Cataclysm

by Tim Washburn

  Tucker turns off the radio. “Damn, I hope we beat the onslaught.” With the windows down, the pungent, piney scent from the lodgepole pines is heavy in the air.

  Rachael tugs a strand of hair from her mouth. “We’re only ten miles away. How bad could it be?”

  Tucker shrugs and mashes the gas pedal a little closer to the floor, going much faster on the narrow road than the posted speed limit of 45 miles per hour. As they wind around one of the many curves along Grand Loop Road, all three scream as Tucker locks his legs on the brakes. Tires squeal and white smoke billows from beneath the truck as he steers off the road to avoid a herd of bison crossing the road, racing toward the west.

  Tucker throws the truck into park and takes a deep breath.

  “Think they sense something?” April asks.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Tucker says. “They’re pretty attuned to their surroundings.”

  “Remember all the birds that flew away before that tsunami hit Thailand?” April asks.

  “I don’t want to think about it,” Tucker says, dropping the truck into gear. After the last of the calves cross, he steers the pickup back onto the tarmac and keeps his speed closer to the legal limit. After another couple of miles, they crest a hill to see mayhem laid out before them. The entrance to Indian Creek campground is a tangle of vehicles, with a travel trailer lying sideways across Grand Loop Road. Angry tourists are arguing and jabbing fingers at one another while horns blare in a dozen vehicles trying to get onto the main road.

  Tucker eases off the gas and hits the brake, bringing the pickup to a slow crawl. “We’re screwed.”

  “Well, just as I predicted, the plan lasted all of a few seconds,” Rachael says in an I-told-you-so voice.

  Tucker shoots her an angry glance. “So we shouldn’t have issued an evacuation order?”

  Rachael throws up her hands. “Maybe we should have done it by sections.”

  “Oh, so some of the tourists were supposed to just lounge around at their campsites while other sections of the park are evacuating? That would never work. Once word of the evacuation hit, it’s every man for himself.”

  April watches the exchange as if watching a tennis match. “I think it’s a little late for this debate.”

  “How are we going to get through that mess?” Rachael asks.

  “We’re not going to stop and help them?” April asks.

  “No,” both Tucker and Rachael say in unison.

  Tucker reaches down to flip on the four-wheel drive. “There’s a fire trail up ahead if we can get through the brush. We’ll have to go all the way around Indian Creek, but it’s our only option.” Tucker cranks the wheel over and eases down the road bank. They bounce over a couple of deadfall trees as he steers around and through the thick brush. He glances in the rearview mirror to see a string of vehicles following. “We have company.”

  Both women turn to look behind them.

  “They won’t have a prayer of making it if they don’t have four-wheel drive.” No sooner is the statement out of his mouth when one of the cars hits high center on one of the deadfall trees. “What makes that guy think he can drive a car through here?”

  “They’re desperate, Tucker,” Rachael says. “Desperate people do desperate things.”

  “Well, that desperation could well cost them their lives.”

  “We have to stop and help them, Tucker,” April says. “We can’t just leave them stuck.”

  Tucker slows to steer around an outcropping of rock. “We don’t have time to stop and help everyone, April. Our job is to monitor the caldera.”

  “But if those people can’t get unstuck they won’t stand a chance.”

  Rachael gives April an angry scowl. “We’ll be happy to stop and let you out if you’re so determined to help.”

  “Screw you, Rachael. How long could it take? A few minutes?”

  Rachael grabs the door handle. “Seriously, Tucker, stop and I’ll let her out.”

  April balls her fists. “Why are you always such a bitch, Rachael? How about a little human compassion? Do you know what that—”

  “Enough!” Tucker shouts. “We’re not stopping. End of story.” He hits a clearing and mashes on the gas pedal.

  “Besides, it really doesn’t matter,” Rachael says. “Whether stuck on a tree or stuck in traffic, it’s all moot if the caldera erupts.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Seattle-Tacoma International Airport

  Captain Neil Lockhart and Co-captain Victoria Delgado fire up the engines of the 737 as the tug pushes them away from the terminal. Lockhart toggles the radio to tell the ground crew of the good engine start and waits for the tug operator to disconnect both the tug and the ground headset. He reaches down to the radio panel and dials in a frequency “Sea-Tac ground control, Affordable Air Flight 2136 is ready for taxi.”

  “Immediate standby, AA 2136. Repeat, standby, please.”

  “Roger,” Lockhart says, and turns to his copilot. “Have we ever been issued an immediate standby for taxi?”

  Delgado shrugs. “Not that I can recall.”

  Lockhart crosses his beefy arms and stares out the windscreen. His wait is not long.

  “SeaTac ground control to all aircraft. The Yellowstone Volcano Observatory has increased the aircraft volcanic activity alert to orange.”

  The two pilots turn to each other in surprise.

  SeaTac ground control continues: “The threat level was increased due to escalating unrest at the caldera. Please adjust your flight plans accordingly. SeaTac flight control will provide updates as the situation warrants. I repeat, the volcanic activity alert is now level orange.”

  “That’s smack in the middle of our flight path,” Delgado says.

  Lockhart calls up their flight plan on the flight management computer. “We’ll just steer around that area when we get closer. Hell, the threat level could remain at orange for weeks on end.”

  “I’d feel better if we skirted the entire area.”

  “And end up with another late flight? No, thank you. I’ve been reamed out enough over departure and arrival times. We’ll just keep our eyes open when we get there.”

  Delgado shoots him an angry glare. “Damn it, Neil, why don’t we just divert around the area?”

  Lockhart laughs. “What are the odds the damn thing’s going to erupt? A million to one? A billion to one? We’ll be in and out of that area in a few short minutes. The odds for an eruption during that narrow time frame is probably closer to a trillion to one. I like my odds.” He turns away from her when the radio clicks.

  “SeaTac ground control to AA Flight 2136. You are cleared to taxi.”

  “Roger, SeaTac ground control. AA 2136 is taxiing.” Lockhart eases the two throttles forward and releases his feet from the brakes. “Ease up, Tory.” Lockhart begins to sing. “Everything’s goin’ to be all right, all right . . .”

  Delgado shoots him the finger, and he laughs as he steers the jet down the centerline of the taxiway. They make two right turns, and as they reach the runway, he gooses the throttles to max thrust. “Everything’s goin’ to be all right,” he sings as the jet gains speed. When their airspeed indicator reaches 140 knots, he pulls back on the wheel and the nose of the jet lifts toward the sky. “Yeah, everything’s all right . . .”

  Camp 46–Columbus, Georgia

  Interview: William from Winfield, KS—chemical engineer

  “We’ve been to Yellowstone a couple of times. Both of our children are outdoorsy types who enjoy scouting. We flew into Salt Lake City, rented a car, and purchased a cheap tent and a couple of budget sleeping bags. Usually we’ll camp for three or four days and then move into the Old Faithful Inn for the last couple of days. My wife tolerates the outdoors but she has about a three-day limit. But all hell broke loose and we left early. Took us twelve hours to get back to Salt Lake City. We were boarding the plane when we got pulled off. They grounded all flights out of Salt Lake. The days at the airport were miserable, but I’l
l tell you, I’m glad that plane didn’t take off.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The Oval Office

  President Drummond ducks through the study and enters the Oval through the back door and discovers a standing-room-only crowd. The murmur of voices ends abruptly. “This is not going to work,” she says, turning to her chief of staff. “Ethan, shoo everyone into the Cabinet Room.”

  After making a quick pit stop in her private restroom, President Drummond enters the Cabinet Room. A large oval mahogany table is positioned in the middle of the room, surrounded by twenty tan leather chairs accented with nail-head trim. She navigates toward her chair, the tallest of the twenty, and sits. Tacked to the back of the chair is a small brass plate with her title along with the date of her inauguration. A few of the seats at the table remain unoccupied, awaiting their rightful owners as more people stream into the room, choosing seats in the extra chairs lining the perimeter of the room. She turns to Ethan, who’s sitting to her immediate left. “Where’s Ag, Commerce, Treasury and Interior?”

  “The secretary of agriculture is on the way but tied up in traffic, and both the SECCOM and the SEC-TREAS are traveling out of the country. Interior Secretary Fitch happens to be on the ground in Wyoming, not far from Yellowstone.”

  “Set them up on conference calls. We’re going to need all hands on deck.”

  Ethan nods and waves over a White House aide. He whispers his instructions and the aide quickly departs to set up the calls.

  President Drummond swivels her gaze around the table and shrugs. “I don’t even know where to begin. Who’s the volcano expert?”

  A bald, thin man stands meekly from his chair. “Madam President, I’m Hayden Fulton, an assistant secretary of the interior with direct oversight of the National Park Service.”

  President Drummond waves to one of the vacant chairs. “That buys you a seat at the table, Mr. Fulton. Please come sit.”

  The man moves toward the table, then stops. “Ma’am, accompanying me is Assistant Secretary Claire Espinoza. Her department includes the U.S. Geological Survey, which encompasses the five volcano observatories.”

  “Oh, that buys Ms. Espinoza a prime seat at the table.”

  An attractive Hispanic female stands and approaches the table. A little over five-six, she has long black hair and skin the color of raw teakwood. She places a large binder on the table and pulls out a chair. The sunlight streaming through the four pairs of French doors leading to the Rose Garden paint long shadows across the table.

  Once everyone is resituated, President Drummond turns to her new guests. “I wish we had time for introductions, but we don’t. You know who I am, but I’d like a couple of sentences about your backgrounds for my own reference. Ms. Espinoza?”

  “Madam President, I have a Ph.D. in geochemistry with an emphasis on crustal deformation. I have spent fifteen years with the USGS studying both fault-related and volcanic-related ground deformation all over the country, including Yellowstone.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Espinoza. You’re not leaving my sight for as long as this crisis continues. Is that amenable to you?”

  Espinoza nods. “Yes, ma’am. But I didn’t bring anything with me.”

  “Make a list. The Secret Service will round up whatever you need. What I know about volcanoes wouldn’t fill a thimble.” President Drummond turns to the other new guest at the table. “Mr. Fulton?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have a Ph.D. in fish and wildlife biology. I served at various levels throughout the National Park Service, including both at Yosemite and Yellowstone until Secretary Babcock asked me to move up to assistant secretary.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Fulton. I want you hanging close, too. Now, tell us what’s going on right now at Yellowstone.”

  “With your permission, ma’am, we’d like to conference in Dr. Jeremy Lyndsey, the scientist-in-charge at the Yellowstone Volcano Observatory.”

  President Drummond leans forward in her chair. “Dr. Fulton, I don’t care if you conference in Jesus Christ, but whoever it is, I need answers and I need them yesterday.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Yellowstone park headquarters

  Park Superintendent Barlow pushes wearily out of his chair and heads down the hall of the headquarters building, barking orders. Before now, the most serious things he’s had to deal with since taking over the job have been the past earthquakes and an occasional bear raid on a campsite.

  “Ralph,” his secretary, Melanie, shouts down the hall. “The governor is on line one.”

  Barlow sighs, steps over to the closest phone, and snatches up the handset. “Governor, I’m ass deep in more problems than I can handle.”

  “Do you think we should evacuate the entire state?” Governor Abe Cullen asks.

  “Hell, we can’t even get the park evacuated. Traffic is at a standstill at every road crossing and about half the guests at the hotels and cabins have no transportation. Can you send the National Guard our way to help transport people?”

  “I don’t know, Ralph. If we evacuate the state, they’re going to be needed everywhere.”

  Barlow pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up at the ceiling. “Abe, I’ve got over thirty thousand people in the park. And every damn one of them is facing certain death if the caldera erupts. Those residents outside the park have a chance of surviving an eruption if they can get underground.”

  “Ralph, a majority of the guard’s equipment is here in Cheyenne. Even if I could mobilize some units, you’re looking at eight to twelve hours for them to reach the park. I could request help from the Montana National Guard, but they’re still several hours away if they depart out of Helena. How much time do we have?”

  “I don’t know. Hell, I don’t think anyone knows. Our chief geologist, Tucker Mayfield, thinks an eruption could occur at any time.”

  “What other options do you have?”

  “I’m trying to get some buses rolling this way, but the companies are balking. They’re worried about future litigation when they might well be out of business forever.”

  “Have your secretary e-mail me the information. I’ll work on getting you some buses. I’ll also deploy some National Guard troops your way, but it might be a day or two before they get up there. In the meantime, keep me updated on what’s happening up there.”

  “I will, Abe.” Barlow replaces the handset and returns to his office, where he studies a large park map pinned to the wall. The map details the wildly varied topography as well as all the hiking trails, fire roads, and access roads through and around the park. He becomes more dejected the more he studies it. Although the landscape makes for a beautiful setting, it’s hell to get around. Other than the main paved roads bisecting the park, other options of escape are nonexistent. There are too many creeks and rivers and too many impassible mountains.

  The radio at the corner of his desk squelches. “Tucker to Ralph. You on the radio?”

  Ralph picks up the radio. “Go, Tucker.”

  “Switch over to channel two-three,” Tucker says.

  Ralph looks over the radio controls. “Tucker, I don’t see—” He stops in midsentence as his brain clicks into gear. With only six radio channels available, two-three could only be on thing—five. He turns the dial. “Tucker, you on this channel?”

  “Ten-four. I didn’t know if you’d figure out my code, but I didn’t want to talk over an open channel.”

  “Where are you and why all the spy craft?”

  “We’re on a fire road trying to skirt around Indian Creek. At this rate, it might be a while before we get back to Mammoth. I just received an alarming call from one of the rangers. He was scouting around an area between Norris and Canyon Village when he stumbled upon a large ground fracture. He seems to think it’s relatively recent.”

  “How recent?” Barlow asks.

  “Within the last couple of days. He told me it wasn’t there the last time he was up that way a week ago.”

  “How large?”

  “Thirty
to forty feet long and a couple of feet wide. No idea how deep it is. He says he can’t see the bottom,” Tucker says.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know his exact coordinates but the rim of the caldera runs right through that area.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Could be a potential vent opening.”

  “A vent for what?” Ralph asks.

  “A vent that could be hundreds of feet—or only a few feet—from the magma chamber.”

  “I thought most of the activity has been centered around the Lower Geyser area.”

  “Ralph, the caldera covers over twelve hundred square miles. An eruption, or many eruptions, could happen anywhere within that span. And where the eruption originates is meaningless.”

  Camp 16–Biloxi, Mississippi

  Interview: Fred from Fort Collins, CO—retired

  “Hell, I always said I’d rather die than go to an old folks’ home, but that’s looking pretty good from where I’m sitting now. People every damn where you turn. Yes, I was at Yellowstone. About my damn luck, too. Took my little travel trailer up there for a little R and R. Don’t know why, either. Place is packed in the summertime. Nancy had been ragging my ass to take her somewhere. Told her you could see the same damn landscape by looking out the windows. A mountain’s a mountain, right? But no, we had to go somewhere. We arrived about the time the shit hit the fan.”

  CHAPTER 31

  White House Cabinet Room, Washington, D.C.

  Assistant Secretary of the Interior Hayden Fulton squirms in his chair. “Madam President, before we begin the teleconference, I’d like to update you on what has already occurred. I’ve just received word that there have already been numerous deaths within the park this morning. A medical helicopter crashed on takeoff, killing all seven passengers aboard, and a hydrothermal explosion around the Grand Prismatic Spring area killed fifteen and severely injured forty more.”