Cataclysm

by Tim Washburn

  “Yeah, we need all the data we can get. I’m going to check on my brother’s progress and give them a heads-up.”

  Rachael returns to the pickup to retrieve the gear while Tucker walks toward the inn. Smoke from the dying fire at the crash site drifts along the faint breeze, bringing with it noxious fumes of melted plastic. With a portion of the porch roof collapsed and the lobby sealed off by rangers, a large group of people are milling around the parking lot. Huddled mostly into familial groups, they murmur among themselves.

  When Tucker turns the corner near the employee entrance he’s accosted by an irate older man. Dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt with suspenders stretched over his enormous gut, the man pushes into Tucker’s space.

  “Just what in the hell is going on around here? We’re standing out here in the heat and nobody’s telling us a damn thing.”

  Tucker takes a deep breath and immediately regrets it when his sinuses are swamped by the stench of foul body odor. “Sir, we’re trying to work through the situation.”

  “What situation?” The man stabs Tucker in the chest with a stubby finger as he enunciates each word.

  Tucker takes a step back, and the accumulation of the morning’s events crashes down on him. “Touch me again, sir, and I’ll break your fucking finger.” Tucker takes a moment to regain his composure as the man shuffles back a couple of steps. “Tell you what, sir, why don’t you return to your room and begin packing your things.”

  “Why? We’re here for three more days.”

  Tucker’s mind fumbles for an acceptable answer. He makes do with: “Well then, enjoy the rest of your stay.” Tucker attempts to step by the man.

  The man reaches a finger out again but quickly pulls it back. “What do you know that you’re not telling us?”

  “I know I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me.” Tucker sidesteps the man and hustles toward the employee entrance as the man continues to shout questions after him. He pulls up short when he spots Walt Stringer sitting on one of the log benches. Walt’s face is fire hydrant red and it’s hard to tell where one blister ends and another begins. Tucker takes a seat next to him.

  “You hanging in there, Walt?”

  “I’m a lot better off than those folks that were in the chopper.”

  Tucker pauses for a moment and then glances around before lowering his voice. “Listen, Ralph is going to issue an evacuation order shortly. You might want to work your way north and help out at the campgrounds around Indian Creek. It’d get you closer to a park exit.”

  Walt leans back and tilts his head up to look at the cobalt-colored sky and spends a moment or two watching the enormous cottony clouds drifting along the current. “You know, Tucker, I feel like I’ve been rowing with one oar since cancer took Janet two years ago.” Walt blows out a deep breath and turns to face his friend. “I expect there’ll be plenty of people here needing my help. How long before the caldera blows?”

  “Minutes . . . hours . . . days . . . Hell, I can’t say with certainty that it’s even going to erupt. But my gut tells me otherwise.”

  Walt extends his hand. “Whatever happens, happens, Tucker. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Tucker grasps Walt’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Walt.”

  Walt nods and releases the handshake. “Back at ya.”

  Tucker stands and squeezes Walt’s shoulder. “Beers are on me when all this is over.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Doc.”

  April is still manning the counter when Tucker enters the building. He pulls her aside. The color drains from her face as he explains about the impending evacuation.

  “What about the guests? How are we going to close all the accounts for payment? How are we going to evacuate those that flew into Jackson Hole? How are we . . . oh God . . . what am I going to do? Where am I going to—”

  “Take a deep breath, April.” Tucker takes her by the hand. “These are all things we need to figure out.”

  “Is there time? Is the volcano really going to blow?”

  Tucker gives her hand a squeeze. “I need you to be calm. Can you do that?”

  She withdraws her hand and twists the ring around her thumb a half a dozen times before nodding.

  “You can come with Rachael and me. We’re heading back to Mammoth in a few minutes.”

  “What about my job? Who’s going to look after the guests?”

  “Have Jenny cover for you. She’ll need to wait for her husband before she can leave.”

  “Is Mammoth safe?”

  He hesitates, trying to strike the right balance for his answer. “No, I don’t believe it will be. But we’ll be able to head north from there. Up into Montana and hopefully into Canada.”

  “But Mammoth is over fifty miles away.”

  “Everything within a sixty-mile radius could very well be vaporized by pyroclastic flows. I’m going to talk to my family. Gather what you want to take with you. We won’t have time to go back to your cabin.”

  Tucker turns and ducks into the private office. Matt is sitting in a chair, his lower leg wrapped with bandages. Tucker waves Jess forward and they huddle around Matt’s chair while Tucker tells them of the upcoming evacuation order.

  “We’re not leaving without you, little brother,” Matt says.

  “You don’t have a choice, Matt. You need to be on the road right now.”

  Jess rests a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “I agree with your brother. There’s no way we could go home to face your parents knowing we left you here. Not going to happen.”

  Tucker stifles the scream he wants to unleash and sighs. “Then head north up to my office at Mammoth. We’ll leave from there. But I want you to go straight to your car and start driving.”

  “What about our stuff?” Matt asks.

  “Is there anything in your room you can’t replace?”

  Matt thinks for a moment. “Just the kids’ iPads and my computer.”

  “Grab them, then go.” Tucker gives Matt and Jess a hug and walks over to the children to do the same. He kneels down to give Maddie a hug.

  “Uncle Tucker, are we going to see the bears now?” Maddie asks.

  “No, but we might later. Right now you’re going to head up to my office with your mom and dad. Okay?”

  “Are there bears up there?”

  “Yep, big growly bears.” Tucker hugs Maddie again and stands, ruffling Mason’s hair on his way out.

  Rachael bursts through the door, her face pinched with concern. She steps up close to Tucker and lowers her voice. “The gas readings are off the chart. Both carbon dioxide and radon are well past established norms. The amount of helium-4 being released is staggering. And that’s gas from way deep in the earth. I don’t have the instruments to measure the sulfur dioxide levels but the sulfur odor around the geyser area is suffocating.”

  “You think magma is rising?”

  “Yes, and I believe the amount of gas still in the magma chamber could produce an explosion larger—”

  The ground underfoot begins to oscillate and shake, and they reach for the wall. A loud crash sounds as the flooring of the Old Faithful Inn bucks and tremors. They turn and hurry into the lobby, where they see the last of stones from the massive fireplace cascading down. The pile of boulders reaches nearly halfway to the ceiling as the accumulated dust of 110 years hovers, obscuring most of the lobby.

  “Thank God we evacuated the lobby,” Rachael says.

  Tucker ignores her remark as he tries to peer through the dust toward the geyser basin. What he sees makes his blood run cold. Jets of scorching water are shooting skyward from too many locations to count.

  Rachael follows his line of sight and gasps. “There aren’t that many hydrothermal vents.”

  “There are now. That evacuation order needs to go out right damn now.”

  CHAPTER 25

  White House Situation Room, Washington, D.C.

  Presidential Chief of Staff Ethan Granger meets up with the President near the entrance to the
Situation Room and hands her a slip of paper. “Latest poll numbers on gay marriage. Looks like the public is coming around to our side.”

  As a gay man in a committed relationship with an attorney at a prestigious Washington firm, Ethan tries to walk a fine line on the issue, without being overbearing.

  President Saundra Drummond looks over the numbers. “As well they should. It’s about damn time we stopped this nonsense. We need to put this issue behind us and move forward on more pressing matters.” The President hands back the paper and steps into the Situation Room. The group of military men, adorned with enough ribbons and stars to decorate a Fourth of July parade, stand, along with a handful of people in civilian dress, including Defense Secretary Lauren Petit.

  “Madam President,” they mutter in unison.

  President Drummond pulls out one of the dark, high-back leather chairs. “Sit, please.” Those present return to their seats as President Drummond sits. “Any reason we couldn’t have done this in the Oval?” At sixty-two, Saundra Drummond could be mistaken for just another grandmother if she was seen strolling through a city park. But that was before she was elected as the first female president of the most powerful country in the world. With coiffed gray hair and a lifetime of living clinging a little too heavily to her medium-sized frame, she’s been described as frumpy by some members of the press corps. Outward appearances aside, Saundra Drummond graduated first in her class at Yale Law and has the reputation as one of the brightest intellects ever elected to Congress.

  “Yes, ma’am. We wanted to videoconference in one of our commanders,” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Jose Cardenas, answers. A fourth-generation Hispanic whose ancestors emigrated from central Mexico, Jose Cardenas is a small, compact man with dark hair, intelligent eyes, and a hot temper. “And we’d very much like to keep this situation close to the vest.”

  “What exactly is the situation, General?”

  “The possible eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, ma’am.” General Cardenas nods toward the large screen on the front wall. “On the video screen is General Bruce Truelove, commander of the Air Force’s Global Strike Command at Barksdale.”

  “Good morning,” President Drummond says. “Thank you for joining us.

  General Cardenas nods toward one of his staffers who passes papers around the table. “Madam President, an eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera would be devastating on many levels, but this morning we’re focusing on national security. If you’ll look at the first page of the briefing notes, you’ll see a map with the precise locations of our four hundred fifty Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missiles. As you can see, the missile batteries are spread over a four-state area: Montana, North Dakota, Wyoming, and a small portion of northern Colorado.” General Cardenas pauses to allow everyone time to absorb the material. “Now, if you’ll flip to the next page.”

  A series of gasps erupts around the table.

  “My God,” the President mutters.

  General Cardenas continues. “This map displays potential ash—”

  “Wait, General,” President Drummond says, holding up a hand. “If this thing erupts, I’m going to have a hell of a lot more on my plate than a bunch of missiles.” She grabs a pen and begins to furiously scribble on a yellow legal pad. When she’s finished she rips out the page and hands it to Granger. “I want these people in my office, and I want them there now.”

  Ethan nods, takes the paper, and slips out of the room as President Drummond turns back to the table. “Cut to the chase, General Cardenas.”

  “An eruption could severely hamper our ability to launch those four hundred fifty nuclear warheads.”

  President Drummond pushes to her feet. “General, the brightest minds in the military are in this room and on that screen,” she says, pointing toward the front of the room. “Come up with a plan. There’s a hell of a lot more to this than a bunch of missiles that have been in the ground for over forty years.”

  Secretary of Defense Lauren Petit bristles at her disdain. “President Drummond, these missiles are a very important part of our nuclear arsenal. We can’t just close up shop.”

  “I’m not suggesting that, Lauren. What I want is a plan. I don’t need to sit here and hold your hand while you argue over viable alternatives.”

  A National Security Agency aide enters, temporarily ending the standoff. She walks forward and hands a slip of paper to President Drummond, who reads through it before glancing up. “Yellowstone National Park is being evacuated.”

  CHAPTER 26

  48 miles east of the park boundary, near Cody, Wyoming

  The radio screwed to the ceiling of the truck cab squawks. Eldon Harjo reaches over to lower the volume of the FM radio, and Merle Haggard fades away as the dispatcher says, “Eldon, what’s your twenty?”

  Eldon Harjo snatches up the grimy handset. “Just finished dumping a load. Why?”

  “I need you to pick up a load of water and take it out to the Cundiff well site. They’re gearing up to frack.”

  Eldon’s gut clenches. “They’re going to frack another one?”

  The dispatcher, and wife to the trucking company owner, Sueann, barks out a hacking laugh. “Ain’t it great? I’ve got enough orders to last till Christmas. Gotta make hay while the makin’s good.”

  Eldon shifts to a higher gear and gooses the gas pedal before keying his mic. “Sueann, you ever wonder what all this stuff is doing to the land?”

  “Hell, no. I just carry them big oil company checks to the bank. Don’t you be gettin’ all Injun on me, Eldon. Get the water and get it out there.”

  Eldon sighs, thinking about all the bills stacked up on his kitchen counter. “Ten-four. I’m on my way.” He snaps the handset back into the cradle as his gut continues to churn. A few minutes later he pulls into the water filling station and climbs from the truck. He hooks up the hoses and begins to fill the tanker with 8,000 gallons of fresh water. Two more trucks turn into the lot and pull up behind his rig—just the beginning of the procession to haul more than 4 million gallons of water to the well site.

  Eldon stretches out his tight back as the water streams into the tanker at 800 gallons per minute. After a little more than ten minutes, he unclamps the hose and climbs back into the cab. Before he can put the truck in gear another earthquake hits, swaying the cab in a slight left-to-right motion. He mutters more curses and eases off the clutch. With the added weight of 66,000 pounds, he starts in low and is already into sixth gear when he pulls back onto the road.

  After driving several miles, Eldon shifts down and turns off onto a dusty stretch of road lined on both sides by cattle pastures. The wind is up and the tall grass sways, dancing to the ebb and flow of the breeze. In the distance toward the west, the sagebrush-littered foothills of the Rattlesnake Mountains stand proud in the midmorning sun. Eldon feels a stirring of nostalgia that moistens his eyes. This is the land of his ancestors—home to the Shoshone for centuries. He ponders, again, the destruction caused by less than seventy years of drilling activity.

  He snaps on his left blinker and turns onto another dirt track that leads to the drilling pad. He pulls up behind another water truck and parks. “Best thing that could happen to this earth is for that volcano to blow,” he mutters as he climbs from the cab.

  Eldon walks toward the crowded space around the wellhead. A dozen pump trucks are backed into a circle, and a massive tangle of piping snakes toward the Christmas tree, where fracking fluid will be forced into the well at pressures beyond 10,000 PSI. Farther out sit dozens of trailers, sand trucks, chemical pumpers, and tank batteries—all necessary components for hydraulic well fracturing.

  Eldon turns away and heads toward the stingy shade produced by one of the trucks, well away from all the noise. He squats down on his haunches and shakes a cigarette loose from a crumpled pack before tucking it into the corner of his mouth. Another water hauler walks over, and Eldon offer
s him a smoke. He pulls a lighter from his pocket and lights both. “When they going to start?”

  “Pretty quick, I think,” the man says as smoke curls from his nostrils. He cocks his head to one side. “Eldon, you hear that?”

  Eldon cups a hand around his ear as his eyebrows arch with surprise. “Sounds like a siren.”

  Camp 4–Pensacola, Florida

  Interview: Bud from Billings, MT—oil rig operator

  “We weren’t at the park, but I’ve been there a bunch of times. We were working a rig out in the Powder River Basin. We were in the process of fracking a horizontal well when the home office called. We were told to evacuate the area. Hell, we left millions of dollars in equipment on the pad. But I’m glad we left when we did, I’ll tell you that. I tried to get back to Billings but couldn’t. I made it to Riverton, where I stayed until the National Guard evacuated us. But if we’d have stayed much longer, there’s no way we would have gotten out. I don’t know how many oil field hands didn’t make it out in time, but I bet there’s a bunch.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Northbound on Grand Loop Road, Yellowstone National Park

  Tucker rolls down the truck window and floats his hand in the breeze, and the atmosphere in the pickup remains somewhere between frosty and ice cold. April drew the short straw, sitting in the middle, while Rachael rides shotgun. They are ten miles south of Mammoth Hot Springs when the sirens go off. Tucker twists on the radio and the annoying tone from the Emergency Alert System blasts through the speakers, followed by an ear-shattering hiss of static.

  “The National Park Service has issued an evacuation order for Yellowstone National Park. All park guests are advised to assemble their belongings and begin an orderly evacuation of the park. Park Service rangers will be available in all camp areas to provide evacuation information. Repeating . . . The National Park Service . . .”