by Tim Washburn
“. . . the entire western perimeter of West Thumb is now inundated with water. Where’s the lake patrol boats? We have survivors . . . I repeat . . . we have survivors. They won’t survive long in the cold water. Damn it, please hurry. Those people are dying!”
A new voice sounds, distorted by wind noise. “This is lake patrol. We’re on the way. We’ve launched every boat we have.”
“Lake patrol—move your asses. I can see at least two dozen people in the water. Location is near the Occasional Geyser area, just east of Duck Lake and . . .”
Walt turns off the fire road and heads north, bouncing over earthen berms one moment and plunging down gullies the next, as he follows a power company cut through the forest. Once back on relatively level ground, he feeds more gas to the big V-8 as a deepening sense of dread races down his spine.
Camp 86–near Chattanooga, Tennessee
Interview: Larry from Littleton, CO—auto mechanic
“It was a sight you wouldn’t believe unless you saw it with your own eyes. We’d spent the morning fly-fishing the backcountry along the Snake River and were trying to get back to our campsite up at Grant Village. Didn’t have a clue anything was going on until we tried to get back on the highway. Traffic headed south was at a standstill and was taking up most of the road. We eked our way north, and as we came around a bend, the road just disappeared into the water. And I’m not talking a small puddle. There was water everywhere, and we hadn’t even made the turnoff to the campsite. There were a bunch of cars bobbing in the water and there’s no telling how many had already sunk. People were splashing around in that ice-cold water and we tried to help out, but there was a strong current and there wasn’t much we could do. We turned the car around and got in line.”
CHAPTER 38
White House Cabinet Room
Claire Espinoza glances down when she hears a vibration emanating from the leather tote at her feet. Not sure of the proper protocol when in the presence of the President of the Untied States, she slowly slips her hand down, retrieves her phone, and places it in her lap. She follows along with the conversations at the table before surreptitiously stealing a glance at the lighted screen. Claire is surprised to see a text message from Emily West urging her to check her e-mail.
With her laptop already open before her, Claire clicks on the mail icon and begins to search through the dozens of new e-mails for face creams and low mortgage rates before finding two marked urgent. She clicks on the first, a message from the U.S. Geological Survey’s office in Menlo Park, California. Her eyes widen with surprise at the contents. “Jeremy,” she says, interrupting the teleconference with Jeremy Lyndsey, “this is Claire. Are you in contact with your colleagues down the hall at the California Volcano Observatory?” She glances up to see a look of dismay on the President’s face.
Lyndsey answers via speakerphone. “No. I’ve been a little preoccupied. Why?”
“A significant earthquake swarm is occurring just south of the Long Valley Caldera. It appears the”—she clicks on the other urgent message as she continues—“the earthquakes are increasing . . . Oh shit—” She glances up and gives the President an embarrassed smile. “The same thing’s happening along the Cascades in Oregon and Washington.”
President Drummond reaches her limit. “Dr. Espinoza, would you like to fill in the rest of us about what’s going on?”
Without thinking, Claire holds up her hand in a stopping motion as she opens and quickly scans the e-mail from Emily West. A red-faced, burly man enters the room and makes a hurried approach to his assigned chair as secretary of agriculture.
“Glad you could join us, Henry,” President Drummond says.
He shrugs and mouths a sorry.
“Dr. Espinoza, you do realize there is a room full of people waiting to hear an explanation, myself included.”
Claire closes the lid of the laptop. “I’m sorry, Madam President. In addition to those e-mails, I received an e-mail from a colleague who’s following the seismicity at Yellowstone—”
“I don’t need an inventory of your e-mails, Dr. Espinoza. What I need are answers,” the President snaps.
Flustered, Claire stops and starts. “Yes . . . well . . .” She inhales a deep breath and releases it. “Basically, in a nutshell, the events happening now in Yellowstone are triggering events elsewhere. There are some scientists who believe that a massive eruption of the caldera could produce seismic waves strong enough to trigger volcanic eruptions in California, Oregon, and Washington.”
“My God, you’re talking about wiping out a majority of our nation’s agricultural production,” the new arrival, Ag Secretary Henry Edmonds, says.
President Drummond waves a hand in the air. “Henry, welcome to the latest round in the game of what-ifs. We don’t have a clue if any of these volcanoes are going to erupt. But my main focus is on Yellowstone. Doesn’t it have the capacity to produce the most damage?”
“Yes and no, Madam President,” Claire says. “The last eruption of California’s Long Valley Caldera ejected some 144 cubic miles of material, making it third or fourth among the largest eruptions on earth. The largest Yellowstone eruption spewed some 585 cubic miles of material. To put that in perspective, Madam President, that much ash would bury the entire state of Texas about ten feet deep.”
The room falls silent as the President begins to tap her pen on the table. Dr. Espinoza breaks the silence. “The Long Valley Caldera is just one of about forty-four volcanoes, sixteen of which are considered high threat potential for erupt—”
“Thank you, Dr. Espinoza. All I’m hearing are suppositions. I need to know whether the damn volcano is going to erupt.” President Drummond stands from her chair. “But if Yellowstone is truly as large as you suggest, then I need a plan of action and I need it now. Get busy, people.” President Drummond turns and exits the room, followed closely by Ethan Granger.
He catches up to her and says, “Madam President, your presence is requested in the Situation Room.”
She never breaks stride. “Christ, why did I ever run for this office, Ethan? I’ve got the Russians meddling in Ukraine, North Korea test-firing missiles like they’re bottle rockets, and Iraq is being overrun by a group of nasty terrorists.” She stops and turns to her aide. “And now I’m faced with possibly the worst natural disaster in our country’s history?”
CHAPTER 39
Yellowstone Center for Resources
Tucker slots the pickup into the first available spot near the Center for Resources building and jumps from the cab. Superintendent Barlow hurries across the road to meet up with them as Tucker strides into the building. Rachael and April scramble to catch up.
Barlow removes his hat and wipes his brow. “What’s happening with the lake, Tucker?”
“I need to see the GPS feeds and satellite data to know for sure, but I believe the lake bottom is rising. Could be a buildup of carbon dioxide or magma rising.”
Barlow replaces his hat. “But the inflated plain is all the way on the east side of the lake.”
“The one we know about,” Rachael says, catching up and joining the conversation. “The lake bottom is littered with thermal vents and fissures. Not much of a stretch to think there is further ground deformation at other areas of the lake floor.”
Tucker leads them down the hall to the Spatial Analysis Center. “The lake tilts toward the west, and that section of shoreline is at a lower elevation than anywhere else around the lake. If there was a sudden upward movement along the lake bottom, the tidal wave would naturally flow in that direction.”
Rachael steps around the group and hurries over to the computer array, where she logs on and begins pulling up data. “All instruments at Grant Village are offline. The last data we received indicated ground deformation at minus eleven inches.”
Tucker rests his hip on one of the desks. “Check the readings at Mary Bay and the Promontory.” As Rachael clicks through pages, Tucker makes a radio call to Air Ranger Maxwell, asking he
r to do a flyover of the eastern side of the lake.
April steps up and peers over Rachael’s shoulder. “What’s the data from the eastern side of the lake going to tell you?”
“Hopefully, a reason for the sudden shift at the lake,” Tucker says.
Rachael pulls up the data from the tiltmeter, seismometer, and the GPS unit located at the Promontory, on the southeast arm of the lake. When the data pops onto the screen, she rocks backward against the chair, stunned. “There’s nothing significant on any of the instruments.” She glances up at Tucker. “How could that be?”
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Tucker pushes off the desk and begins to pace. “Now, pull up the Mary Bay data.”
Rachael’s fingers fly across the keyboard, and she’s stunned again by the results. “The tiltmeter maxed out at 10,000 microradians.”
“What’s a micro-whatever?” Barlow asks.
“Just a unit of measure we use,” Tucker answers. “Rachael, what’s the data from the GPS unit?”
Rachael clicks on a window to bring the data full screen. “Upward deformation of fifteen inches.”
“What does all this mean?” Barlow asks.
Tucker walks over to a park map tacked to the wall. This one is different from the map in Ralph’s office––on this map the outline of the massive caldera is clearly marked, highlighting a vast portion of land smack in the middle of the park. He places a finger on Yellowstone Lake and traces a line. “The rim of the caldera runs south of West Thumb, but cuts across the eastern basin of the lake between Mary Bay and the Promontory.” Tucker turns away from the map. “If the rim of the caldera is being forced up, the source can be traced to only one thing.”
“Which is?” Barlow asks.
“Magma movement.”
CHAPTER 40
University Seismic Observation Lab
Doctor Eric Snider hurries into the seismology lab as another round of seismic activity rocks Yellowstone. “Where did this latest round of activity originate?”
“The seismometers on the eastern side of the park triggered first,” someone answers.
Professor Snider groans and strides across the room, coming to a halt near Emily West’s desk. “Drilling activity?”
Emily rakes her fingers through her dark hair. “Most likely.”
“Can’t we get them to stop drilling for at least a couple of days?”
“I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference now.”
Snider pulls out a vacant chair and takes a seat. “Why?”
Emily types for a moment on her keyboard, and another data feed pops onto the screen. “GPS numbers from Mary Bay.”
“Jeez, what’s that doing to the lake? If it’s a foot at that location, there’s no telling what the uplift is along the lake bottom. What about the north side?”
Before Emily can answer, someone shouts, “Professor Snider, a call on line two.”
“Take a message,” he shouts in reply.
“It’s Josh, sir. He sounds upset.”
Dr. Snider blows out a breath and snatches up the handset. “What is it, Josh?”
“Dr. Snider, I . . .” Josh sobs. “It’s . . . I’m driving. . .” Another sob is followed by a sniffling inhalation of air.
“Josh, take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”
“Ooo—oookay, sir.” After pausing a moment to regain his composure, Josh continues. “They won’t let me enter the park. They told me the road ahead is underwater . . . and I . . . I was talking to someone else, and they said . . . they said Grant Village is gone. Completely submerged. That’s where my . . . where my family . . . was staying.”
Eric Snider puts a palm on the mouthpiece. “Emily, start pulling up all the data we have from the Yellowstone Lake area.” He removes his hand and summons up his most soothing voice. “Josh, you need to turn around and head back this way. The park is under an evacuation order.”
“I heard the sirens, but I can’t leave. My family’s up there somewhere.”
“Josh, listen to me. Your family could already be out of the park and—Hello? Josh, you there? Josh?” Snider waits for a reply. “Josh?” Dead air. He reluctantly hangs up the phone.
“What do we have for data?”
“Ground deformation all around the lake. Uplift on the east side with substantial deflation on the west side.”
“Hence, the westward water movement. Think we can get NASA to start shooting some InSAR images of the caldera?” InSAR is a satellite-based radar system designed to accurately measure ground deformation.
“I don’t know if there’s time. It will take a couple of satellite passes to complete the image. Could take a couple of days.”
A loud, urgent pinging sounds from the computer monitor on Emily’s desk.
Snider startles. “What the hell’s that?”
Emily’s finger is a blur as she clicks through pages of data. “I have an alert program installed on my computer.”
“An alert for what?”
Emily stops clicking and sags against her chair. “For that,” she says, pointing at the screen.
Eric stares at the data. “Which station?”
“The seismometer at Norris.”
“Unbelievable. How big?”
“Well over a magnitude six.” She stares at the screen and says, “The largest to hit the park in decades.”
Camp 29–Hattiesburg, Mississippi
Interview: Thomas from Twin Falls, ID—funeral director
“June is typically a slow month for my business. People are always dying to get in, but . . . well . . . probably not the best topic to discuss in our present state. The wife and I loaded up the three kids for a week of fun at the park. We were staying up at Mammoth Hot Springs, but drove down to Norris for the day. It was a beautiful day and the area was full of visitors. They have these elevated wooden walkways that wind through the various geysers. I’d heard people talking about the earthquakes around the Old Faithful area, but I didn’t pay much attention to it because the park has earthquakes all the time. We might have felt some small tremors at Norris but nothing major. We were a third of the way out on this walkway when a very large quake struck. People started screaming and grabbing each other to keep from falling. The motion was violent and portions of the walkway collapsed. Terror. It was pure terror. We had to work our way through the brush and boulders, and several older couples were really struggling. We helped as best we could, but there comes a moment when family comes first. Know what I mean?”
CHAPTER 41
Somewhere along Grand Loop Road, Yellowstone National Park
Now past the Madison Campground area, Walt Stringer takes advantage of every upward elevation change to jump from his pickup and scan the adjacent road for the Mayfield family. This is his fifth such stop and still no luck. He retrieves one of the gasoline containers from the bed of the truck and dumps the contents into the tank. His radio rests on the dash, playing one horror story after another as the park visitors scramble to leave Yellowstone.
Walt takes a moment to unzip and relieve the pressure on his bladder before climbing back in the cab. His body is stiff and sore from the pounding drive. But that pain is nothing compared to how his face feels. The blisters are growing larger, and the pain is like someone holding a blowtorch a few inches away from his face. He takes a moment to hunt down the bottle of painkillers and finds them on the floorboard. After popping two into his mouth, he dry swallows them before dropping the truck into gear. He weaves his way down the hill, dodging in and out of the trees and around boulders. At the bottom he skirts a little farther west and begins the ascent up another hill, cursing when he gets to the top, because only small portions of the roadway are visible through the gaps in the trees. “This is taking too long,” he mutters, climbing from the truck again.
Holding the binoculars away from his tender face, Walt scans the three or four vehicles that are visible and sees no sign of a 2005 red Suburban. “Screw it,”
he mumbles as he retrieves his radio from the pickup and locks the doors. He aligns the ramps and backs the four-wheeler out of the bed. Unscrewing the gas cap, he discovers the tank is nearly empty. After refilling the tank with the last of the gas, Walt fires up the engine and takes off toward the west, hoping to find a clearing along the Grand Loop Road.
Traveling as fast as the terrain allows, he weaves among the trees, branches tugging at his clothing. A pine bough slaps him in the face, bringing tears to his eyes. He doesn’t slow as he gently wipes a free hand across his blistered face, checking his palm for blood. No blood, but the pain is intense. He breaks into the clear near a bend in the Gibbon River and drives along the bank, searching for shallower water.
* * *
“Did you feel that?” Jessica asks, turning to her husband. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of their going-nowhere vehicle as stopped traffic stretches beyond the horizon. The two-laner is now one-wayer with outbound traffic filling both sides of the road.
“I felt it. Think it’s larger than any of the others?”
Jess glances toward the backseat before answering. Both Maddie and Mason are busy playing games on their iPads. “Yes, much larger. We need to find another way out of here.”
Matt waves toward the rock-strewn hills lining both sides of the road. “Where are we going to go?”
“I don’t know, Matt. But we haven’t moved more than half a mile in the last forty-five minutes.” Jess pulls a park map from the center console and spreads it across the steering wheel. “What’s the last landmark you remember seeing?”
“A turnout for Gibbon Falls.”
Traffic inches ahead and Jess releases the brake to coast forward, then returns to the map. With a blue-lacquered fingernail, she traces their route. “We’re about halfway between Madison and Norris.” She glances up at her husband. “With a long way still left to go. If that last earthquake is any indication, we may be on borrowed time.”
