by Tim Washburn
“My legs. I can’t . . . feel my legs.” The man is gasping for air and his face is a mask of agony.
Tucker looks helplessly at Rachael. She kneels next to the man and grabs one of his hands. “Do you have family with you?”
Before he can answer, an older, heavyset woman barges through the gathered crowd. “Sam!” she shouts as she lumbers closer to the scene.
Tucker holds up a hand. “Please stop there, ma’am. This area is unsafe.”
“But that’s my husband.” The woman breaks into sobs.
Tucker glances back toward April and nods toward the distraught woman. April walks around the counter and puts an arm around the woman.
The man is on the verge of hyperventilating. “Sam, I need you to take a couple of deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”
Sam slows his breathing and Rachael squeezes his hand. “You’re doing good, Sam. Just hang on a little longer.”
Sam looks up at Tucker. “Can you get me out of here?”
Tucker leans sideways for a closer look. Most of Sam’s legs are hidden from view, but an ever-widening pool of blood is visible between the gaps. “Sam, we really need to wait for medical personnel before trying to move you.”
“My legs. Oh God, it hurts so damn bad. Can’t you just pull the rocks off?”
Sam is pale and his entire body is shivering hard enough to make his teeth chatter. Tucker glances at Rachael and she mouths the word shock. Tucker nods and reissues his radio plea for medical assistance.
The front doors open, spreading a shaft of light across the scene. Two rangers hurry in and Tucker waves them closer. “You need to keep those people back. The rest of the chimney could come crashing down at any time.” He pauses to glance up at the soaring atrium held together by a fretwork of logs. “We should consider evacuating the entire lobby. If a couple of those logs have been jarred loose, the whole roof could collapse.”
The two rangers tilt their heads up, and the ranger on the right dry swallows and nods. “You may be right.” He turns to the group of tourists, which has suddenly swelled in size. “Folks, you need to vacate the lobby premises. Either return to your room or kindly step outside.”
The two rangers begin dispersing the crowd, enduring more than a few grumbles and complaints. Another shaft of light shoots across the interior. Tucker glances up to see two people heading in his direction, but because of the backlighting he can’t tell who they are until they draw closer. He breathes a sigh of relief as he stands to meet with Ron Engel and Patty Craft from the Old Faithful medical clinic. “Ron, his legs are in bad shape.”
“Patty, grab some surgical tubing from the bag,” Ron says. “We need to get some tourniquets on his legs.”
As Patty kneels next to Sam and begins digging through her bag, Ron takes Tucker by the elbow and leads him a short distance away. “Tucker, I’m merely a physician’s assistant, but I do know enough that if that man doesn’t get to a level-one trauma center soon, he will lose both legs and possibly his life. Can you call for a medical helicopter?”
Tucker makes the radio call. “Where’s the closest trauma center?”
“Salt Lake City. I’ll do my best to stabilize him, but time is the enemy.”
Rachael stands to give Patty more room to work. Tucker steps over and hands her the satellite phone. “I know this is a terrible situation, but will you call the seismology lab? We need data.”
Rachael nods and brushes a tear from the corner of her eye as she moves over to a quiet corner of the lobby to make the call.
Tucker spends a few moments conferring with the rangers before checking the status of the helicopter via radio. Life Flight is still fifteen minutes out. Tucker’s hoping they’ll find a live patient when they finally do arrive. He works his way over to Rachael, who’s still on the phone. He mouths the words How large?
Rachael holds up a hand with all five fingers splayed.
“Epicenter?”
Rachael covers the phone’s microphone. “Close to Mallard Lake.”
“Ask about ground deformation.”
Rachael nods and forwards the question on. Tucker watches as her forehead wrinkles with concern.
She pulls the phone away from her ear. “Mallard Dome is up six inches since this morning. But, it’s worse over at the Sour Creek area. The GPS units indicate an uplift of over a foot over the last twenty-four hours.”
Tucker kicks at a piece of loose stone that had ended up on this side of the lobby. “That’s not good.”
CHAPTER 11
Old Faithful Inn
“Hello . . . Hello?” Jessica hangs up the phone, bewildered.
Matt steps in from the balcony. “Who was on the phone?”
“No one. But I heard noises—”
There’s a series of popping sounds as the building shakes violently. A water bottle wobbles toward the edge of the dresser and drops to the floor. The floor undulates like a slimming machine at a health fair. Jess reaches for the wall and Matt braces himself in the doorway. In seconds, the shaking stops, and Jess turns to her husband. “That’s not a small earthquake. That was the largest of the morning. We should really consider leaving the park.”
“Let’s wait until we talk to Tucker. He’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.”
“I know what’s going on. The earthquakes are getting stronger and”—she pauses and turns to check on the children before lowering her voice and moving closer to her husband—“with longer durations. We need to find Tucker right now. We can’t wait and hope he receives a text.”
“How?”
“Let’s go out to the lobby. Maybe we can ask a ranger to radio him.” She looks back into the living room where both children are still clicking and swiping away on their iPads. “I’d like to get the kids away from their tablets. Knowing your son, he’s probably surfing the web about supervolcanoes. The last thing we need is for him to start telling Maddie all about it.”
Matt pushes off the wall. “Good point.”
Jess pauses, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe we should go ahead and pack our bags.”
“Let’s talk to Tuck first. No sense getting the kids all worked up if it turns out to be nothing.”
“This is well beyond nothing, Matt.” Jessica brushes past and enters the sitting area of the king suite Matt booked. “Kids, let’s head to the lobby to find Uncle Tucker.”
Maddie tosses her iPad onto the sofa and jumps to her feet. “Maybe Uncle Tucker can take us to see the bears.”
“What makes you think the bears will be out this time of day?” Mason asks as he closes the Smart Cover of his iPad.
Maddie scrunches her forehead. “There’re bears out all the time. I saw the pictures in National Geographic.”
Mason scoffs as he stands up. “Just because you saw the pictures in a magazine doesn’t mean the bears will be out now.”
Maddie turns to face her brother, her hands fisted on her hips. “Uncle Tucker will know.”
Jess sighs and pulls the heavy door open. “Quit arguing and let’s go.”
Maddie sticks her tongue out before stomping out into the hall. The Mayfield family winds through the dimly lit, log-lined corridor toward the lobby. The heavy timbers create a rustic atmosphere that feels heavy, confining. There are no windows and the only illumination is provided by an array of single bulbs staggered along the wall. Underfoot, the carpet is worn with a noticeable furrow down the center from years of foot traffic. After several turns, they arrive at the lobby, where park rangers are herding people away from the center of the room.
“Look, Dad,” Mason says, pointing toward the chimney. “I bet the earthquakes caused that.”
Matt tiptoes up to see over the crowd and spots a familiar face. He turns to his wife. “I see Tucker, but it looks like they’re trying to evacuate the lobby area. I’ll grab him and bring him back this way.” Matt nudges his way through the crowd, but as he breaks into the clear a park ranger grabs him by the arm.
Matt yanks his arm from the ranger’s grasp. “I’m trying to find someone.”
The man steps into Matt’s personal space. “You’ll have to go around. As you can see, we have a medical emergency.”
Tucker glances over at the commotion, and Matt waves. Tucker heads over, a grim expression on his face. The two brothers hug.
“How badly injured is that man?” Matt asks.
“Bad. Chopper’s on its way.” Tucker leans around to peer behind his brother. “Where’re Jess and the kids?”
“On the other side of the lobby.”
Tucker takes Matt by the elbow and leads him away from the crowd. “Listen, Matt, you and Jess should probably pack up the kids and get out of the park. Or, at the very least, head up toward my office in Mammoth.”
“Jess has been bugging me to leave but I told her we’d talk to you first. What do you think is going on?”
Tucker lowers his voice. “The earthquakes are getting stronger, and I have some very real concerns about what might happen.”
Camp 39–Ozark, Alabama
Interview: Carl from Clovis, NM—small business owner
“As the morning went on, the earthquakes felt like they were getting stronger. My wife and I were celebrating our first vacation in years. We’d left our two kids with their grandparents, and were hoping to make it kind of our second honeymoon, being the first one wasn’t much––a night or two in Vegas. When you own a small business, time off is hard to come by. Anyway, back to your original question, yes we were staying at the Old Faithful Inn. Our second day there, and really hadn’t had a chance to test the bedsprings, if you know what I mean. We were aware of the volcano, but who’d have ever thought? After what happened in the lobby, we decided it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. You could tell panic was setting in.”
CHAPTER 12
Yellowstone Lake, Yellowstone National Park
Jimmy Pickett tugs down the brim of his John Deere hat as he gooses the throttle of the 15-horse Evinrude outboard motor, propelling his small twelve-foot boat across the glassy waters of Yellowstone Lake. A gaunt, tall man, Jimmy’s three years into his retirement after selling all of his dairy cows. His life vest is buckled up tight. His only swimming experience was wading through the small pools along the creek running through the old family farm.
Yesterday, he had bagged a couple of eight-pound lake trout off the banks of Stevenson Island, and he’s eager to return to his honey hole. The lake trout are a nuisance fish that the National Park Service is begging anglers to remove from the lake. Jimmy aims to oblige them during his one-week stay with his wife, Maryjean, who’s still racked out in their travel trailer, watching Ellen.
The serene surface of the lake belies what lies beneath. What Jimmy doesn’t know is that the lake bottom is riddled with hydrothermal vents, previous volcanic flows, and an inflated plain that rises nearly a hundred feet near his favorite fishing spot. The bulge, resting atop the magma chamber only two miles below, has increased in size over the past week. A fact unknown to scientists, because the last lake bottom mapping was three years ago.
Jimmy kills the engine and coasts closer to his spot, using the stealth approach to keep from scaring the fish. He trails his hand through the water and is surprised at how warm it is. That’s usually a bad sign for trout, which prefer their water icy cold. He scans the area to make sure this is the spot he was fishing yesterday and decides it is. Maybe the water’s colder below the surface, he thinks, as he grabs up his fishing pole. He uncoils the line from his bought-for-the trip, state-of-the-art spinning reel and threads the line through the eyelets of the ultralight rod, also new. The new rig set him back about five hundred bucks, a fact Maryjean is not privy to.
Jimmy carefully rummages through his tackle box and selects a shiny spinner bait and, per park regulations, snips off one of the three hooks with a pair of pliers. He flattens the barbs of the other two hooks and ties the spinner onto his line. Yesterday’s lure, the one responsible for the big hogs, is somewhere underwater, snagged on a tree limb. This one is a close approximation, but Jimmy’s kicking himself for not stopping at the bait shop for an exact replica.
After snapping over the bail, he flicks his wrist and shoots the lure out into the clear water. He gives it a minute to sink, then slowly reels it in. No bites. He moves ten degrees right and flicks it out again, this time giving little jerks as he reels. Nary a nibble. Jimmy fires up the Evinrude and steers the boat to the other side of the island closer to shore and Bridge Bay, where the Yellowstone River empties into the lake.
He kills the engine and casts out his line. Even before he starts reeling, he gets a hit on the line. “Hot damn,” he shouts as he lurches to his feet, yanking on the pole to set the hook and nearly capsizing the small boat in the process. With slow determination he reels in his fish. When the catch is within range, Jimmy is bending over to grab his net when a hydrothermal explosion rips through the water. The small boat is tossed around as Jimmy grabs for the side of the boat, launching his $500 fishing rig into the deep.
Another explosion of water rushes up from below, shooting the boat twenty feet into the air. Jimmy screams as the boat flips upside down, hurling him into the cauldron of superhot liquid. His screams are swallowed as the returning water sucks him beneath the surface. He kicks and claws upward as the hot water blisters his skin. Aided by the life vest, Jimmy pops to the surface, shrieking in agony. His vision blurry and his eyes feeling like hot coals burning through his skull, he swivels his head, bellowing for help. He spots the faint outline of the island shore and begins dog-paddling that way, his body inflamed with pain. Crying tears of agony, Jimmy pulls himself ashore as his vision spirals into darkness.
Camp 201–Sumter, South Carolina
Interview: Maryjean from Manhattan, KS—retired homemaker
“I lost my Jimmy up there. He was fishing the lake when all that mess started. Now I don’t know where his body is. Everything happened real quick. One of the rangers told me what happened, and not long after that, it all started to happen. I know Jimmy would be mad that I left the trailer, but I’d never driven the pickup with the trailer hooked up. I didn’t even . . . get a . . . chance to say . . . good-bye to him . . .” (Note: Maryjean was unable to continue the interview but did say she was evacuated from the Casper area.)
CHAPTER 13
Yellowstone park headquarters,
Mammoth Hot Springs, Wyoming
Park Superintendent Ralph Barlow snatches up the phone after the first ring and listens to the voice on the other end, the color draining from his face. “Christ, get everyone off the lake right damn now. And push those on the shoreline farther away. I don’t want a park guest within a half a mile of there.”
He listens for another moment, then asks, “Is the man still alive?” He waits for the answer. “Get the man stabilized and hustle him over to the Old Faithful area. We’ve got a chopper on the ground picking up another guest who was injured. I’ll call the rangers and have them hold the chopper.”
Barlow slams the phone down and grinds his forehead into the palm of his hand. What was a pleasant morning is now turning into an ever-widening series of catastrophes. He takes a sip of tepid coffee and spits it back into the cup before reaching for the phone again. He dials a number and stands, stretching the phone cord toward the window. At fifty-seven, Barlow is a lean, compact man, his body honed by daily hikes across the rugged terrain. His hairline has retreated to the back third of his skull, and he’s thought many times about shaving the rest off, but hasn’t yet. Serving as a ranger in Yellowstone during his twenties, he’d always hoped to one day be the head guy—the man in charge. Be careful what you wish for, he thinks as he stares out the window at the ragged face of Clagett Butte, part of the Gallatin Range, which looms large in the foreground. After several rings, the phone is answered on the other end.
Before the man can even say hello, Barlow say
s, “Jeremy, you’re the scientist-in-charge of the Yellowstone Volcano Observatory. What the hell is going on? Do I need to start herding guests toward the exits?”
Doctor Jeremy Lyndsey sighs, sending a rush of air down the line. “Good morning to you, too, Ralph. What’s got you so worked up?”
“I’ve got two severely wounded park guests, that’s what. One was injured as the result of the last earthquake, and the second is suffering from second-degree burns over most of his body. The man was enjoying a peaceful morning of fishing on Yellowstone Lake until a hydrothermal explosion blew him out of the water.”
“This is the first I’ve heard about a hydrothermal explosion. How long ago?”
“Within the last few minutes. About the time of the last big earthquake.”
“Listen, Ralph, you need to evacuate everyone away from the lake—”
“Already done.”
“Good. Where was this guy fishing?”
“Around Stevenson Island.”
“There are known fissures in the lake bottom around that area. This could actually be good news.”
“Good news? I’ve got a man with burns over most of his body.”
“Yes, that part is tragic. But the hydrothermal explosion could have released some of the pressure on the magma chamber.”
Superintendent Barlow walks back to his desk and sags into his chair. “Enough to alleviate the fear of a volcanic eruption?”
There’s a long pause on Lyndsey’s end. Finally, he answers, “I don’t know. I guess it depends on whether the earthquakes continue to increase in intensity. Tucker and I have been in contact most of the morning. The thing is, Ralph, predicting if or when a volcano erupts isn’t exact science. We know there are precursor events such as an increase in seismic activity, but that’s been going on at the park for years.”
