Out of Crisis

by Richard Caldwell

  Two other station operators hummed in the background: “Nine One One, what’s your emergency?”

  While holding the radio mic, Joyce stood up to peer over the sound-dampening walls, which created the operators’ cubicles. The man in the cubicle next to hers pounded furiously on his keyboard. His monitor was zoomed in on the same area as Joyce’s.

  Joyce raised her mic to her mouth. “Hebgen Fire Station, can you read me? Come in. Over.”

  Nothing but static—and then a surge of background noise. Wailing sirens and the roar of engines from fire trucks and ambulances. And screams.

  “IFDEC, this is Hebgen Mobile,” a response crackled, barely audible over the background chaos. “All hell’s breaking loose. There was an eight point six earthquake. Then the volcano blew. Either that or the Ruskies missed and planted a nuke in the park. There was a terrible explosion. About half of the people that were outside are deaf. We’re scrambling all units and heading for the west entrance, Highway One Niner One, over.”

  “Roger, Hebgen Mobile. How can we help? Over.”

  “We need every first responder within a fifty-mile radius. And while you’re at it, the National Guard. And they better bring body bags. Fucking boulders are falling everywhere. There’s an enormous cloud of smoke and ash moving up into the sky and, from what I can see, in all directions. It’s starting to blot out what little sunlight is left. It’s almost dark now. I can barely see the taillights on the unit in front of—” Silence.

  “Hebgen Mobile, come in, over. Hebgen Mobile, can you hear me?” Joyce frowned. The radio was dead. That meant whatever had happened was bad, but Joyce had no idea how bad—or how historically significant the eruption would be for its intensity and its capacity for destruction.

  Glancing from one monitor to another, hands alternating between clicking her mouse and dancing across the keyboard, Joyce somehow tuned out the nonessential noise and commotion that was all around her.

  Then, out of nowhere, she recalled reading an article in National Geographic during a lull in a late-night shift. The story was about the dormant Yellowstone volcano, but as a lead-in, the author recounted in horrifying detail the destruction that thing was capable of dishing out.

  Approximately seventy-five thousand years earlier, the Toba supervolcano in Sumatra, Indonesia, exploded in what scientists considered to be the single most massive eruption on Earth, thousands of times more powerful than any before or since. Vulcanologists estimated that the Toba eruption had a volcanic explosivity index of 8.

  Some theories postulated that the ash cloud created by the Toba eruption settled over the globe like snow, causing a “volcanic winter” that lasted over six years and resulted in a global cooling period of nearly one thousand years. Researchers estimated that the amount of material in the ash cloud greatly exceeded 2,500 cubic kilometers. Reviews of mitochondrial DNA pointed to a link between the Toba eruption and a bottleneck in the evolution of Homo sapiens.

  Scientists believed the event came dangerously close to causing the extinction of human life.

  On Sunday afternoon, August 26, 1883, a semi-active volcano situated on the Indonesian island of Krakatoa erupted and then collapsed into the bubbling caldera that still exists today. It was the largest, deadliest, and most destructive volcanic event in recorded history. More than thirty-six thousand people died as a result of heat from the blast and from the tsunamis caused by the collapse of the volcano below sea level.

  The Krakatoa explosion was estimated to have generated a blast whose sound exceeded three hundred decibels, loud enough to be heard over three thousand miles away and to rupture the eardrums of sailors on the decks of ships forty miles from the island. Just two hundred decibels generated enough energy to vibrate the human body apart; three hundred would cause it to explode.

  Krakatoa, with an estimated VEI of 6, wasn’t classified as a supervolcano; Yellowstone was‍—even if Joyce didn’t realize it yet.

  Suddenly the room—the entire building—shook violently. Coffee sloshed out of the cup on Joyce’s workstation, and every picture on every wall crashed to the floor. Joyce staggered and grabbed the side of her desk to keep from falling.

  “Whoa, Nelly,” she blurted above the ruckus. “That might explain why we lost the Hebgen Mobile connection.”

  By now, icons and warning lights flashed from every monitor on every operator’s workstation in the EFDEC control room. Despite the apparent chaos, Joyce and her associates had things more or less under control. The EMS supervisor had joined the fray, and everyone was following the emergency action protocols that had been developed over the years and refined with every quarterly drill. There actually was an evacuation-and-response plan specific to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. However, no one had imagined the scope of the disaster that was at that very moment unfolding ninety miles away. It was literally unimaginable.

  Physically and mentally exhausted, Joyce collapsed in her chair and stared at the explosion of activity on her monitors. She had dealt with traffic accidents, fires, and the occasional domestic dispute. Although rare in Idaho Falls, she had even responded to a couple of murders over the years. But nothing, absolutely nothing, came close to the sense of overwhelming fear and helplessness that washed over her now.

  For the first time in her career, she felt sick to her stomach with pure, unadulterated fear.

  14

  The Farm

  Two years before the day of

  “The ball is in your court, David. We need a decision.” Melissa folded her hands on the table.

  David sat up ramrod straight in his chair and placed both of his hands on the table. He looked from left to right, locking eyes with each individual board member. No one spoke, at least not verbally. But every single person’s eyes burned with a blowtorch intensity that conveyed distilled passion and commitment for what they believed in. And in what they were trying to do.

  David tried to gain control of the thoughts synapsing through his brain and then decided just to let his frontal lobe and the amygdala fight it out. Controlled, rational decision-making versus his raging emotions. This semiconscious mental exercise always seemed to work.

  Finally, he broke the silence: “I know I haven’t given enough thought and introspection to what I’m about to say, and if you knew me on a personal level, you would know that’s not my style. I don’t make decisions based on passion or gut feel. But right now, I’m just a point shy of being overwhelmed by what you’ve been telling me. I’m honored beyond comprehension. At the same time, my left brain is throwing up glaring caution lights and sirens. This may be one of those times when the analytical me needs to be subordinate to the emotional me.

  “Let me be clear, I totally bought into what Envision-2100 and the Centrist movement represent. I just haven’t convinced myself that I’m the best person for the job, that I’ve earned or deserve the trust you are placing in me.

  “Conversely, I’ve got a damn-good sense for the other players. I’m just as disgusted as anyone in this room at what the Democrats and Republicans can offer up as candidates when President Sheppard steps down. And you and everyone else in DC know how I feel about Vice President Phillips. If he runs, and he will, and if he’s elected, I’ll resign. Of course, I wouldn’t have to. He’ll fire me on his way to the Oval Office as soon as he’s sworn in.

  “I don’t know who’s winning the left-brain, right-brain battle raging inside my head right now. So, Melissa, in answer to your question, I’m convinced. I still need to discuss everything with my wife. From day one of our marriage, we’ve made major decisions together. Hell, we debate whether to have our eggs scrambled or fried, for Christ’s sake. And nothing we’ve discussed in the past comes anywhere close to being as life-altering as this. I don’t anticipate her having issues with whatever I decide, but win or lose, our lives will never be the same again.

  “I do have a couple of practical questio
ns. There is the issue of finance. Personal finance. The instant I announce my decision to run for office, I’ll have to resign as secretary of state. Kelly will need to resign from her job as well. She’s a GS-Thirteen research analyst with the General Services Administration.” David laughed. “Of course, you all knew that. Anyway, we have developed a habit of eating, sometimes two meals a day.”

  “Only two?” Melissa asked.

  “Plus coffee. Lots of coffee,” David said. “Like I told Judson earlier, my salary is just a rounding error compared to most Envision-2100 members. It’s a matter of public record, so you shouldn’t have had to waste any intelligence-gathering energy on it. As one of twenty-one Level One government officials, I make two hundred ten thousand seven hundred dollars annually. And Kelly, as a GS-Thirteen‍—‍”

  Judson raised his hand with an exaggerated flourish. “Your financial situation was the second or third item we discussed when we chose you as our candidate. We want to set up a trust fund that will provide you with twice your combined salary, plus incidental personal expenses from the time you resign your current job until you are elected, take office, and start drawing a POTUS salary. If, God forbid, you aren’t elected, we’ll continue to pay your salary for a minimum of one year.”

  Milt chimed in: “Our lawyers have done their homework and have already drawn up an agreement. That arrangement is perfectly legal. In fact, our PR team wants to disclose this to the public on day one as part of our complete transparency policy. If nothing else, we learned that lesson from the Americans Elect funding fiasco.”

  Judson nodded. “Well, David, here we are. We know that today has been a shocker for you, and no one expects you to decide until you have had time to process the discussion and our proposal with Kelly. Unfortunately, the fuse is burning. President Sheppard is literally living on borrowed time. You have a scheduled meeting with him tomorrow. I would ask that you make it your personal deadline for a go, no-go decision.”

  “I have to agree,” David replied. “I’ll call Kelly on my way back to DC and let her know we’re going out to dinner. She loves the Comus Inn at Sugarloaf Mountain, so if I can get reservations, I’ll surprise her. Lord knows she will be surprised.”

  “David, let us take care of making the reservation. I can almost guarantee you that it won’t be a problem. You have way too much thinking to do without worrying about making dinner reservations. In fact, let us free up a little more of your time. Rather than flying you back to your office this afternoon, why don’t we shoot you straight to your house in Germantown. You have plenty of room on the back side of your farm to land the copter. Hell, our guy could almost put the AW160 on your front porch if he had to. That would save you at least an hour’s drive and a ton of commuter stress. Plus, imagine the message that kind of entrance will send to your wife‍—and neighbors, for that matter. We’ll make things right with the sheriff and the FAA if need be. Or at least ask for forgiveness. That will give you and Kelly more time to have dinner. And more time for you to do whatever you have to do to convince her that she would make an unbelievable First Lady. Then we’ll pick you up from home in the morning and fly you to the Truman Building in plenty of time to make your ten o’clock meeting with POTUS. What do you think, David?”

  “I’ll tell you, Judson, a guy could get accustomed to this kind of treatment.” David leaned back. This would shock the hell of Kelly. He couldn’t wait to see her face. “All right, that sounds like a plan.”

  With an exaggerated flourish, Judson slapped the table in front of him. “Great! Now let’s get you in the air.”

  15

  Colter Bay Campground, Grand Teton National Park

  The evening of the day of

  Even inside the Airstream with the door closed and their hands over their ears, the sound was so loud that it vibrated the fluid in Jeremy’s inner ear, causing a wave of nausea to sweep over him. From the collective strained look on their faces, Judy and the twins seemed to be experiencing the same sensation.

  Then, just as quickly as the explosive pressure had come, there was silence.

  Judy’s voice, controlled but commanding, broke that silence: “Girls get in the truck. We’re getting out of here.”

  Jeremy, already moving out the door, sprinted around to the side of the Airstream. He visually double-checked the trailer hitch and towing assembly. They didn’t have time to waste, but they didn’t want their refuge on wheels to disconnect itself the first time they made a sharp turn.

  He climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and leaned forward. An eerie red glow illuminated the darkening sky to the north. Judy and the twins were staring at it as well, transfixed. No one said a word.

  Blinding white and blue bolts of lightning ripped open the twilight every few seconds. The tempo of the dazzling light show seemed to increase with every new burst of electrical energy. The instantaneous rise in pressure and thirty-six-thousand-degree heat from each flash caused a sonic shockwave, thunder, reaching a near-constant crescendo. Jeremy could barely hear the twins’ screams.

  Between the shockwaves, Judy noted, “It’s a unique phenomenon referred to as volcanic lightning. It’s caused by static electricity generated by the ejecta that’s flying out of what will soon be a mountain.”

  When Jeremy turned on the truck’s headlights, a peculiar sight appeared. It seemed to be snowing. Except it wasn’t snow. Fine grains of glittery black something fell on the windshield. Only it wasn’t falling; it was actually angling toward them from the north. At the same time, tiny seed-sized pebbles peppered the F-250 and everything around it.

  “It’s the ash and lava fragments from the pyroclastic flow,” Judy said. She continued to stare out the window, hypnotized.

  “What?” Jeremy shouted, trying to be heard over the continuous roar of thunder.

  Judy turned away from the window, her face pale. “The pyroclastic flow. The volcano erupted, more likely exploded, and that stuff is probably the outer edge of the cloud. At least I hope it’s the outer edge. A volcanic eruption spits out millions of tons of ash at over four hundred miles an hour in the form of what they call a pyroclastic current or cloud.”

  “How do you know all this shit?” Jeremy asked as he maneuvered the truck and twenty-five feet of trailer around a log blocking the pine-straw trail serving as the campground road.

  “I took an elective in geophysics. Now get us the fuck out of here.”

  Jeremy glanced in his rearview mirror. With their seat belts snuggly fastened, Ellis and Fiona held hands and looked at each other fearfully, communicating as only those with duplicate chromosomes could do.

  Judy gripped her door handle and Jeremy’s knee as the truck bounced along. “We’re just getting started. It’ll be like one of those California wildfires, only it’s not a cloud of smoke, it’s a cloud of ash and pumice. See those sparkles on the windshield? That’s not glitter. It’s flecks of silica. Glass. If we swallow it or breathe it in, we’re in big trouble.

  “Do you remember Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii in 79 AD? It wasn’t lava that buried the city, it was ash. Hot ash, about five hundred seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Not that many years ago, scientists thought the victims were asphyxiated by the ash and noxious gas. But recent studies indicated that most died instantly from the heat retained by the cinders. They went into almost immediate rigor mortis, frozen for all time in their last physical position. Well, not frozen, but you know what I mean.”

  Jeremy glanced at Judy. “Really, you’re cracking a joke now, for Christ’s sake? Don’t ever give me your wrong-place, wrong-time jab again.” They each managed a smile. A weak smile, but a smile.

  Just then, a deafening, heart-stopping bang shattered the conversation. Twin screams burst from the back seat. Judy’s hand flew to her mouth.

  A rock, roughly the size of a softball, bounced off the F-250’s hood. Other stones‍—some smaller, some larger, one massive‍�
��descended from the sky, flying through the beams cast out by their headlights. Most of the larger rocks had a dim red glow. It was like being in the center of a meteor shower, only it was scary, not pretty. Smoke and steam floated off the rocks after they struck the ground. The larger ones buried themselves into the layer of mulch that covered the ground. Flickers of flames sprang up around their edges and lit up the forest floor.

  They would soon turn into a raging inferno.

  Jeremy tore off the campground trail and onto Colter Bay Village Road, speeding past the check-in office and convenience store. He silently gave thanks that he had had the foresight to fill up the truck that afternoon. At the Colter Bay Campground entrance stop sign, he turned right onto John D. Rockefeller Jr. Parkway, driving south.

  By now, the heavier particulates from the pyroclastic cloud were giving way to finer ash. It fell lightly at first, like the initial part of a winter’s snow, and then increased in intensity. By the time they reached Pilgrim Creek, it had covered the road.

  Jeremy flicked on his fog lights and low beams to see better, but even this trick gave him less than fifty feet of visibility, and it was getting progressively worse. He was making twenty miles an hour but knew that speed wouldn’t last long. At mile five, just before the Jackson Lake Lodge entrance, a smoldering boulder roughly the size of a Volvo slammed squarely into the center of the right-hand lane. Sparks and dust flew in all directions from its impact.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” Judy blurted in horror.

  The twins screamed, and Jeremy swerved to the left to avoid crashing into the massive projectile. He put the F-250 in four-wheel drive and eased around it, barely. As he pulled back into the right-hand lane, another RV, a Greyhound-bus-sized Class A, blasted out of the lodge entrance, turned right, and headed south.

  Whoever was behind the wheel was driving too fast. Way too fast for near-blackout conditions. In a matter of seconds, Jeremy lost sight of the Class A’s taillights. He looked down at his instrument panel and turned on his flashers, mumbling, “I should have done that an hour ago.”