by Bobby Akart
“Can your friend do that?” asked Dusty.
Ashby studied her laptop monitor and began receiving data from OCO-3 and NASA. She leaned back in her chair and pointed at the screen. A graphic was revealed that showed the atmospheric carbon dioxide concentrations around the globe. Ashby made a few keystroke entries and the graphic zoomed in over the Pacific Northwest. The state line between Montana and Wyoming was obliterated by a red blob.
“Apparently so, as indicated by the red blob covering the northern end of Yellowstone. The lighter-colored red indicates the carbon dioxide levels have surpassed four hundred parts per million.”
“That’s a lot,” began Rita. “But, based upon my understanding of CO2 levels in the atmosphere around major metropolitan areas, that’s not that far out of line.”
“Yeah, for places like New York, maybe,” added Dusty. “But we’re nowhere near a city of any significant size. Especially in the north end of the park.”
“Five hundred eighteen parts per million in the dark red area.” Ashby read the graphic aloud. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “At the Mauna Loa Observatory two weeks ago, NOAA registered a high of four hundred twelve ppm. That’s a big difference.”
Dusty looked around at the sky, which appeared to be clear of pollutants. “Why can’t we see it?”
“For the same reason we can’t detect ground swelling, which is barely noticeable to the naked eye. The satellite data doesn’t lie. We’ve got a significant leak around here, and now we have to determine if it’s getting better or worse.”
Chapter 37
Jake’s Cabin
Yellowstone
The days were long at Yellowstone in mid-June. Jake’s routine of rising at five thirty in the morning, coupled with the excitement of another day of volcanic-activity detecting, had rubbed off on Ashby and her team. By the time everyone circled up at the cabin at seven that evening, they’d put in more than twelve hours of research. Despite being exhausted, they looked forward to two more hours of daylight to cook out and enjoy each other’s company.
Tonight, Dusty and Rita offered to cook and make sure everyone had their beer full. Jake and Ashby sprawled out in their Adirondack chairs with their feet propped up on the stones used to contain the fire.
“Have you ever been married, Ashby?” probed Jake as he carefully peeled the label off the bottle of Belgian White. He slyly glanced at her face to see if she was taken aback by his question.
“No, travel too much,” she replied dryly.
“Where?” He attempted to keep the conversation going.
“Anywhere there’s a volcano with a temper.”
Jake nodded and completed his label-peeling project. He was fidgety and proceeded to slosh his beer around in the bottle to create some head. Normally, he’d have an orange peel or two to bring out the citrusy flavor of the beer, but he’d run out and, in his haste to check out at the supermarket, had forgotten to buy more.
“Like this one?”
Ashby sat up in her chair. “Here’s the thing. What I do is like being a detective. There are lots of signals and precursors to investigate, but in the end, all of the data and conclusions are nothing more than circumstantial evidence.”
“It’s the same as a criminal investigation,” added Jake.
“Or the investigatory process is very much like the work done by epidemiologists when tracking down the source of infectious diseases—patient zero. It’s a process of digging up markers, facts that point to a certain conclusion, but you must also eliminate other possibilities. It’s tedious, time-consuming work. And in the present circumstances, just like when a deadly pandemic threatens to spread across the planet, every hour that passes leads us closer to a catastrophic collapse event.”
Jake was glad that Ashby was opening up. It appeared Yellowstone was consuming her, and she’d placed an enormous amount of pressure on herself to reach a conclusion.
“I know you’re just getting started, but it seems to me that the warning signs are there,” said Jake.
“We’ve got several more tests to run related to ground swelling, water temperatures, and noxious-gas levels. Data gathering is the easy part. Even if all the markers are there, and the evidence points to an imminent eruption, the problem lies in predictability.”
Jake finished his beer and set the bottle down so he’d quit fiddling with it. “Two obvious questions are will it happen again and when. If you don’t warn people, the death toll would be in the millions. If you do, and nothing happens, many won’t listen to you the second go-around.”
“Exactly. Jake, the problem is scientists understand that each day or year in our lives is but a speck of time in the overall scheme of things. The last major eruption of Yellowstone was measured in thousands of years. Our lifespan is less than a hundred—a blink of an eye in Yellowstone’s timeline.”
“But you believe it will erupt again, and that it may be in the process, right?” asked Jake.
“Yes, for many reasons. Primarily, I believe the magma reservoir is building, and it has been for many decades. Every sign is pointing to it. The only thing lacking, in my opinion, is more significant seismic activity. If that increases, then the warning must be considered.”
Dusty and Rita joined them with another round of beers.
“We’ve got venison steaks ready to grill when you guys are ready,” said Dusty.
“What are you guys talking about?” asked Rita.
“Predictability and warnings,” replied Ashby as she finished her point to Jake. “Here’s what I know. Something angry is brewing in Yellowstone’s volcanic plumbing, and it’s coming to a boil. We may not get as much warning as we’d like, which is what concerns me.”
“Ashby, if you take your findings to Younger and lay it out, surely he’ll listen,” said Jake. “If he ignores the facts, then you should consider alternative resources to get the information out there.”
“Like who?” asked Rita. “FEMA? We’re dealing with the government, Jake. They’re all about chain of command and not stepping on each other’s turf.”
“No, I was thinking the media,” replied Jake.
“Ella,” said Dusty.
“Why not?” asked Jake. “So far, she seems to have been fair to you, and it appears her reporting is not intended to be sensationalistic. I’m just saying she might be worth talking to.”
“I’ll consider it,” said Ashby. “We’ve still got a few days of work to do.”
Chapter 38
Lone Star Campground
Lower Geyser Basin
Yellowstone
Johnny Winston was a sexual predator. His preying fields stretched across America, from sea to shining sea. He was a heartless, indiscriminate bastard who sought out young girls who were naïve and vulnerable. With the offer of a good time, he would make his move and take what he wanted. Then, before the sun could rise on the next day, he’d pack up his tent and camping gear, fire up his Harley, and motor off to seek out his next victim.
He’d been kickin’ back at the Lone Star Campground in the Lower Geyser Basin area of Yellowstone for several days. Yellowstone was one of his favorite hunting grounds. It was a family-friendly destination. The parents wanted to enjoy the great outdoors. Their teenage daughters were forced to go along, all the while complaining about their loss of access to social media due to the poor internet connections.
After the first couple of nights in the campground, Johnny was getting discouraged. The earthquake had scared some of the tourists off, and he was beginning to think he needed to make his way toward the West Coast, where his prospects would most likely improve.
Then a fortuitous change of events came Johnny’s way as a family of five pulled into the Lone Star Campground from, drumroll please, of all places, Texas. He watched from afar as the group unloaded. The father was clearly the general, barking out orders as he threw back a few beers. The mother, thin and meek, but still a looker for her forty-something years, hustled about trying to please her
man.
The kids did their part. The youngest, a boy of about eight, moved quickly when his dad issued the orders. He was careful to give dear old dad a wide berth in order to avoid the occasional swat to the back of the head for some perceived mistake or shortcoming.
The girls, one of which turned out to be a friend of the daughter of the Texas travelers, were exactly what Johnny hoped to find on the menu. Petulant, uninterested, and mouthy to their parents. All of these traits, Johnny had learned over the years, meant one thing—rebellion. And where there was rebellion, there was risk-taking. The perfect combination of teenage behavior, which made Johnny’s task all the easier.
The morning after their arrival, Johnny noticed that Mr. Texan was loading up his rifles to head off for a hunt. His missus and the kids wandered off to look at geysers and do touristy things. By the end of the day, they’d returned to their camper only to be berated by Mr. Texan for not being there when he returned empty-handed from hunting. A combination of too many beers and a snide comment from his missus ended in a scrap heard by many of the surrounding campers.
During the verbal altercation, Johnny saw the telltale signs of adolescent pressures. The young girls stood by with their arms folded, kicking rocks at their feet, while the verbal onslaught continued. At their age, everything their parents did was embarrassing, especially a very public fight, even if it was in front of strangers.
As darkness set in, the parents took their bitterness inside and Johnny heard the door latch on the camper lock. Apparently, it was time to kiss and make up, Mr. Texan style. While the boy played a handheld video game, the girls began to wander around the parking area alone. It was time for Johnny to make his move.
He was fairly good looking, if rock stars were your thing. Johnny also looked much younger than his twenty-six years. He was the perfect bad boy for a young girl to bring home to her parents with the intent to say—screw you, here’s my new boyfriend whom I’m sure you’re gonna hate.
Johnny played on their Texas heritage and poured on the Southern drawl. “Hey, y’all! Havin’ fun yet?”
The girls were somewhat startled as they walked quietly, deep in thought. It was the daughter of Mr. Texan who responded.
“I guess you saw that, huh? I’m so embarrassed.”
“Hey, no worries,” offered Johnny. A common technique he used to con the girls into a false sense of security was to find a way to comfort them. Then he would offer them an alternative to their morose state. “My old man used to beat me over the head daily. He just didn’t get it, you know?”
“Yeah,” the friend said hesitantly. Johnny sized her up. She was more cautious but would most likely follow her girlfriend’s lead. I mean, who else would load up in a camper and drive all the way to see Yogi Bear at Jellystone National Park unless you were a follower, right?
Johnny stretched out his hand to feign politeness. In reality, he was trying to break down any barriers they had by making physical contact. Go ahead, shake my hand. I won’t bite.
“I’m Billy Joe Campbell from Beaumont.” Johnny took a chance these girls weren’t from there. He’d lived for a time across the river in Baton Rouge as a kid and knew enough about Beaumont to make casual conversation.
The daughter’s demeanor changed immediately. “You’re from Texas? So are we. My name’s Kaylee, and this here’s my friend Bailey. We live in Dallas.”
Of course you do. “Well, pleased to meet you, Kaylee and Bailey from the Big D.”
This drew giggles from the girls, which brought a big smile to Johnny’s face. He was in.
“I’m sorry about that,” began Kaylee. “My dad means well. He just, um, sometimes he gets angry for the wrong reason. He lost his job and all, but we’ve been doin’ real good ’cause my mom makes good money at the bank. Anyway, we’re on our family vacation.”
“Well, this is an awesome place to visit.” Johnny began to make the next overture, which was a big one. He glanced over at their camper and saw that nothing had changed. The little brother was still completely immersed in his video game, and the parents were still kissin’ and makin’ up.
Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint. He twisted it in his fingers to gauge an initial reaction. When the girls didn’t run screaming into the night, he made the offer. “Wanna burn one with me? You know, when in the Rockies, get Rocky Mountain high.”
He held his breath and waited. The girls didn’t make him wait long.
Kaylee and Bailey looked at one another, giggled with big smiles on their faces, and nodded their heads in agreement.
Johnny exhaled, and inside, he could feel another conquest upon him. The game was on, one that he loved to play.
*****
The next night, after a similar ruckus was raised between husband and wife, the girls wandered toward Johnny’s tent in search of another opportunity to release some teenage angst.
“Girls, do you wanna get away, like the airline says?”
“You wanna fly somewhere?” asked Kaylee, the ditsier of the two.
“Nah. I’m talkin’ about on my bike.” Jake pointed to his 2002 Harley Davidson Road King, which was equipped with a sidecar.
“I don’t know.” Bailey hesitated, as Johnny thought she might. He focused his hard sell on Kaylee.
“Just a quick ride. There’s a place all the kids go to hang out and smoke a little grass. You know, to take a break from their folks and all.”
Kaylee looked to Bailey and shrugged. “Come on, just a quick ride. I’ve never been in one of those sidecars, have you?”
“I’ve never been on a Harley,” replied Bailey. “Are you sure your parents won’t mind?”
“Dang, girl, they won’t even know we were gone. Let’s do it!”
Johnny didn’t allow them any time to change their minds as he led them to the bike. He got the girls settled in the sidecar and asked them if they wanted a beer for the ride. They both cheerfully said yes, so Johnny went inside his tent.
Once inside, he pulled the beers out of the cooler and then he checked his watch. He calculated the ride up to Firehole as about twenty minutes. Just about right, he thought to himself as he rummaged through his backpack.
“Come on, Billy Joe. Let’s ride,” shouted one of the girls in between giggles.
Oh, we’re gonna ride all right. He found what he was looking for. He’d located the blister pack of Rohypnol, commonly known as roofies on the street. The drug itself was clinically prescribed to treat insomnia. For sexual predators like Johnny, it was the perfect tool to get an unsuspecting victim in the right frame of mind to be sexually assaulted.
He quickly broke up the tablets and mixed the powder into the girls’ beers. It took about thirty minutes for the effects of the drug to kick in, which gave him plenty of time to get to where he wanted to be, light up a doobie to chill, and then party.
Johnny and the girls were in a partying mood when they arrived at the Firehole River and the extensive mud pot field. Mud pots were acidic hot springs with very little water, which created a pool of bubbling mud.
Johnny had been here before, just about a year ago. He’d been tipped off to the hot springs at the edge of the Firehole. This particular young lady, who worked for the park, was more than willing to party with him. She took him to a place where the scalding hot waters overflowed and commingled with the cool currents of the water.
Over time, adventurous bathers had constructed a large stacked-rock wall that controlled the mixing of the hot and cold waters to create a pool of water perfect for hot potting. Johnny had fond memories of that night and thought it would be the perfect place to introduce these young ladies to all Yellowstone and Johnny Winston had to offer.
Johnny lit up a joint and the three eagerly passed it around as they walked toward the hot pot. It was dark, and Johnny hadn’t brought a flashlight because the last thing he needed was to draw attention to the party he had planned.
As the girls began to lose control of their faculties, Johnny co
nvinced them to join him for a nude, under-the-stars swim in the hot pot. The girls had lost all inhibitions and understanding of what they were doing. Johnny undressed them and walked them toward the hot pot. He shuddered as the cold air and the euphoria of another glorious night was upon him. It was time to party.
Chapter 39
Norris Area
Yellowstone
The deformation around the Yellowstone Caldera was one of the most watched parameters by scientists. From 2015 to 2017, the ground around the Norris Area rose by three inches while there was a corresponding drop within the caldera itself during this same time frame. This had caught the attention of scientists years ago, and they continued to monitor the rate of surface inflation until the swelling stopped. Geophysicists determined that a sudden infusion of magma about six miles below the Earth’s surface had caused the ground to swell near the northern rim of the caldera, but in the last eight months, the swelling had subsided.
Scientifically, the rise and fall was not deemed to be out of the ordinary. Magma and hydrothermal fluids migrated throughout the volcano’s underground chambers. One scientist likened it to a sponge that soaked in the magma and then squeezed it out in a different direction.
Decades ago, Yellowstone became known as the restless caldera because of its history of inflating and deflating over the past fourteen thousand years. Ashby accepted this science as fact, but she was always quick to point out that the Norris Area bucked the trend.
During the rise and subsequent fall of the caldera in other parts of Yellowstone, the Norris area typically remained the same. That was not the case in the last several years.
The rise and uplift of the ground was common due to the addition of the deep magma and related gases mixed with water just below the Earth’s surface. Historically, earthquake swarms led to a release of the pressure that caused the initial uplift, which allowed the area to return to normal.
