by Bobby Akart
Jake walked alongside the boy, who strode with purpose down the wood-plank boardwalk toward West Thumb. Jake asked him some casual questions, such as where he was staying and where his parents were at the moment. Yellowstone National Park was considered a safe place to be for families, and it wasn’t unusual for young kids to be roaming around Grant Village unsupervised. Nonetheless, Jake always thought it was a good practice to inquire although he thought it was best for parents to keep tabs on their kids.
They walked down the fifty-foot-long, elevated boardwalk, which led through a marsh from the restaurant to the shoreline. Once they stepped down onto the still-wet ground from the previous night’s rain, the boy led Jake about fifty feet to their right. Jake could barely keep up with the kid as he raced along the shoreline and through paths that meandered through the tall grasses.
“This is one of my favorite places to explore when we come visit,” he said before pausing. He pointed toward a shallow inlet up ahead, which stretched into the marsh. “See? There are hundreds of them.”
Jake scowled and looked back to the boy. “Stay here, Jesse.”
“Okay. But, Mr. Jake, they weren’t around yesterday when I was here.”
“Thanks, Jesse.” Jake pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and covered his mouth as he walked closer to the dead frogs. Despite covering his nose and mouth, the stench of burned meat or charred wood passed through his nostrils.
As he cautiously drew closer, a male voice with a Scottish accent spoke, startling Jake.
“Sulfur. It smells like a burnt match.”
“Hey, step back, please, sir,” said Jake, not out of necessity but because the man had closed on him without being detected. He inwardly chastised himself for losing awareness of his surroundings.
“Sorry, mate. I’m Simon Browne with the Los Angeles bureau of the BBC. We overheard your conversation inside and were curious.”
Jake calmed down as he noticed the man’s companion approach. She was moving carefully through the muddy soil and wet grasses.
“Sir, we’re sorry to interrupt your investigation,” she began. He could listen to her proper English all day long. “My name is Ella Hewitt, earth and sciences reporter with the BBC. We’re here on assignment, and I must apologize for earwigging.”
“Earwigging?” asked a puzzled Jake.
“So sorry. Eavesdropping. I overheard your conversation inside about the bison, birds, and fish. The boy’s discovery is quite alarming, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jake. “I’m not a zoologist.”
“Well, surely this is extraordinary animal activity for Yellowstone?”
Jake hesitated and thought about his answer. You think this is out of the ordinary? Let me tell you about the lava I saw the other day.
“This happens all the time,” he lied. The last thing Jake wanted at this juncture was to be quoted in a British news article about the end of the world as we know it.
“Look!” yelled the young boy from twenty feet behind them. “There’s one still alive!”
Jake spun around and approached the piles of dead frogs. One of the western toads struggled to escape his dead brethren. It finally pulled itself loose from the pile and began to hop toward them. The frog made two hops before succumbing to the poison that killed it.
Simon began taking dozens of photographs while Ella rapidly tapped on the keyboard of her phone. Jake couldn’t stop them, but he did warn them against getting too close. The two seemed oblivious to his warnings, so he returned to young Jesse.
“Jesse, I think it might be a good idea for you to go back to your hotel room for the time being. I’m gonna have to close this area off until we figure out what happened. Okay?”
“But the day’s just getting started,” the young man whined.
“I know. Find your family and explore somewhere else.”
Dejected, Jesse turned over the bag of dead frogs to Jake and left. Jake needed to pull the BBC news crew away from the messy scene.
“Um, Miss Hewitt? Simon? I need you to come off the shoreline, please. I need to close this off until we can determine what’s happened.”
Jake waited as the two of them finished their photos. As they walked by, Ella stopped and asked, “May I have your complete name and spelling, please?”
“No,” Jake bluntly responded.
She smiled as she looked at his chest and saw his name badge affixed to his shirt pocket. “Never mind, Officer Wheeler, I’ll rely on your name badge, and I believe the waitress referred to you as Jake. It’s been a pleasure meeting you—Jake Wheeler.”
Jake stood there dumbfounded as Ella and Simon made their way back to the boardwalk. He turned and stared at Yellowstone Lake. The pristine, clear blue waters had produced a lot of things for those who visited the park, from trout to millions of family photos. He’d never seen anything like this, however.
Chapter 17
South Entrance
Yellowstone
Dusty mouthed the words and hummed the tune to Jimmy Buffett’s “Volcano” as he approached the twin log cabins that marked the entrance to Yellowstone National Park. Two law enforcement rangers were present, cheerily waving visitors through and occasionally answering questions. They were there as a deterrent and rarely undertook to search vehicles that entered the park. Dusty smiled and waved as they entered, and then, losing himself in the music, he suddenly shouted, “Let me hear ya now!”
“What?” asked a startled Ashby, who was riding in the passenger seat of their Dodge Ram ProMaster van, which was outfitted to haul their gear and instrumentation for studying in the field. Unlike Hawaii, where they had dozens of hard cases of luggage to check and tote in the rental RV, the Ram contained everything they needed, including a satellite interface, full-time internet capability, and access to government computers from NASA, the USGS, and Homeland Security.
“Dusty, would you get serious?” Rita chimed in from the backseat. “And turn that joker off. We’ve been listening to that same playlist since we left LA.”
Dusty looked into the rearview mirror and craned his neck until he could see Rita staring back at him. He gave her a devious grin and provided his best Jamaican accent. “Driver picks the tunes. Besides, I’m still on island time, mon.”
“He’s still sweet on Layla,” Rita mumbled.
“Are you jelly, Rita?” teased Dusty, who continued to stare at her in the mirror.
Ashby, forever the peacemaker with this bunch, interrupted. “Come on, you guys.”
“Sorry, Doc,” apologized Dusty. “I guess I got lost thinking back to Hawaii. That Layla was a real hottie.”
“Whatevs,” mumbled Rita from the backseat.
“Doc,” began Dusty, “when are we gonna go back to Hawaii? I fell in love with that poi dish at the Puka Puka Kitchen in Hilo.”
“Arrggh, that was gross,” groaned Rita. “I’m telling you, it was strained baby food for nine ninety-five.”
Dusty ignored Rita’s negativity. “Speaking of food, are we gonna get breakfast first or go straight to the YVO?”
“If you guys are okay, I’d like to get started,” replied Ashby as she turned down the music. “I’m not sure what I’ll be up against this morning. This whole thing with Dr. Peake is disconcerting. I can’t reach him on the phone, and the news reports don’t really address it. It’s like the USGS clamped down on the story.”
“All the emphasis is on this new guy, Younger,” added Dusty. “I did a little digging on some of my alternative news sites, and the lowdown on Younger is he’s a corporate guy who’s still working for the man, and not in the best interests of Yellowstone. One post I saw on Reddit claimed he’s going to ramp up the drilling, if he hasn’t done so already.”
“The government oversight of Project Hydro is gone,” interjected Rita. “You know I don’t have the same conspiratorial mind that Dusty has, but this whole deal stinks. I called a friend who is an intern to the House Energy and Commerce committee. He t
old me once the project was approved and operational, bureaucrats turned their attention elsewhere. They don’t care what’s happening unless additional funding is requested.”
“Or there’s a problem,” interjected Dusty.
“But this was a public-private partnership,” said Ashby. “Project Hydro could receive backdoor funding through its corporate benefactors.”
“You bet,” said Dusty. “They have more money than our bankrupt government.”
Rita continued. “My friend said Project Hydro has blown their three-and-a-half-billion-dollar budget and then some. But they were so thrilled that the water injection was ahead of schedule that nobody asked the inspector general’s office to look into it. If the private money is being used to facilitate drilling, nobody in Washington would know, or care.”
“What about the EPA?” asked Dusty.
“You know those guys,” replied Ashby. “If there isn’t a remote stream or an inch-long fish to protect, they stay out of the way.”
They continued traveling northward, running parallel to the Lewis River and nearer Grant Village. Ashby continued to study the data on an earthquake that had struck Montana yesterday morning. The data was being posted by the USGS this morning, so she shared it aloud.
“Here’s the latest update on yesterday’s quake. It appears to have been a four-point-eight with its epicenter two hundred forty miles from Yellowstone.”
Rita scooted up in her seat so she could look over Ashby’s shoulder. “Was it irregular?”
Ashby continued to scroll through the report. “No.”
“What kind of faulting?” asked Dusty as he slowed to avoid an oncoming convertible, which was passing a Winnebago.
“The location and focal mechanism is consistent with right-lateral faulting. It appears to have trended east-southeast from Northern Idaho to the east of Helena.”
“The Lewis and Clark line,” added Dusty. “It’s known for strike-slip, dip-slip, and oblique-slip faulting. Not unusual.”
“This sounds like the continuation of the swarm that started a couple of weeks ago,” continued Ashby. “According to the report, there have been over nine hundred recordable quakes since June 2.”
Rita shook her head. “I don’t know, you guys. This is not that far out of the norm except for the fact the bulk of the activity has occurred on the western edge of Yellowstone. This quake, at four-point-eight, is significant enough to make me take notice.”
“Yeah, me too,” added Ashby.
The group traveled in silence until they reached the entrance to Grant Village. Finally, Dusty broke the silence and asked the question that was most likely on everybody’s minds.
“The quake was over two hundred miles away, but the swarm activity on the western rim of the caldera is much closer. Is there any chance this is related to the water injection and Project Hydro?”
Ashby chuckled and shook her head. She stared out the passenger-side window at the newly opened volcanic observatory building and provided her honest answer.
“I don’t know, Dusty, and I suspect that neither do these people.”
Chapter 18
YVO
Yellowstone
“Why don’t you guys hang loose here until I get back?” suggested Ashby as she folded up her laptop and shoved it into her messenger bag adorned with the Corona Beer logo, which she’d carried since college. Its edges were tattered and worn, and a few mud stains covered the bottom, but Ashby carried it with her like most women would carry a handbag. It was her constant companion, along with a special journal inside.
Dusty gave her a concerned look. “Seriously, Doc, if you’re expecting trouble, we should be in there to have your back. Right, Rita?”
“I totally agree, Ashby. Besides, this gig was set up months ago through Dr. Peake. Why would they not be fully cooperative?”
Ashby laughed. “My big mouth, that’s why. Wait here and I’ll come back and get you. In fact, go ahead and disconnect the Jeep from the hitch and transfer our personal gear to it. After I touch base inside, we’ll check into the hotel and then get started. How’s that?”
“You’re the boss,” replied Dusty, who still appeared unconvinced.
Ashby slung the messenger bag over her shoulder and walked across the crushed-stone parking lot toward the entrance of the building. Painters were outside on ladders, touching up the exterior trim from scars and scratches left by the roofers or gutter installers. The building had a new look and smell about it.
She entered a large open reception area with a number of bookshelves lining the walls. Some of the shelves had been attached, and others were freestanding. All had a variety of boxes and electronic equipment stacked upon them. Ashby tried to imagine how excited Dr. Peake was to move in to this new facility only to be shown the exit door within days of its opening.
The receptionist was absent, so Ashby wandered toward the sound of a man’s voice emanating from an open door located down a short hallway. The staff of the YVO appeared to all be present as they gathered to listen to Rick Younger speak.
Ashby had never met Younger in person although she’d watched his congressional testimony on C-SPAN. Her initial assessment of his capabilities was that he was adept at repeating key phrases and buzzwords. Although he’d studied geology in college, there was a big difference between field training and being book-smart. Regurgitating what Younger learned from others would only get him so far. Eventually, his lack of knowledge in the field of volcanology, and especially the complex volcanic system at Yellowstone, would catch up with him.
She remained tucked in the alcove while he continued his remarks. He certainly had command of the room, as most accomplished speakers do.
“May, our first full month in operation, was an exceptional one for the YVO. Steamboat Geyser provided our visitors with a record four eruptions during the month. At the first of May, our scientists quickly deployed a portable seismic array around the geyser, and with yesterday’s ninth eruption of the year, they’ve gathered data on four of them. This array should yield data that will help us map the geyser’s plumbing system, further revealing insights into how intermittent geysers work.”
Ashby shook her head. Sure, and it might even expose how your excessive water injection into said plumbing is pissing off the caldera.
Younger continued. “With summer comes field season. Several of our YVO scientists took advantage of the coordination meeting I conducted several days ago to meet with their counterparts from around the globe. As they’ve been made aware, the dynamics here at the YVO have changed, and there will no longer be unescorted field operations sanctioned by this facility. The enhanced equipment we’ve deployed in conjunction with Project Hydro together with twelve semipermanent GPS stations around Yellowstone cannot be interfered with by outsiders. It is incumbent upon our YVO team to make sure the outside visitors from the scientific community stay in their designated areas.”
Ashby stood taller in the doorway and immediately became concerned. She’d set up her field study with Dr. Peake some time ago. There had never been requirements of YVO-assigned babysitters. Further, she hadn’t been contacted about any coordination meeting.
Frustrated, and anticipating that she and her team would be locked out of the summer field-study program, she walked back into the lobby and paced the floor. She contemplated calling her supervisor at NASA to have him stand up to Younger on her behalf. She paced some more, electing to wait and see what Younger had to say first. She stared outside toward the parking lot, observing Dusty and Rita working together to ready the Jeep, when a man’s voice startled her.
“Dr. Donovan,” he began brusquely, “my name is Rick Younger, and I am the scientist-in-charge. How may I help you?”
She spun around and approached the much taller, middle-aged man. Unlike Dr. Peake, who always dressed in typical geologist style—khakis, white shirt, and hiking shoes—Younger chose to wear an expensive pin-striped suit, a white starched shirt, and the proverbial red power tie
, befitting his corporate persona.
“Mr. Younger,” began Ashby, who was aware the new scientist-in-charge didn’t have an advanced degree, to the surprise of many, “by arrangement with Dr. Peake, I’m here on behalf of NASA for our summer field study. I just wanted to let you know of our—”
Younger interrupted her. “Dr. Donovan, all of the field-study allotments have been filled. Our new policy requires outsiders to be paired with a YVO scientist, and there simply aren’t any more available.”
Ashby got huffy. “I know nothing of this policy, and this is completely contrary to past arrangements I had with Dr. Peake.”
Younger grimaced and looked around the room. He removed his hands from his pockets and waved them around the room. “Well, you don’t see Dr. Peake around anywhere, do you?”
A small crowd had assembled in the hallway and just inside the reception area. Ashby was not going to be deterred.
“Of course not, and I’m anxious to speak with him to find out what happened. Be that as it may, my team has driven all the way from LA and we’re ready to get to work. Now, are you going to assign a YVO scientist to me, or do I need to go in there and pick one out?”
Ashby started toward the door, and Younger quickly moved to block her progress. “You’re not welcome here, Dr. Donovan. Not by me or any other member of this facility, who take great pride in their work.”
“What?”
“You don’t think we’ve seen your grandstanding interview at Caltech? Some of us have watched it many times. Your disparaging comments and contradictions of the good work we do here was uncalled for. I can assure—”
“That’s not fair and you know it!” Ashby shot back. “I’ve always had the utmost respect for Dr. Peake and his team. I’ve worked with all of these people in the past, and we’ve never had a problem. You, on the other hand, know nothing about the delicate intricacies of the Yellowstone volcanic system. You’re here for one reason and one reason only—to fatten bank accounts and generate profits for corporate bottom lines.”
