by David Capps
“You help me, and I help you,” the man said. “No promises up front, but it seems like something that can be done.”
Billingsly breathed out heavily. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
CHAPTER 56
Dolphin Beach, Oregon
The sound of the emergency siren quickened the beat of her heart. Before she could respond, her cell phone chirped. Willa looked at the screen: Chief Dolan. This couldn’t be good, not at this hour of the morning, and not with the emergency siren blaring. She answered and listened to the words she never wanted to hear. FEMA had called and issued an immediate evacuation order for Dolphin Beach. A massive rupture of the Cascadia Subduction Zone was imminent. A 9.0+ earthquake was on its way.
Adrenalin flooded her system and her mind raced, clearing the cobwebs away in a matter of seconds. Her beloved Dolphin Beach was again in danger. The threat from the hurricane had passed just days before. Now this. She left her coffee on the table and rushed out the front door of her bungalow.
Chief Dolan’s voice boomed from the loudspeaker of Dolphin Beach’s only police car. “Earthquake. Follow the blue arrows. Walk. Do not use your vehicle. Earthquake. Follow the blue arrows. Walk. Do not use your vehicle.”
She glanced to her right and to the left. People emerged from their homes carrying their packages of most valuable items and flooded into the street. Chief Dolan’s police car, with its red and blue flashers strobing, slowly made its way through the bewildered crowd. He stopped as he saw Willa and got out of the car. “Get in,” he shouted.
“How soon?” she asked as she swiveled into the front seat next to the Chief.
“FEMA said imminent,” he replied. “The order was to evacuate now.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “All this time I couldn’t shake the feeling that something would happen. Now…”
“Now you know,” Chief Dolan answered.
They made their way slowly against the flow of the crowd as they headed north on Main Street toward the Ocean Grand Hotel. The guests remaining in the Ocean Grand had arrived well after the evacuation practice and wouldn’t have had the experience of following the blue arrows. As they arrived, the crowd of people stood outside the hotel with bewildered expressions etched on their faces. Chief Dolan and Willa got out of the police car, pointed down the street and shouted, “Follow the blue arrows painted on the street. Walk. Now!” As the crowd saw the first blue arrow in the middle of the street they started moving. Chief Dolan moved among the people exiting the hotel and pointed at the blue arrow, “Follow the blue arrows. Follow the blue arrows.”
Willa searched the crowd for any sign of Frank Gillis. Either he had already left, leaving his guests behind, or he was being his usual stubborn self, defiantly staying in his building. As the flow of guests coming out of the Ocean Grand tapered off to nothing, Willa made her way around the back of the hotel to where Frank’s residence was located. There he was, leaning against the door jamb with his front door open, arms folded across his chest smiling at her.
“Frank, we have to evacuate!” she shouted.
He chuckled. “I’ve had all the hysterics from you that I’m going to take,” he said. “Even if there is an earthquake, this building was constructed to the latest earthquake codes. I keep telling you, nothing is going to happen.”
The rumbling and shaking hit Dolphin Beach with a violence that knocked Willa to the ground, hard. Being hit by a car would have been easier, and less painful, she thought. Jason had said you wouldn’t be able to stand, that you would have to crawl on your hands and knees. That proved to be impossible. The ground was moving so violently that Willa couldn’t even lift herself up at all. Even lying flat on the ground didn’t work. The pavement under her cracked and broke, pieces were ejected into the air and bounced around like ping-pong balls. The ground beneath her dropped suddenly, leaving her falling to the pavement, now three feet below her, only to be knocked sideways when she landed. She rolled, amid being hit by chunks of concrete and flying pieces of wood, glass and shingles from the Ocean Grand. She yelled for help but the rumbling sound overpowered her. She couldn’t even hear her own voice.
She thought this level of catastrophic violence couldn’t last much longer, but instead of ending, it only got worse. The ground dropped another four feet leaving her to fall to the pavement again. Her knees and elbows slammed into the pavement repeatedly, breaking her skin and bruising her bones. Her head was struck again and again by flying debris as was every inch of her body. Dust and small stones swirled in the air making it almost impossible to breath without inhaling the small objects.
Willa covered her face with her hands as she continued to be battered by the pounding ground and careening pieces of the Ocean Grand Hotel. She prayed in vain for it all to stop as the earthquake continued unabated. In all of her imaginings of what hell might be like, nothing came close to what she now endured. She became convinced the torture in which she found herself would never end. She cried out in pain as the rising terror within her took over. Still the cataclysm continued. Visions of Jason and his prolonged demonstration in the Dolphin Beach Theater flashed through her mind. What he had showed them wasn’t anything even remotely close to what was currently taking place.
Eventually the shaking and rumbling stopped. Willa stood, wobbly and shaky, and looked around at the devastation. The dust hung in the air like thick ocean fog, with macabre shapes emerging from the shadows in every direction. Broken sections of 2x4’s and fractured pieces of plywood, mixed with twisted and mangled lengths of aluminum siding, glass and vinyl window frames jutted from the mountainous heap of wreckage that was once the most popular and well known structure in Dolphin Beach. It was also the pride and joy of Frank Gillis, now reduced to nothing but a disgusting pile of rubble. Frank, Willa thought, where the hell was Frank?
CHAPTER 57
U.S.S. Massachusetts, Pacific Ocean, Off the Coast of Oregon
The massive shockwave hit the Massachusetts on the port side of the bow, both lifting and twisting the sub in the water. Similar to the blast from the colliding torpedoes, the Massachusetts was violently shoved backward, slamming everyone inside into the forward bulkheads. The Massachusetts rolled to the right more than 90 degrees, tumbling everyone onto the right bulkhead. The air that had remained in the starboard ballast tanks rolled under the sub and bubbled out into the open ocean, while most of the air in the port ballast tanks remained trapped in place. The Massachusetts rolled partially back toward upright but still listed to starboard by 40 degrees. The sub began sinking by the bow.
“Blow the stern auxiliary tanks,” Jacobs ordered. “We’ve got to get more water out of the boat!”
“Blowing auxiliary tanks, Sir.”
Jacobs watched as the Massachusetts tipped further forward with more air slipping out of the main ballast tanks.
“Down angle is now 60 degrees, Sir,” the Helmsman reported. The crew of the control center now stood on the forward bulkhead rather than the deck.
“Down angle is stable at 70 degrees, Sir.”
At this angle the ballast tanks wouldn’t hold enough air to keep them from sinking. The air would all slip out into the water. Jacobs climbed over the broken tactical display and grabbed a headset off the console. “Torpedo room, con, what is your status?” There was no answer. He spoke firmly three more times while watching the depth gauge move steadily toward the red line that marked the sub’s 2400 foot crush depth. “Lieutenant Grimes, report,” he shouted into the intercom. “Lieutenant!” He was about to tear the headset off when he heard her voice.
* * *
Tiffany struggled back over to the communications console in the torpedo room and put the headset on. “Captain?”
“Yes, lieutenant, it’s me. What’s happening?”
“Sir, we can’t counter the water pressure. The torpedo room is flooding. We can’t stop it.”
“What about your crew?”
She looked around the room
. Caleb Johnson was sitting against the bulkhead, blood seeping out of his mouth. Hector was unconscious on the deck a few feet away from her. The wooden plugs they had hammered into the torpedo tube door now floated on the top of the churning sea water. “Sir,” she replied, “of the ten men under my command, I see only five of them. Three of them are floating in the water, Sir, they’re face down in the water. I think they’re…”
“Lieutenant?”
“They were all working down by the torpedo tube when the shockwave hit, Sir, I should have had them back away from the door.”
“You were doing what you were supposed to do, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, Petty Officer Johnson is still alive. He’s bleeding badly. Petty Officer Hector, he… he isn’t moving.” She looked around the torpedo room once more, forcing herself to think. “Sir, what is our depth? It feels like we’re sinking,”
“We’re at 1,820 feet and going deeper.”
“Sir, with the water coming in so fast, the air pressure in the torpedo room is getting really bad. We have to get the water out of the torpedo room. I just… I…” I have to get the water out of the torpedo room, but how? She looked up at the open compressed air line that had been hissing all this time. It was now silent. The air pressure in the room is above what’s in the compressed air system, that’s why it’s not making any noise. I need more air pressure to push the water out of the torpedo room. But from where? If I can’t get the water out of the room, we’re all going to die. Then it came to her. The fear and sense of panic she was feeling faded away. It was replaced by a serene calmness and the knowledge of what she had to do.
“Lieutenant?” Jacobs said. “Lieutenant, what are you doing? Lieutenant, answer me!”
She moved slowly over to one of the work stations with the tool trays mounted against the bulkhead. “Sorry, Sir, I needed to get some tools.”
“Tools?” Jacobs asked.
She looked over at Caleb Johnson as he watched what she was doing.
“Yes, Sir,” she said. “I have to get the access panel off.”
“Lieutenant? What access panel?”
“The one over the high pressure bottles,” she said. She picked a socket from the tool tray, snapped it onto an extension and then to a ratchet handle. She began spinning the bolts out of the access panel on the side wall of the torpedo room.
“Lieutenant, those are for the main ballast tanks.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied. “Those are the ones. Panel is off.”
“Lieutenant, that’s too much pressure. Those tanks hold 10,000 pounds per square inch of air.”
“That’s what I’m counting on, Sir,” she replied. “What is our depth now?”
“Two thousand and eighty feet.”
“I’m closing the manual valves on the tanks, Sir. Oh God. The pressure hurts so much. If I can…” She wobbled from the dizziness and the pain. I have to get the water out.
“Lieutenant?”
“I’m loosening the connector nuts. I can get to only two of the bottles, Sir, I…”
Tears flowed down her face as the pain in her head became severe. “Sir, my ears. I can’t hear you anymore. My head…” Blood began streaming out of her nose and ears. Instead of tears, blood now ran down her face. She looked at Caleb Johnson. “If I do this…”
He nodded at her. “Do it.”
She used the handle on the wrench to pry the lines free of their connectors. “Sir, the connectors are off. I just have to open…”
* * *
The extreme screeching sound of high pressure air being released screamed in Captain Jacobs’ ears. He pulled the headset off and threw it across the control center. The intense noise echoed all over the sub. She had accessed the high pressure air tanks and released the air into the torpedo room, forcing the sea water back out through the broken torpedo tube door and out the torpedo tube into the ocean. She had turned the torpedo room into a new ballast tank, giving the Massachusetts new volume and new buoyancy. Jacobs watched as the depth gauge slowed its rush to crush depth: twenty three hundred feet, twenty three twenty, forty. The sound of the high pressure air escaping faded. The tanks were running out of air. The gauge needle slowed even more: twenty three fifty, and finally settled at twenty three hundred and sixty feet. The Massachusetts hung silent and still in the ocean on the edge of its crush depth, clinging to the thin line between life and death.
CHAPTER 58
Dolphin Beach, Oregon
Willa watched as Chief Dolan stumbled through the scattered debris surrounding the pile that used to be the Ocean Grand Hotel. He looked badly banged up. She suddenly realized she must look as bad as he did.
“Willa?” he shouted. “Are you okay?”
“Chief, over here,” she called out. “I can’t find Frank.”
“Why are you looking for Frank?”
“He was standing in the doorway, right over there,” she replied.
“Willa,” he said, “Frank is probably dead. We can’t waste any time, the tsunami is coming.”
“I have to know,” she said. “I can’t leave someone behind in Dolphin Beach to die – even if it’s Frank, I just can’t.”
A distant boom sounded from escaping natural gas exploding. The snap and crackle of live electrical wires punctuated the deathly silence.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” he said.
Willa picked up pieces of the wrecked building and tossed them to the side.
“Come on, Willa, we have to go.”
“Wait,” Willa said. “I think I heard something.”
“How can you tell?” he said. “All I can hear is this horrible ringing in my ears.”
“No, listen,” she said as she lifted another shattered 2x4 out of the pile and threw it to the side.
Chief Dolan walked over, bent down, and stuck his head next to the debris pile, mostly to humor Willa so he could get her to leave.
That’s when he heard the soft moaning coming from the pile. “Willa, we can’t get him out in time. If we stay all of us are going to die.”
“Then you go on,” she said, “but I’m going to get him out.”
“Willa…” He realized nothing was going to change her mind. “Alright, just remember, this is all on you.”
Willa was too busy digging through the pile to say anything. Chief Dolan pitched in feverishly grabbing piece after piece and flinging them off to the side. The moaning became louder as they dug. Soon Frank’s head was visible and they could see which way they had to dig.
Progress was slow. Too slow. There was at least six feet of debris piled on top of Frank. There simply wasn’t enough time to remove it all. Chief Dolan looked around. A three inch diameter steel pipe stuck out of the debris pile about twelve feet over. He rushed over and pulled on it. The pipe moved but then became stuck on something.
“Willa, over here,” he said. “See that 2x4 right there? Lift up on that as hard as you can.”
Willa came over, looked at the pipe and smiled. “I get it,” she replied. She gripped the 2x4 and pulled up with all of her strength. Chief Dolan yanked hard on the pipe, with most of it pulling free.
“Again,” he shouted. The pipe came out. Chief Dolan ran back over to where Frank was buried and examined the way the debris was lying. He found the hole in the debris he needed, inserted the pipe, bent over and placed his right shoulder under the pipe. He straightened his back and legs, lifting a major section of the debris off of Frank.
“Those pieces should be loose now,” he said straining under the weight. “Pull them out and then pull Frank out.”
She snatched one piece after another from the pile until she could see that Frank was mostly clear. She grabbed Frank by the left arm and pulled. She could move him only six inches at a time.
“Come on, Willa,” he shouted, “I can’t hold this up forever.”
She yanked at Frank over and over until he was free of the pile. Chief Dolan set the pipe down and came over to Frank.
“Oh crap,” C
hief Dolan said as he looked Frank over. “There’s blood all over his lower right pant leg and his foot is facing backward.”
“Which means?”
“His lower leg is broken,” he replied. “From the blood, it’s probably a compound fracture.”
“What are we going to do?”
Chief Dolan walked over to the south edge of the pile that was the Ocean Grand and looked at the water in the small bay that formed Dolphin Beach. “Oh, dammit,” he shouted.
“What?” she asked.
“The ocean is rushing out to sea. I can see the bottom of the bay for two hundred yards out.”
Willa rushed over to where the Chief stood. “Oh no,” she said. “That means…”
“Yeah,” Chief Dolan replied. “The tsunami is coming – we’ve got maybe two minutes. We’re trapped.”
“Not necessarily,” Willa said, “we have the old stairs going up to Promontory Point.”
“But Jason said the tsunami would over run the point.”
“Yeah,” she replied, “but the first wave won’t be the highest, the fourth one will be.”
Chief Dolan ran back over to Frank. “Help me get him up.”
“He can’t walk,” she replied.
“Fireman’s carry,” he shouted. “Help me get him up.”
Frank was only semi-conscious, but he stood shaking on his left leg. The Chief crossed his arms, grabbed Frank’s wrists, ducked and turned, pulling Frank’s arms over his shoulder. As the Chief stood, Frank’s feet cleared the ground. “Now run,” Chief Dolan shouted.
Willa and Chief Dolan got to the old stairs and started climbing. There was an old steel pipe railing along the steps that had been there for decades. As they climbed, Willa’s legs began to burn from the exertion. She could only imagine what Chief Dolan’s legs felt like with Frank’s weight added onto his own. Willa paused briefly to catch her breath and looked at the bay. Boats that were anchored in the bay rested on the mud, many on their sides. The large rocks that stood as the Three Sentinels to Dolphin Beach jutted up from the bottom of the bay. Then she saw the tsunami forming out in the deeper water. It was rising out of the ocean and drawing everything in under it. As the tsunami rose it began to dwarf the Three Sentinels. Chief Dolan glanced back.
