by Tim Washburn
“Let’s worry about the restart before contemplating putting her down.” She reaches over and feeds more fuel into engine two. “I have zero pressure on engine two. I think it’s seized up.” She immediately kills the flow of fuel to the engine and starts thumbing through the atlas she keeps handy in one of the side pockets of the cockpit. “Come to a heading of one-nine-three. That should put us on a path to Jackson.”
Another shrill buzzer sounds, and both pilots sag in their seats when they discover the source. “Flameout on engine one,” Delgado shouts above the noise.
Captain Neil Lockhart triggers the radio button. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday . . . this is Affordable Air Flight 2136.”
“More debris,” Delgado shouts as the erupted material tears through the thin aluminum skin of the aircraft. The mortally wounded plane spirals toward the ground.
CHAPTER 51
Old Faithful Inn
Sylvia Fallingwater, the manager of the Old Faithful Inn, is tidying up behind the front counter while awaiting the return of her husband, who had been dispatched to clear the roads. With April and the other staff gone and the doors locked, the place is eerily silent. After graduating with a degree in hospitality from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, Sylvia dreamt of managing one of the glamorous, over-the-top resorts that line the Vegas strip. But reality set in after apprenticing for two years at Caesars Palace, where the grimy underbelly of the City of Sin had exposed her to the worst of humanity. The well-heeled clientele treated her like the lowest form of human life, and she had to pick up the pieces after a number of raucous bachelor and bachelorette parties, in fits of extravagant exuberance, destroyed entire suites. A summer internship at Yellowstone opened a window onto a different world, and she’s been employed here for several years.
Sylvia logs off the computer and shuts it down. After grabbing her purse from her office, she walks around the lobby, making sure the doors are all secure before taking a seat in one of the leather club chairs. The dust storm created by the fireplace collapse coats every stationary surface of the magnificent lobby. She picks up a well-used issue of Park Life and wipes the cover clean before riffling through the pages.
Exhausted from the morning’s activities, she tosses the magazine onto a table and digs her phone out. She’s surprised to see a text message from her husband, an elder on the Wind River Indian Reservation. Sylvia had instantly fallen in love with Sam Fallingwater, a three-quarter Shoshone Indian whose sole purpose in life is to break the cycle of poverty and alcoholism that runs rampant on the rez. She keys in her passcode and brings up his text message: Bring pickup. Working around west entrance. Follow fire trails as much as possible. We’ll leave from here.
She thumbs a quick okay and pushes to her feet. Married for only three years, Sylvia and Sam haven’t yet started a family, though both want children. After grabbing the keys from her purse, she lets herself out the employee entrance and relocks the door. The hinges on the door of the Fallingwaters’ eight-year-old Chevy Silverado squeal as she climbs into the cab. She wonders if she should return home to retrieve a few of their belongings, but makes the decision not to. After firing up the engine, she backs out of the space and heads for the exit. A few patrons are still milling around the parking lot waiting for rides. She spots a young couple buried under large backpacks and eases up to them. “I’m going as far as the West Entrance if you want a ride.”
The young man speaks. “We were hoping to head south. We left our car down there a week ago and hiked through the Tetons up to Yellowstone.”
“South is a no-go. A good portion of the road is still underwater. C’mon, climb in. You can always circle back to pick up your car later.”
After a few moments of indecision, the couple eases their backpacks into the bed of the truck and climb aboard. The young woman’s long blond hair is tucked into a ponytail and there’s a splash of bright red freckles across her narrow nose. “You really think the volcano is going to blow?” she asks.
“Don’t know. That’s not my bailiwick, but something strange is happening.” Sylvia drives the old pickup behind the inn, bouncing over the curb and picking up the loop trail that runs alongside the Firehole River. Old Faithful lies dormant, for the moment, but what was once a small opening in the earth is now a crater that spans forty of fifty yards across. Sylvia glances in that direction, then back to the trail as she tries to maneuver around some of the wreckage from the helicopter. The fire is out but a putrid stench still hangs in the air. She wonders if anyone is coming to retrieve the bodies, a thought she tries to push from her mind. “Where’re you guys from?”
“We’re from Omaha,” the young woman says. “I’m Autumn, by the way, and this is my boyfriend, Jackson. We decided to spend a couple of weeks backpacking through the Tetons and Yellowstone before grad school starts.”
“I’m Sylvia. Congrats on the college graduations, but I don’t think traipsing through the woods carrying a heavy backpack is my idea of a perfect retreat.”
The young couple laughs, and Jackson reaches over to take his girlfriend’s hand. “Autumn worked hard to convince me. I wanted to head for the beach, where we could just chill.” Jackson leans in and kisses Autumn on the cheek. “I hate to admit it, but she was right. The scenery around here is spectacular, and there’s something sexy about sleeping in a tent in the middle of the wild.”
Sylvia laughs. “I think you’re right about that. My husband and I try to spend a weekend a month camping here in the park. Must be some sort of primal instinct or something. I’m not sure I would have used the word sexy to describe camping out, but it does kind of feel that way, now that you mention it.”
Autumn giggles before turning serious. “I guess our timing could have been better. Have they ever evacuated the park before?”
Sylvia cranks down the side window. “Not that I know of. Or if they have, it was a long time ago. I don’t think they even knew there was a volcano here until the early 1970s. If you ask me, this is a whole lot of to-do about nothing. We have earthquakes all the time, but I’ll grant you, the ones we had this morning were some of the strongest ones I’ve felt.”
They banter back and forth as they continue on, but as they near the Giant Geyser area, a sudden whipsaw of the ground sends the truck off the trail. Before the three can register their surprise, a rupture in the earth opens and a plume of molten rock and ash shoots skyward as a pyroclastic flow washes over the truck, incinerating the three people inside. Within seconds, the 1,500-degree heat wave of hot ash and gases melts the pickup and ignites the surrounding forests as the conflagration of certain death rushes outward at hurricane speeds.
Camp 180–Clarksville, Tennessee
Interview: Olivia from Omaha, NE—homemaker
“We’re still holding out hope. I mean, it’s possible she could be at another camp or something. We know Autumn and Jackson were going to Yellowstone, but that doesn’t mean . . . that they’re . . . gone. I told her to get a summer job to help pay for some of the college expenses, but John, that’s my husband, said ‘Oh, let them have a little fun. They’ve got the rest of their lives to work.’ It’s his fault they went. If she’d have listened to me . . . it’s the not knowing that’s eating us alive. No one has any information. We can’t find out a damn thing. But we wouldn’t be in this position if John hadn’t . . . Oh God, I just want to strangle him.”
CHAPTER 52
Jackson, Wyoming
“C’mon, Michelle, we should have been on the road an hour ago,” Andy Barlow says while perched on the bed of her one-bedroom apartment they had once shared. Andy had moved out two weeks ago after a heated argument about something neither could remember. A good amount of alcohol had precipitated the argument, but after a couple of days of no returned texts, Andy arrived at her doorstep with a dozen roses and a blubbery apology. The makeup sex healed most of the wounds.
Michelle Marchetti peeks around the closet door. “I don’t know what to pack. How long do you think we’ll be gone?
” Tall and lean, with the olive skin, dark hair, and the almond-shaped, dark eyes of her ancestors, Michelle also inherited the famous Italian temper. With a hawkish-looking nose perched above her large, full lips, her face is classic Italian—à la Sophia Loren.
“I don’t know. Just grab enough clothes for a few days.” A tall, broad-shouldered young man with long, dirty blond hair, Andy has well-defined shoulders from his work on the river. He hasn’t broken the news to Michelle that they might never return. “Grab all your jewelry, too, but be quick about it. We’re running out of time.”
Michelle sticks her head beyond the door again. “I don’t know what the rush is. The damn volcano hasn’t erupted in forever. Can’t I spend a few extra minutes to gather my stuff?”
“Not according to my dad. He thinks the thing could blow any minute.”
“Whatever. Where are we going, again?”
Andy sighs. “Down to Arizona, if we can make it.” Andy stands from the bed and begins to pace around the small room.
“So I need mostly warm-weather stuff?”
“Listen, Michelle. I don’t care what you pack, but you need to pack whatever it is right now.”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Andy. I’ll send you right back to John’s place.”
Andy’s cell phone trills and he fumbles it from his pocket to find a text from his father: Vent open at Old Faithful. Could be the start of catastrophic eruption. Hope you’re well on your way to Arizona. Talk soon.
Andy types out a quick reply—headed that way—before ramming the phone back into his pocket. He strides into the closet, grabs the clothing from Michelle’s hands, and stuffs it into a suitcase. “We’re leaving right damn now.”
“I don’t have everything I need.”
“You’re not going to need anything except what you’ll wear at your funeral if we don’t get the hell out of here. My dad just texted to say a vent is opening right now at Old Faithful.”
Michelle relents and follows Andy to the front door. “Wait, I need to find my sunglasses.”
“Forget the fucking sunglasses. There’ll be enough ash in the air to blot out the sun.”
They hustle to the old Honda Accord and climb in. Andy fires the engine and they screech out of the parking lot. He sails up the on-ramp to Highway 26 and heads south, gunning the four-cylinder engine to the redline. But just as quickly, he stomps on the brakes, sending white tire smoke boiling from beneath the car as he tries to avoid a collision with the stopped traffic ahead of them. The car comes to rest mere inches from the back bumper of a black SUV. Andy sucks in a deep breath. As the adrenaline begins to subside, he turns toward Michelle and says, “We could be in some serious trouble.”
CHAPTER 53
Yellowstone Center for Resources
Rachael gasps. “Tucker, the borehole seismometer at Norris is indicating a substantial quake.”
Tucker steps closer to the monitor. “How large?” “Larger than anything we’ve seen up to now.” She glances up at Tucker. “Think that vent’s now open?”
“There’s no way to know unless we get a report from one of the rangers. But I sure as hell hope not.”
“If we’re going to head north, now might be a good time,” Rachael says. “At least get as far as Bozeman.”
Tucker ignores her comment. After a moment of contemplation, he walks over and picks up the replacement radio. “Tucker Mayfield to Walt Stringer.” No response. “Tucker to Walt. Over.”
Rachael stands and walks over to Tucker, putting a hand on his arm. “I doubt he’s had an opportunity to recharge the battery.”
Tucker pulls away from her touch and tries the radio one more time with the same result. He digs the satellite phone from his pocket and discovers that battery’s dead. “I’m going to run up to my office and get a phone charger.”
Rachael returns to her computer. “What about Bozeman? Want me to roust Ralph and his wife?”
Tucker stops. “Yes. You guys need to be on the road as quickly as possible.”
“What about you?” Rachael asks.
Tucker doesn’t respond as he pushes through the door. He takes the stairs two at a time and enters his office. After snagging another freshly charged radio and the phone charger, he hurries back to the analysis center.
“What did you mean, ‘you guys’?” Rachael asks, standing from her chair.
“Did you talk to Ralph?”
“I did. Now, quit ignoring my question.”
Tucker reaches behind a table to plug in the phone charger. “Is he packed up and ready to go?”
Rachael plants her hands on her hips. “Damn it, Tucker, tell me what’s going on.”
Tucker sighs. “I can’t leave with my family out there. I need to find them.”
Rachael steps over, invading Tucker’s personal space. “The rest of the caldera could blow any moment. Walt is a wily old man. He’ll figure out something.”
“Walt can’t protect them from a pyroclastic flow.”
“They can survive if they get belowground, but you’ve got zero chance of surviving out in the open.”
“Maybe I can find them before the larger eruption happens.”
“Bullshit. You don’t even know where to start looking.”
April decides it’s time for a bathroom break and escapes out the door.
Tucker angers as he points toward the window. “That’s my brother out there. The only one I’ll ever have. And the only niece and nephew I have.”
“And don’t forget Jessica.”
“Fuck you, Rachael.” Tucker whirls away and stalks to the other side of the room.
Rachael allows them both a moment to cool off before following. “That was a low blow, Tucker. I’m sorry. If you’re going to look for them, so am I.”
“No, you’re not.”
Rachael steps in and pokes him in the chest. “Watch me.”
Tucker takes a step back. “You don’t have any skin in the game.”
Rachael steps forward, erasing the distance. “I don’t care if I don’t have any skin in the game, or whatever the fuck that means.”
They separate when April returns to the room.
The two radios sound in unison. “To anyone still on the radio . . . I’m near the West Entrance and just heard a massive explosion. A huge column of ash is visible to the northeast. Could be the Norris area. It’s far larger than what happened at Old Faithful.”
The radio goes silent for a moment, leaving Tucker and Rachael hanging.
The man’s voice returns, more full of astonishment than alarm. “I bet the ash is already forty thousand feet in the air.”
Tucker picks up one of the radios and triggers the transmit button. “You need to move west as quickly as you can. You don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?” the voice asks.
“Stop talking and start moving! A pyroclastic flow is going to incinerate the ground you’re standing on in about ten minutes. Move.”
Panic fills the man’s voice. “The only vehicle I have is one of the park’s loaders.”
Tucker races over to the map on the wall. “Rachael, sound the sirens again. The town of West Yellowstone has about twenty minutes of existence left on this planet. April, get on the phone to Superintendent Barlow. Tell him to alert the governors of Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho. We are out of time.”
Tucker studies the map as a hot coal simmers in his gut. There is nowhere for the man to go. Tucker slowly places the radio to his lips. “Your only chance for survival is the Madison River, just north of your position.”
The man answers, his breathing labored. “Do I just stay in the water?”
“That’s the only choice you have.” With a very slim chance of survival, the man could well die of hypothermia.
Rachael stands from her chair. “April, tell Ralph that you guys need to be on the road.”
Tucker places the radio on the table. “You’re going, too, Rachael. I’ll hold down the fort.”
&
nbsp; “There won’t be any fort left to hold down,” Rachael snaps. “And I think I’m quite capable of making my own decisions.”
April hangs up the phone and gathers up her things. “I’ll have Ralph give you a call when we get to Bozeman.”
“Thanks, April. We’ll see you guys up that way in a day or two.”
April steps over and gives Tucker a hug and a lingering kiss on the lips before exiting the room.
Rachael watches her depart. “I guess I don’t merit a hug, much less a kiss.”
“Please, Rachael, go with them.”
“No, I think I’ll hang out here for a while.”
Tucker kicks one of the table legs. “I swear, you’re borderline crazy.”
Rachael smiles. “Takes one to know one.”
Tucker scowls as he picks up the sat phone to call Jeremy Lyndsey.
CHAPTER 54
White House Cabinet Room
President Drummond ducks into her private restroom, not only to answer nature’s call, but also for a moment of silence. After finishing, she washes her hands and winces when she looks in the mirror. The suitcases under her eyes are far too large and droopy to be called bags, and her normally bright blue eyes are as red as a Radio Flyer wagon. She retrieves her toothbrush from the medicine cabinet, hoping to reclaim some semblance of that minty-fresh feel. After replacing her toothbrush, she pushes through the door to be greeted by Ethan Granger.
“Ma’am, they’re ready for you in the Cabinet Room.” Although he’s logged even more sleepless hours than the President, Ethan is still dressed in full wardrobe. His tie is cinched tight and the pocket square is perfectly aligned, nestled neatly in the front pocket of his suit coat.
“You can shed the jacket, Ethan,” she says as she brushes past.
“Never. I always dress to impress.”
