by Bobby Akart
The sustained damage resulted in a frantic tweet by California’s DWR which read “Auxiliary spillway at Oroville Dam predicted to fail within the next hour. Oroville residents evacuate northward immediately.”
Residents panicked and fled as reports circulated throughout the media. The inmates at the Butte County Jail, however, could not. As Governor Jerry Brown’s office became overwhelmed while dealing with the crisis, the inmates became somewhat forgotten. At the last minute, responding to an uproar from an inmate’s family, the prisoners were hastily removed to nearby Alameda County.
Now, years later, California faced another, far-reaching, natural disaster. The office of recently elected Governor Gavin Newsom, the former Lieutenant Governor under Jerry Brown, was being briefed by the Office of Emergency Services.
The topic of California’s prison inmates was on the table. California held over two-hundred-thousand inmates in its state prisons and county jails. Another twenty thousand were held in federal correctional facilities. This was second only to Texas in total inmate population.
Mark Ghiradelli, the Director of Cal OES, was in office at the time of the Oroville Dam crisis. He was roundly criticized after the crisis passed for failing to address the inmate situation at the county jail sooner. Today, he was adamant that the governor should act.
“Mark,” started Governor Newsom. “The problem is overcrowding. Even if we could mobilize sufficient transportation to begin removing inmates from Pelican Bay, for example, where would we take them? If I understand the information received from the USGS this morning, the fallout could stretch as far south as San Luis Obispo and Bakersfield. Granted, they would only receiving a dusting, pardon the pun, but it would be enough to cause respiratory failure and contamination of the water.”
“Yes, Governor, I understand,” said Ghiradelli. “We can’t take half-measures. Pelican Bay houses the worst-of-the-worst. We can throw them into Folsom and San Quentin, but it would only be for a short period of time before the fallout moves southward.”
“What are our options?”
“One option is what I call reshuffling the deck,” began Ghriadelli in his reply. “The first step is to release any prisoners in our custody that are being held on federal charges or detainers for Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”
“I thought we were releasing all ICE detainees anyway.”
“Sir, there are still counties who delay the release as long as possible in order to give the Feds the opportunity to pick them up.”
“Okay, that’s a start,” said the governor. “I suspected most of those are in San Diego and Orange County. We’ll move the Pelican Bay contingent there.”
“Well, not quite, Governor,” cautioned Ghiradelli. “Those facilities don’t carry sufficient security to house Pelican Bay’s inmates. We’ll have to move lower classifications to the detention centers, and then move the highest risk inmates to fill those slots. That’s why I called it a reshuffling.”
One of Newsom’s aides interrupted. “I have an overlay of the fallout predictions over a map of our state prison system. They are predicting a fallout close to twelve inches as far south as Fresno. We would need to evacuate a dozen facilities in that case, not including county jails. Sir, there simply is no place to relocate them.”
Ghiradelli asked, “Would Nevada or Arizona take them?’
The governor chuckled. “They can’t feed their own. Trust me, I asked. Which raises another issue. Food is scarce and we can’t resupply. I’ve already issued executive orders taking possession of produce farms and livestock. Processing plants are working overtime to stock food but without transportation coming from the Midwest, we’ll be facing devastating shortages in just a few weeks.”
The room became quiet as all of the governmental officials realized there were no good options. The governor reached for his aide’s laptop and studies the map of the California prison system.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” began Governor Newsom. “Make no mistake, I will be hammered in the media for this, especially by my ex-wife who will be all over the news bashing me for being soft on crime. I can’t worry about the political fallout at the moment.”
“Sir, I assume we’ll be drafting an executive order?” asked the aide.
“Yes, and base it upon the following directives. First, give notice to Washington and I.C.E. that all federal detainees will be released in twenty-four hours. Second, provide notice to local and state law enforcement that all non-violent offenders will be release in forty-eight hours.”
The aide gave his boss a puzzled look. “Governor, are you commuting all of their sentences? You’re gonna break Governor Brown’s record of twelve-hundred, a hundred times over. It’ll make the right apoplectic.”
“I am, and I don’t care about the right-wingers,” replied Newsom as he squirmed in his chair. “I’m not done yet. Third, all violent offenders who did not commit murder or rape shall be released in seventy-two hours. Armed robberies, kidnapping, reckless endangerment using a weapon, etcetera, will be released under my orders. Fourth, task the Department of Corrections with providing me an inmate relocation plan within twenty-four hours for the remaining violent offenders and rapists to CSP facilities in Los Angeles, Orange County, San Diego and Imperial County.”
“Yes sir,” acknowledged the aide.
“Governor,” interrupted Ghiradelli. “County officials will be looking to us for guidance. What may I tell them?”
“If the prisoners are awaiting trial, release them on their own recognizance. We don’t have time for bail hearings. If they are serving minimal sentences of less than a year, prepare commutation and pardon orders and I will sign them.”
Governor Newsom exhaled and began twirling his Mont Blanc pen on the conference table. His political career was likely over, but he would not be responsible for the death of the men and women who couldn’t fend for themselves.
What the governor did not consider was the impact on society of releasing a hundred-seventy-thousand inmates with no hope and nothing to lose.
Chapter 8
The Mad House
Near Maple Creek, California
Jake and Ashby stayed up late into the night watching news reports from around the world and talking about their plan of action. They both agreed the Barnetts should be warned, as well as the other residents of Maple Creek. Jake needed to purchase fuel for the Bounder. If he could fill it up, they’d have more than enough to make it to his parent’s home which was just south of San Jose.
Jake kissed Ashby on the forehead and slipped out to the garage where he put on his waders. After gathering his fly-fishing gear, he made his way through the tree canopy down to the banks of the Mad River. Two things immediately shocked him.
The sky had turned to an ashen gray color. He instinctively pulled his tee shirt up over his mouth and nose, followed by a stern self-rebuke for not wearing his particulate mask.
The second thing that stunned him was the water, or lack thereof. The levels had dropped dramatically overnight, causing the once wide part of the Mad River, ideal for fly fishing, to become a trickle of a stream. Several steelhead trout had been caught high and dry, eventually dying on the rocks.
Jake walked into the middle of the riverbed which was ordinarily four feet deep. The river bottom was still wet and spongy, but the water was gone. He stared upstream toward Maple Creek and shook his head in disbelief. On top of everything else they faced, the drying up of the river and the loss of fish as a food resource would be devastating to the entire community.
After exhaling in defeat, Jake returned to the house and dropped his fishing gear on the front porch. He heard Ashby call his name out and he quickly went inside to assuage her concerns.
“Hey, good morning!” he announced from the open front door as he removed his waders. “I was down by the river, or what’s left of it.”
Ashby arrived in the living room wearing a pair of jeans and a yellow tee shirt with the words California
dreamin’ written under palm trees superimposed over an orange setting sun.
“I rummaged through your closet,” she said with a grin. “You’ve got some vintage clothes in there, mister.”
Jake laughed and patted his stomach. “Vintage, as in old. I can barely fit into some of them.”
“Have the water levels dropped further?” asked Ashby, suddenly turning serious. She craned her neck to look past Jake who was blocking the doorway, but he closed the door.
“Dropped isn’t the word I’d use. Disappeared is more appropriate. Something’s wrong upstream, Ashby. I’ve never seen any kind of drought conditions here that would cause the Mad River to dry up. We don’t have the same drought issues as they have in central and southern parts of the state.
“Well, that helps confirm the decision we reached last night.” Ashby gave Jake a quick kiss and turned for the kitchen. She spoke back over her shoulder. “Let me fix us something to eat and you check the news reports. Then, I think we should go see the Barnett’s and locate some diesel. Whadya think?”
“Deal,” said Jake as he powered on the television and searched for KIEM, the Eureka NBC affiliate. He wanted to check local news stories before catching up on national reports.
Once he found the channel, the chyron across the screen caused him to shake his head. It read, Governor orders state prisoners released. Jake turned up the volume as a reporter stood outside the state capital.
“In what many in Sacramento hailed as a humanitarian move, Governor Newsom signed an executive order providing for the gradual release of non-violent inmates and federal detainees from the California Prison System.
“In an effort to avoid the tensions created during the Oroville Dam crisis, the Governor’s office stated the national emergency which has befallen the U.S., has had a profound effect on California’s food supply. The state is no longer in a position to house and maintain its large prison population which necessitates this extraordinary move by the Governor.
“Meanwhile, in related news, we are receiving our first reports this morning of ash fallout in the northeastern parts of the state in the Modoc National Forest and as far west as the base of Mount Shasta. The fallout has forced power companies to shut down their grids to avoid the types of damage sustained to components and transformers in Oregon which is now without power in more than half the state.
“The California Energy Commission is requiring local utilities in the northeast part of the state to stop energy productions until the crisis has passed in order to avoid an even longer-term power outage while replacement parts are procured and installed.”
Ashby called to Jake from the kitchen. “Hey, big guy, come get this lumberjack breakfast of leftovers and oatmeal.” She let out a laugh.
Jake entered the kitchen and saw a spread on the kitchen table consisting of what few perishable foods they had. Mayor Barnett’s offerings constituted the bulk of the meal. It wasn’t exactly breakfast-type foods, but under the circumstances, sustenance took precedence over meal traditions.
“Did you hear the report?” Jake asked as he took a seat.
“I did,” said Ashby. “Shutting down the power grid was probably a smart move. Imagine what it will be like to replace all of those parts, especially when most utilities in the Western United States will be desperate for repairs.”
Ashby took a bite of the turkey fruit salad, nodded her head in approval, and continued.
“The prisoner release thing, on the other hand, is not such a good idea. I suspect we’ll hear more about that as time passes.”
Jake sat quietly for a moment as Ashby prepared a list of things she wanted to look up using the Barnett’s internet today. It might be the last time she has internet access until they arrive at Jake’s parent’s home. After a moment, he broke the silence.
“I guess I’m going to dig into the safe.”
Ashby stopped making notes and looked at Jake. “Your mom’s email was pretty clear. You could almost read between the lines, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve got set my principles and stubbornness aside. We’re gonna need a lot of diesel to get to Saratoga where our house is and I’m pretty sure credit cards are a thing of the past. It’s all about barter now. In fact, I’d be shocked if money is still accepted.”
“Why do you say that?”
“While I was watching the news report from Sacramento, the network was running headlines across the bottom of the screen. Wall Street and other markets have been closed until further notice. The Federal Reserve has ordered banks to shut down. Nobody can get to their money.”
Ashby finished her meal and returned the remaining pie to the refrigerator. She cleared Jake’s plate asked, “Can they do that? How are people supposed to buy food or medications?”
Jake chuckled as he responded. “I saw the phrase food shortage coupled with looting several times. People are taking what they can’t buy. It’s a problem all over California.”
Ashby closed up her laptop and shoved it into her messenger bag. She gathered her notes and put them into a side pocket. “This is a stupid question, but it has to be asked. The neighborhood where your parents live—is it safe?’
“Not as safe as here, of course. Without the challenges presented by the fallout, and the water levels dropping in the river, the Mad House is the perfect spot as far as I’m concerned. That’s the reason I’m so disappointed to leave. My parents’ home is outside San Jose, which is a fairly large city. Our safety is inversely proportionate to the population.”
“Whoa, Professor Wheeler, you sound like some of my old colleagues,” said Ashby with a laugh. “I have to agree. I believe we’ve learned that Yellowstone is deadly, but our fellow man can be just as bad. We’ll have to be ready.”
Jake pushed away from the table and they got ready to leave. He outlined their priorities for the day. “We need to warn the Barnetts. They’re nice people and I don’t want to see them get hurt. Also, we need fuel for the trip. And, lastly, I need to teach you how to handle a weapon.”
They exited through the front door and Jake locked up. They both put on their particulate masks and walked into the increasingly cloudy air.
Chapter 9
Barnett Bed & Breakfast
Maple Creek, California
Jake and Ashby arrived at the Barnett’s property and were astonished to see over a dozen vehicles parked around the entrance to the bed and breakfast.
“This looks more serious than the last coffee clutch,” began Jake. “I count sixteen cars and trucks.”
“Town meeting?” suggest Ashby.
Jake replied. “Maybe. I’m surprised they didn’t include us. Let’s play this by ear, okay?”
“It’s all you. I’m gonna go straight to the internet, get updates on the data from the other day, and as far as I’m concerned, we can load up and find duel on the way.”
Jake’s eyebrows raised when a sheriff’s patrol car came into view. He now wondered why law enforcement was present. He parked the Bounder and the two of them arrived at the front door which had been left open. The group was having a high-spirited conversation.
Ashby whispered to Jake, “I have their login information stored in my laptop. I think I’ll wait out here and access the web. Good luck.” She patted him on the back and provided him a devious grin.
“Gee, thanks, wing man,” he muttered. Jake stepped inside and listened to the ongoing conversation.
“Deputy, how in the world can you stand here and tell us there’s nothing you can do!” An older man’s voice boomed throughout the open living space.
“Yeah, they’re killing us down here,” shouted a woman. “It’s no different than if they pulled a trigger and dropped us to the ground one-by-one.”
“Now, ma’am, let’s not be overly dramatic,” offered the deputy. It turned out to be a poor choice of words.
“Dramatic?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“They’re stealing our water!”
“If you don’t do something about it, we will!”
“Yeah!”
The words fell upon the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Deputy like hellfire raining from the sky. They may not have been lava bombs, but they had a bombarding effect nonetheless.
“Now, listen here!” shouted the deputy. “This is not a police matter. You need to take this issue up with the Humboldt Bay Water people. Or, better yet, talk it out with the folks in Ruth. But there will be no violence, do you hear me?”
“I ain’t makin’ no promises,” grumbled one older man who stood immediately in front of Jake. Jake considered leaving and coming back at another time when he noticed Bennita Barnett waving at him from her desk out of the corner of his eye. He made his way next to her.
“Good morning, Bunny. It appears I’ve come at a bad time.”
“Trust me, Jake. This was not a planned gathering. Have you been down by the river out at your place?”
Jake shrugged. “If you wanna call it a river. It’s practically dried up.”
“That’s the problem and the reason everybody is riled up. Are you familiar with the Ruth Reservoir?”
“Sure. I used to go to the bait shop up their years ago.”
Bennita sighed and caught her breath. “Well, the good people of Ruth got scared by the news reports of utilities shutting down and the coming ash fallout. They decided to shut down the reservoir’s small hydroelectric plant so they don’t damage the turbine generators. Then, in their infinite wisdom, since they can’t generate electricity from the water flowing over the small dam, they closed up the spillways. This is preventing the river from flowing downstream to us.”
“They’re hoarding the river?” asked Jake.
“They sure are and have no intentions of budging. Several of the guys drove up there this morning and were met with an armed contingent. Eventually this deputy got involved and drove down here to explain.”
