Park Superintendent, he had been extensively briefed on the park. He had been given details about the inner workings of the active volcanic system that the average visitor was unaware of. There were many dangers, for certain, but he had been told the thousands of earthquakes that happened within the caldera every year would most likely go unfelt. The only way the scientists knew they existed was due to the sensitivity of the dozens of instruments buried around the caldera. Now, he began to wonder if he had been told the entire truth.
The room was cast in a pale bluish hue from the moonlight filtering through the bedroom window. His breathing was still rapid. He breathed in deeply through his nose and held his breath a moment, then let it out through his mouth. This was usually enough to calm him, but he was too nervous to go back to sleep. He lay back down for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that everything was fine. His gut told him it wasn’t.
He recalled two years earlier, when he had taken the job as Yellowstone Park Superintendent. That day he had been elated. How ironic, he had thought at the time, I’m going to oversee the park initially overseen by my namesake, Nathaniel Langford, the very first Yellowstone Park Superintendent. Before he had applied for the appointment, he had read the history of Yellowstone. He considered it would be a great privilege to run America’s first National Park. He had even conducted a genealogy search of the former park superintendent to see if he was related, but found no connection other than name. Nevertheless, he embraced the job. He considered Yellowstone National Park the greatest symbol of natural beauty in the United States, if not the world, and to be its superintendent would be a great honor. Unlike today, the day he got the job he was all smiles.
His thoughts were interrupted by another earthquake, which rattled the single glass pane of the bedroom window. This caused him to sit up again. He again checked his wife, who seemed oblivious to the shaking earth or the low rumble, that seemed to travel like a slow moving freight train through the middle of the house. The swag lamps were swaying like a pendulum. The earthquakes are becoming more frequent! After the first one he had felt several weeks earlier, he brought up the subject of earthquakes with Henry Evans, the park volcanologist, asking if they posed a threat to park personnel and the thousands of tourists who visited each day. Then, three days ago, he had met again with Henry Evans and by video conference, with Evans’ boss, the USGS scientist in charge of the Yellowstone Volcano Observatory, Dr. Clayton Brown. Brown participated by video conference from his office in Menlo Park, about 30 miles south of San Francisco. Both had told him not to worry; Yellowstone did this sort of thing periodically. It was part of a pattern that was being monitored, but there was nothing to be concerned about. They would be sure to inform him if there was any serious risk to the public.
Though he had never met him in person, he had taken an instant dislike of Clayton Brown. His first impression of the diminutive head of the USGS was the man had a Napoleon complex; a superior attitude that came across like he was better than everyone else. Even though the conference was conducted remotely, the man’s demeanor was aggressive, combative, and downright arrogant. I was expressing what I felt was a legitimate concern for the public, and the bastard treated me with a lack of respect. He had placated me.
He remembered Clayton Brown’s words, “She’s a living being; inhales and exhales like a sleeping dragon. You’re going to get earthquake activity from time to time, so you’d better get used to it.” Then, the man breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly to emphasize the point.
“ ‘Waking’ dragon’ is more like it,” Nathan mumbled, coming back to reality.
“Did you say something?” his wife asked, rolling over. She didn’t open her eyes.
“Nothing; sorry I woke you.”
He was answered with a snort and deep breathing. She had instantly gone back to sleep. He swung his feet to the cold hardwood floor, put on his slippers, and shuffled into the living room. The cabin, more like a small lodge, was one of the perks he’d received with the job. Being superintendant of Yellowstone demanded his presence in the park and the nearest city of any size was Cody, Wyoming, or Livingston, Montana, both over 50 miles from the park. He had considered commuting, but that would have taken several hours a day and in the winter months, with freezing temperatures, high snow pack, and road closures, commuting was not a serious option. Instead, he elected to live on the job, and enjoy the majestic beauty of Mother Nature.
He stood, looking outside through his large picture window. The grassy meadow out front shimmered in the moonlight, the grass swaying to-and-fro in the breeze like a tranquil ocean. It was mid-June and all of the snow in the meadow had melted. Several buffalo were bedded down nearby. This should give me some comfort, he thought. Animals are supposed to have a sixth sense about pending danger. If they aren’t scared, why should I be?
He went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of warm milk, returned to the living room, and settled back in his recliner with his feet propped up. For the first time, he considered closing the park. Did he have the power to do that? It was not a decision he could make without a great deal of support, and if he was wrong, the park would lose valuable tourist revenue. Trust the experts. There is nothing to be worried about. He finished his milk, wiped away the mustache with the back of his hand, returned the empty cup to the kitchen sink, and went back to bed.
“Did you feel the earthquake this morning?”
Nathan put a fist to his eyes and wiped the sleep away. “Come in, Henry. You mean the one last night? How could I not feel it? It nearly threw me out of bed again.”
“It was a little after midnight, so technically it was this morning.”
Nathan hated the anal-retentive nature of the park volcanologist, but he had little say over who the USGS put in that position. Considering who Henry worked for, he was probably lucky to have him. Henry was on his payroll, but answered to Clayton Brown. The video conference three days earlier, had been the longest time Nathan had spent with Henry since he took over as park superintendant. He nodded his head. “All right, it was this morning. Why are you here?”
“The quake was centered about a mile under Mallard Lake Dome. That area of the park has risen two inches in the past 48 hours.”
Nathan pointed to the couch and sat in a large leather chair facing Henry. He cocked his head. “You realize I don’t have a technical background. You’re going to have to explain why that brings you here this time of the morning.”
“Sorry sir. The rapid ground movement under Mallard Lake Dome is significant in geological terms. The magma pool under the dome appears to be rising. That’s what’s causing the quakes.”
“I can see you’re concerned, Henry. Is there something you want me to do?”
“I called Clayton Brown and asked for him to assemble a team and get them up here right away. Frankly, I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s completely beyond my expertise.”
“Henry, I could care less if you get a team from the USGS in here to study Mallard Lake Dome. Is there anything I should be concerned about? Is the public in danger?”
“Not if we close all the trails and limit access to the area.”
“How large an area are we talking about?”
Henry pursed his lips and studied his shoes for a moment before looking up at the park director. “I’d say a 20 mile radius centered around Old Faithful.”
Nathan walked over to a framed map of Yellowstone hanging on the dining room wall. He put his finger on Old Faithful. “You want me to close a 20-mile area of the park right here?”
“Minimum.” Henry nodded his head in the affirmative. He stood beside Nathan and circled the area with his finger.
“Mallard Lake Basin is the most popular area of the park. You want me to shut down access to Old Faithful and Yellowstone Lodge?” Nathan shook his head in disbelief. “Three days ago you said these quakes were nothing to worry about. How can you be certain this is not an anomaly? According to your boss, I have to get used to this.”
“I’m concerned it could already be too late. I took the liberty to contact the park rangers and told them there would be an evacuation of the area coming. You need to contact Park Headquarters right away and back me up.”
“Henry, you realize you should have called me before contacting park security!” Nathan was clearly angry.
“I tried, but there was no answer. Neither your home number, nor your cell is working. That’s why I drove up here.”
Nathan reached for the phone in the living room and put it to his ear. The line was dead. He held a finger up. “Just a minute.” He disappeared into the bedroom and immediately returned with his cell phone. “Damn thing turns itself off when the battery gets low.” He speed-dialed headquarters and gave them the evacuation order. “I’ll get dressed and you can take me to the Mallard Lake Dome. If I’m going to shut down a third of the park three weeks into the tourist season, Washington is going to want an explanation. I want to see first hand what the concern is.”
Chapter 3
June 22nd, The White House, Washington, D.C.
President Ronald Merrill was a lean man, meticulously dressed and standing over 6 ft. in his London wool-blend suit and Italian leather shoes. His white silk shirt was open at the collar. He sported a small, well-trimmed goatee which had started showing traces of gray after only six months in office. His dark head of hair was often unruly, which his admirers considered a John Kennedy look. His political enemies considered him too casual and inexperienced to represent the most powerful nation in the world. To his staff, he seemed more like a friend than the President. Athletic and fit, he often used sports analogies to get his point across, a practice that irritated his Joint Chiefs, but was adored by the young female advisers surrounding him, many of them fresh from the most prestigious campuses in the country. Ronald Merrill was facing the first major domestic crisis of his short time in the presidency.
He had assembled his staff and the Joint Chiefs for an emergency meeting in the West Wing Cabinet Room. As he had requested, there was an absence of any reporters and cameras due to the need for high security. Before him lay a thick report in a bound spiral folder with a light blue cover. The Department of Homeland Security Seal was on the front along with heavy black type, TOP SECRET. The report had been hand delivered to him by Margaret Ames, head of Homeland Security. Along with Ames, his team of advisors was seated around the oval conference table originally purchased by Richard Nixon in 1970. President Merrill put his hands on the smooth mahogany surface and looked around the room at his inexperienced staff. The thought that his administration might end up not allowed to finish their term like Nixon, crossed his mind. Not, of course, from a scandal, but from a far more grave situation. Every fiber of his being didn’t want that to happen. He slammed the 2-inch thick report on the table to get the attention of those present. His advisors sat up, stunned to see their boss acting completely out of character. The Joint Chiefs gave him a look of disdain, as if he had gone mad. As he contemplated the fate of the nation, and those assembled, the conclusion of the report in front of him was still spinning around in his head. The report read like a National Geographic article crossed with a badly written disaster novel.
Geographically, Yellowstone National Park is located 96% in Wyoming, with some of its northern border in Montana, and its western boarder in Idaho. Covering an area of over 3,400 square miles, it is larger than the states of Rhode Island or Delaware. The park sits on the Yellowstone Plateau at an average elevation of 8,000 feet. Within its confines is Yellowstone Lake, the largest high altitude lake in North America.
In 2003 a huge bulge was discovered under the lake raising concerns that another giant lake, the lake of lava beneath Yellowstone, was beginning to rise. The magma chamber that makes up the mass of molten rock is 37 miles long and 18 miles wide, with a depth of 3 to 7 miles. The last time the Yellowstone Super Volcano released the lake of melted rock as a plume into the atmosphere was over 600,000 years ago. The Yellowstone Super Volcano has a history of erupting every 600,000 years, on average. It is long overdue for an eruption. Should it happen today, the United States of America would cease to exist as a nation and much of the Western Hemisphere would be thrown into another ice age, as a result of the gasses blocking the sun in a wide band in the Northern Hemisphere.
It is no longer a question of whether it will happen again, but only a matter of when, and it appears that an eruption is imminent.
This was the gist of the report which was backed with hundreds of pages of detail and scientific data.
President Merrill raised
a hand to quiet the room. “All of you have read this report. You know what’s at stake. Frankly, your willingness to go down defeated is completely unsatisfactory.” He looked at his Homeland Security Director. “I’m not picking on you Margaret, but you and your team’s conclusions are entirely unacceptable. I’m asking, no ordering you, to go back to the table and take another crack at this. I noticed the Joint Chiefs were not included in the assessment. This time include them. Our nation, and perhaps the world is in jeopardy and all the resources at my disposal need to be included in a plan that will mitigate the damage. Is that understood?”
Margaret’s face reddened with anger. “With all due respect, Mr. President, there is nothing the Joint Chiefs can add to the conclusion of the report. A volcanic eruption of the magnitude of Yellowstone is beyond our nation’s ability to survive. I didn’t come up with this, on my own. It is the conclusion of the leading scientists from the USGS, NASA, NSA, and the Department of the Interior. Instead of wasting our time with another investigation, I think our time would be better spent putting together a National Disaster plan that protects the Government and central services to ensure the government survives. There is nothing we can due to prevent an eruption and to protect the population. To inform our citizens of an impending disaster of this magnitude would throw the country into anarchy. It could cause greater loss of life and property and endanger the government.”
