The Big One

by Harrison Arnston

  He turned back to grab a towel, which he placed around his waist. Terry clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

  “You took my clothes,” he said.

  “They needed cleaning,” she answered, picking up his watch from the tray and handing it to him. He looked at it in astonishment. It was five minutes after noon. He’d slept for eighteen hours straight.

  “I slept too long,” he said, as he sipped the coffee and chewed on a muffin. He was ravenous.

  “You were exhausted,” she said. “And so you should be. You’ve been under unbelievable pressure with not much sleep for over a week. The human body has its limits, you know.”

  Indeed, he did know. Unconsciously, he massaged the scar on his chest.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  She drank some coffee and said, “Well, as you know, Thursday night was the worst, what with the pitched battles in the streets all night long. Fires, gang fights … Then late yesterday, after Walsh arrived and started touring in that truck, things started to settle down. Either that, or they finally got enough troops into the city to restore order. Walsh seemed to be everywhere, talking to people, telling them that things were going to work out, that they had to work together. He did that all through the day and into the night.

  “It seemed to work, because last night wasn’t half as bad. This morning, things seem to be really coming together, although they’re still having a terrible time with the traffic. So far, just under a million people have arrived at the evacuation center and, although it’s a hell of a mess, it’s gradually beginning to shape up. They say they expect to have everything pretty well organized in another two days.”

  Ted finished off one of the muffins and started on another. “I’m surprised the president is still alive,” he said, between mouthfuls. “He’d been shot at three times by the time I fell asleep.”

  “The latest count is seven,” she said. “Two Secret Service men were wounded and three innocent bystanders were killed, but he’s out there again today.”

  Ted grimaced. “How many others?”

  “You mustn’t concern yourself with that,” she said. “You had to do it, Ted.”

  His face tightened. “How many others?” he repeated.

  She looked away. “Two hundred and thirty dead, and just over two thousand injured,” she said, her voice soft and filled with sadness. Then she turned and smiled at him again. “But things have really slowed down. I think the major panic is over. It’s not nearly as bad as Graves had predicted. Besides … you have to keep in mind the number of people that will be saved! That’s what’s important.”

  He stared into his coffee.

  “Frank Leach called,” she said, changing the subject. “He went to your office. I guess your secretary has quit. She left you a note and said she warned you. What was that about?”

  The darkness left his face. “Oh … you remember the earthquake last week? Was it last week?”

  She grinned. “Yes. It seems like a year, but it was just last week.”

  “Well … she said if there was another one, she’d go back home. I don’t blame her. This one is enough to scare the hell out of anyone.”

  “Tommy called.”

  “Yes?”

  “He said to tell you that they’re hard at work at the site going over the data again. I guess Shubert is back there as well. He said that they’ve decided to increase the strength of the devices. He’s not at all certain they won’t trigger the quake, but they have no choice. He suggested we get out of the state as well, even though Menlo Park isn’t in the actual evacuation area.”

  “He’s still concerned about you.”

  Her gaze wavered. “Yes … but he also said that he recognized that there was something between us. He said he could see it in our faces. He wanted us both to know that he wishes us nothing but happiness.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  Her eyes held his. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. Not really. I know I’m falling in love with you and have no desire to stop it from happening. I don’t think I could stop it even if I wanted to.”

  He felt a strange twinge in his heart. Instantly, her face looked worried. “Am I being too aggressive again?”

  He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “But I do worry,” she said. “I’m not normally like this. I blurt out things when I know I should keep quiet. God! I don’t want to scare you away, Ted. And I’m afraid I will. Just forget what I say. I don’t mean to put pressure on you. Not at all!”

  He bent down and kissed her gently. As their lips parted, he said, “I’ll let you know if you get out of hand. If it makes you feel better, I’m feeling what you’re feeling. And I’m liking what I’m feeling.”

  “Really?”

  By way of an answer, he lifted the tray and placed it on the floor. Then, he reached over and pulled her to his body, his lips covering her face with soft, gentle kisses.

  He could feel her relax in his arms as her breathing quickened.

  And then they were making love again, slowly, carefully, tenderly … until the passion consumed them both and the pace became urgent, demanding, both of them suddenly filled with the need to express their feelings in that magical, joyous blending of mind and body.

  Later, he turned to her and said, “I think he’s right.”

  “Who?”

  “Tommy. I think we should get out of the state. Where would you like to go?”

  “You’ll come with me?”

  He smiled at her. “Of course.”

  She thought about it for a moment and said, “I know this sounds silly, but I have a sister in Dallas I haven’t seen for three years. It would be boring for you.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. I’d like to meet her. Before we do that though, I’d like to take a look at some of the sights around here.”

  She looked at him in puzzlement. “Sights?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Seventeen Mile Drive, Yosemite … We may never see them again if things don’t work out. They’ll no longer exist.”

  The next day was Sunday. The quake predicted for Hollister hit at precisely 2:36 P.M.It lasted seventeen seconds and was rated as having a magnitude of 4.9. Damage was slight.

  If anyone had the slightest doubt that there might be a flaw in the methodology developed by Vance Gifford and Tommy Wilson, it should have been erased by that quake.

  But it wasn’t.

  Incredibly, six separate lawsuits were filed on the Monday following the quake, representing a variety of interests, five questioning the constitutionality of invoking martial law on the basis of mere predictions, the other asking for a court order blocking the use of nuclear devices.

  Six judges ruled, independent of each other, that the cases would be not be heard until after the twenty-seventh. Those rulings brought immediate and not unexpected appeals.

  On Tuesday, the panic had almost completely subsided. But the number of lawsuits increased. A total of thirty-six suits were filed, twenty of them aimed at preventing the nuclear devices from being detonated, the rest aimed at rescinding the martial law order. Governor Tasker, backed by President Walsh, proclaimed that both the civil and criminal courts systems were to be shut down until June 1. The order applied to both state and federal jurisdictions. It was determined that since evacuations were taking place, it was impractical to allow the courts to remain open.

  On Wednesday, the Supreme Court of the United States, by a vote of 9 to 0, ruled that the invocation of martial law was indeed constitutional, as was the order calling for the evacuation of southern California, rendering those suits moot. It refused to hear arguments on the question of detonating nuclear devices within the Los Angeles city limits. The press called it a major victory for the Walsh-Tasker forces, as they were now being called.

  On Thursday, the first of eight nuclear devices was flown from Hanford, Washington to Los Angeles, and the installation of the device in one of the old
oil wells commenced.

  Through it all, President Walsh remained in southern California, acting somewhat like a cheerleader, urging, cajoling, pleading, thanking, praising … all on less than three hours of sleep a night. He seemed to be everywhere at once, giving support, making snap decisions, cutting red tape, unsnarling snags, spending hours on the phone with people located in cities all over the world, performing minor miracles hourly.

  If his actions were a form of penance, it didn’t matter. Results were what counted, and the results were there for all to see. Much like Churchill in the dark days of the London blitz, Byron Walsh was fast becoming a symbol of the moment, working tirelessly to encourage those affected, fighting hard to maintain some sort of order, dividing his time between those already in the evacuation complex and those still awaiting their turn to make the move.

  As for Ted and Terry, they took the time to explore the natural wonders of north-central California, wandering through Carmel, Yosemite, and a host of other places that evoked a feeling of peace and natural order. They hoped they were not seeing these places for the last time.

  They also took the time to explore the inner depths of their own souls, coming to the realization that they were madly, passionately in love with one another, with hearts filled to bursting.

  On the night before they were to leave by car for Dallas, they spent three hours in front of the television set, getting an update on the latest.

  In a nutshell, it was working.

  The evacuation center now held five and a half million people. Three million remained in various parts of southern California and they would be taken out in the next few days. Another two million people had already departed for other locations, to live with relatives or friends in other states. An additional million people already in the complex were making their own arrangements to move on as soon as possible. The city was flooded with troops, as was the evacuation area.

  There were a host of problems, not the least among them being the large number of drug addicts and alcoholics who were having serious withdrawal problems while inside the confines of the evacuation complex. Everyone entering the camp had been thoroughly searched. Drugs and alcohol were banned. Special treatment areas were set up and therapy begun, but with privacy at a premium, the drug treatment center was fully exposed, its inhabitants looked upon as creatures in some zoo. The decision was finally made to move them all further inland.

  There were other problems. Many had refused to leave their homes. While the emergency order called for the evacuation of all residents without exception, certain exceptions were being made, for no other reason than the lack of time to resolve the issue.

  The street gangs had been handled with dispatch. Thousands of youngsters had been rounded up by local law enforcement officials, placed into buses, and taken to a separate holding camp in Arizona.

  But, all in all, it was working. Somehow, the common fear that most shared was the very thing that was drawing them together.

  Despite the deprivations of the desert complex, a wide range of activities had been organized to keep people occupied. Many of those interned were busy helping erect temporary quarters for those who would follow. Thousands of tons of supplies were arriving daily, all of them needing to be sorted, catalogued and distributed.

  Meals had to be prepared. Garbage details organized. Even latrines filled in and new ones dug. It was a perfect example of people cooperating with one another in the face of a common enemy. In this case, the enemy was an unseen, but well-understood natural phenomenon.

  It was working.

  There had been deaths. There had been injuries.

  But Robert Graves had been wrong.

  To the great relief of Byron Walsh and especially, Ted Kowalczyk, he had been very, very wrong.

  The question that now remained was whether or not the quake could be successfully quelled.

  In less than a week, they would know.

  Thirty-eight

  * * *

  President Byron Walsh looked out the window of his trailer and shook his head in utter amazement.

  The trailer was one of sixteen double-wides that had been positioned just yards from the intersection of the Hollywood and Ventura freeways. This particular intersection was probably the busiest in all of Los Angeles. At this hour, seven in the morning, the confluence of cars and trucks would normally come to a shuddering halt, the noise of them reverberating off the surrounding hills, the air fouled with their stink.

  But today, aside from the frantic, last-minute activity attendant to a daring and possibly catastrophic attempt to circumvent the heretofore inexorable forces of nature, the freeways were empty.

  Scientists and engineers were spread out over a two-mile-wide area. Security personnel flanked them on all sides. The trailer site was surrounded by additional Army troops and law enforcement personnel protecting the president and the engineers inside the buildings. There was no one else.

  The quietness of the place was almost eerie.

  He could hear a sound that probably hadn’t been heard at this particular spot for decades: the sound of birds as they warbled their songs. There were hundreds of them, some in flight, some standing stoically on concrete dividing barriers; others hopping defiantly along the highway itself, once dangerously off-limits, now, suddenly, a sanctuary of sorts.

  Could birds think? he wondered. And if they could, what would they make of this?

  A deserted city. An abandoned freeway system.

  There was a strangeness about the scene that was chilling.

  In just hours now, they would trigger the devices. Would they work? he wondered. No one really knew. They’d consulted graphs and charts and kept the computers running day and night, but in the end, they were really guessing. The computer programs could give them information. The decision had to be made by a human being.

  And he’d made it.

  Would all of this disappear? Or would there be a miracle?

  As he continued to ponder the future, there was a knock at the door. Willard Coones opened the door a crack and stuck his head inside.

  “Byron?”

  Walsh turned and leaned against the wall.

  “Yes?”

  “Governor Tasker is here. He’d like a word with you before you go.”

  Walsh sighed and said, “Send him in.”

  A moment later, the tall, burly governor entered the room and closed the door behind him. Walsh nodded and pointed to the window. “Strange, isn’t it? The quiet. I never thought I’d see the day when …” He let the sentence trail off. “You wanted to see me?”

  Tasker moved closer and stuck out his hand. “Mr. President, I know I gave you a pretty hard time when this first came to light.”

  “You had a right to.”

  A small smile played over Tasker’s lips. “Maybe so,” he said, “but I’ve watched you in action these past two weeks. I think you’ve done one hell of a job. Frankly, I don’t think we could have pulled it off if you hadn’t come out here and thrown yourself into this like you did.”

  Walsh shrugged and said, “You’re being too kind, Governor. You spearheaded this operation. If it is successful, you can take full credit.”

  The president shook the governor’s hand. The hand was warm and dry, the grip strong.

  Tasker seemed uncomfortable. As he stood there, he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other and seemed not to know what to do with his hands. “I’m not normally one to make mistakes in judgment,” he said, “but I pegged you wrong. I realize now that you didn’t have any idea as to what was going on. I’m sorry I accused you falsely.”

  Walsh waved a hand in the air and said, “No … you’re wrong. I did know. Not until the last minute, but I knew. At the time I made that first announcement … I knew.”

  For a moment, his gaze left the governor and returned to the scene outside the window. Then he took a deep breath and gave the governor his full attention. “If I have any excuse it’s that I was well and
truly torn. At the outset, I had these so-called experts who had spent years analyzing these type of things. I had a cabinet that agreed with their findings. And then, after that newspaper story, all I could think about was stopping the panic.

  “I did what I thought was right at the time … but looking back … it all had to come out eventually. There are damn few secrets any more. I should have known that. I should have expected it. I should have relied on my own instincts. Had it not been for that clown who busted into the test site … Who knows?”

  He sighed and said, “I don’t deserve praise, Governor. To be perfectly candid, I feel ashamed.”

  “You shouldn’t,” Tasker said, quickly. “Given the circumstances, I think I would have reacted just as you did.”

  Walsh smiled weakly. “Well,” he said, “it doesn’t really matter much, does it? If these devices work, we’ll be spared a disaster of inconceivable enormity. But even then, there will be those who question my judgment. I expect the courts will be years sorting all of this out, either way.”

  “Nevertheless,” Tasker insisted, “I offer you my personal congratulations. I wanted you to know that before the devices are detonated.”

  “Thank you, Governor. I appreciate your comments very much.”

  “Good luck, Mr. President.”

  “Yes … you, too.”

  Governor Tasker turned and headed out of the room. A few seconds later, Willard Coones came back in and said, “We’re ready, Byron. If you want to be in Washington when they trigger these things, we have to leave now.”

  Byron Walsh shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “I’m staying here, Willard.”