“Anna, please …”
“Why?” she sobbed the word. “Why didn’t you let me die?”
“I couldn’t. I … I couldn’t do that. You’re my wife. I love you.”
“If you loved me, you would have let me go.”
“Anna …”
“Please, leave. I want to sleep.”
“I’ll be back,” Ben whispered. He knew she had been given a sedative, it probably was kicking in. “I’m going to go to the vending machine.”
Anna merely nodded.
Hands in his pocket, feeling the weight of his loss, Ben walked from the room.
He had made it all the way down to the vending area on the first floor, and studied the contents of the machine, when he realized he didn’t have any money. He didn’t have his wallet or phone. It was the final straw, the breaking point … Ben cracked, angrily he drew his fist back, ready to slam it into the machine in a fit of overwhelming sadness when he heard the eruptions of screams.
What now? Ben thought. What could it be now?
Medical workers flew by him, people were still screaming. Ben walked toward the commotion to see what was happening.
Everyone was running outside.
As he crossed through the automatic glass doors, he heard a man shouting. “Everyone back up. Stay back.”
A large group of people encircled something. Ben walked toward them and stopped when he saw the bare legs on the ground.
“What happened?” a woman asked. “Did she fall?”
Figuring he’d seen enough death for the day, he turned away.
“No, she jumped. I saw her jump.”
Ben froze.
He lifted his head to scan the building.
No, he thought. No.
He spun back around quickly and barged toward the crowd. He pushed his way against the grain and when he finally broke through he saw the victim. Twisted legs behind her back, her neck contorted, eyes open, and head encircled in a pool of blood.
Clearly, she had jumped.
But it wasn’t a stranger, it wasn’t some random woman … it was Anna.
SEVEN
Captain Sandra Anderson, Nine Months Earlier
They were twins, but as they got older people started calling them the hero twins because of what they did for careers. Their careers weren’t the only thing similar in their lives, everything Sandra and Sarah Anderson did was similar. It was more on purpose than coincidence, they preferred it that way.
They were born three weeks early, not much when it came to a multiple birth, and surprisingly they weren’t just healthy, they were a solid birth weight. No one could believe they were early.
Identical twins born six minutes apart, the girls could never be more than a few hours apart their entire childhood.
When policy in school dictated they were to be in separate classes, the girls were physically ill, so their father took a second job to send them to a small Catholic school.
They were the only children to older parents, who had tried for a long time to have children. Both were tomboyish and athletic. They played softball all through their teenage years. Sandra the pitcher, Sarah the catcher.
They both went to the same college, then both enlisted in the army. It was there, after basic training they spent their longest time apart. Sandra finished her medical degree, while Sarah worked search and rescue. Yet, after their training they worked and deployed together.
But their parents weren’t getting any younger, and instead of re-enlisting full time, Sandra and Sarah joined the civilian workforce and served in the reserves. Sarah took an instructor position at Wildland Fire Academy, while Sandra worked in the emergency room. Both were north of their home in Los Angeles.
No more deployments. No more worries of dangers for their parents.
So they thought.
Sandra knew that afternoon when she heard about the wildfires something was wrong or was going to happen. She had this all-consuming gut feeling of doom. She kept texting Sarah, calling her.
“I’m fine,” Sarah said. “I’m not even near there.”
“But they are close to Mom and Dad’s,” Sandra said.
“I’ve seen worse. You know it’s bad if I have to go out there. It won’t get to that, I'm almost positive.”
Sarah seemed so certain, and the news didn’t really depict the fire as out of control.
Sandra was on the overnight shift and it was particularly quiet. The nurses were putting up early Christmas decorations when Sandra got a message from her parents’ neighbor. It prompted her to call Sarah.
“Hey, sis, it’s me,” she said into the voicemail. “I know you’re sleeping. Just got a call from the Jamisons. They said the fire is close, they’re evacuating, but Dad’s on the roof with a hose. I can’t leave. Let me know if you get this. I’ll keep trying them.”
Sandra did, she tried Sarah and her parents every twenty minutes, with no luck. In between the calls and the patients, she watched the news as deadly winds picked up forcing the fire out of control. Soon she wasn’t able to call. The emergency room filled up quickly, smoke inhalation … burns.
It went from small to the worst fire in Californian history. The entire north part of Los Angeles was being evacuated, and it included the hospital.
Between patients coming in and those they tried to move out, it was insane.
Around five in the morning, Sandra experienced a sharp pain in her chest. In fact, at first she thought it was a heart attack, then she realized it was something else.
Her connection to Sarah; it was a premonition of heartache that manifested in a physical nature. Immediately, she stopped what she was doing and attempted to contact her parents. She didn’t even get a ring.
After failing to reach Sarah, she found a fireman, and asked for help locating her sister and family.
All Sandra kept thinking was Sarah left to help her parents and something went wrong. Something went terribly wrong.
She was given assurances.
“Wait it out,” they said. “Everyone will be fine. Your sister is an instructor.”
The news reported every available person was out there battling the blaze.
The fire raged across highways, the heat of which caused collapses while the flames swallowed cars and the smoke choked the life out of anyone on foot.
It moved rapidly, and with the winds it was a force of destruction and heat nearly equivalent to a volcanic eruption.
Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks.
Once the fires had ceased and the cinders snuffed out, Sandra went to her parents’ home.
It was gone.
Destroyed.
Sandra’s apartment not far away was also destroyed.
There were no signs of their cars at either home.
Despite searching, despite looking at the remains of every unidentified person … Sandra never heard or saw her family again.
EIGHT
Dr. Nathan Gale, Two Years Earlier
“Daddy, Pappy said we’re going fishing today.” Gin-Gin had her mother’s big blue eyes and blonde hair. Every time Nathan looked at his four-year-old daughter, he saw the face of his wife who said she was going to bingo one evening when Gin-Gin was nine months old, and never returned. Before the police could be notified, she called and said she was fine and not coming back.
Nathan got a card in the mail two months later stating she wasn’t cut out for that life. He was hurt, but he moved on. After all, he had Gin-Gin, and she was all that mattered.
His Associate Director’s position at the United States Geological Survey Agency took him all over the country. When he could he brought his daughter along with his mother to help. For the most part his parents were a godsend. They had Gin-Gin a lot and Nathan often stayed at their home in Meredith, New Hampshire for weeks on end, especially when he had to work out of Boston or Concord.
“It finally stopped raining,” Gin-Gin said brightly over her pancake breakfast.
“Did it now?” Nathan
smiled, pouring a coffee into his travel mug.
Gin-Gin giggled. “You know that, silly. Pappy said it’s a fishing day.”
“Now, now, don’t you go spreading no tales,” his father said in such a New Hampshire way. “I said no such thing. I said we’re going to the fishing store. It had closed for a spell.” He fiddled with a fishing lure.
“Is that why you’re getting your flies ready?”
“It’s a lure, call it what it is. For a geo man you sure don’t know much about fishing.” His father stood up.
“I know enough about lakes.”
“Don’t make you a fisherman. Surprises me though. The whole family fishes.”
“I fish.” Nathan walked to his daughter, kissed her on the head, and stole a piece of her pancake.
“You sit in a chair and prop a reel. That’s not fishing, that’s sitting and waiting for the fish to come to you.” He refreshed his mug and peered out the window. “Rain stopped good. Sun is gonna be strong.”
“So does that mean my daughter is telling the truth? Are you taking her fishing or just to your shop?”
“Both. You know how I am about my store, I keep it running, so your mother will tend to it and I’ll tend to the baby.”
Nathan smiled. “Please watch her on the boat.”
“Oh, I’ll do the same to her as I did to you,” he said. “Life jacket and tie you to the chair.”
Nathan laughed, then whispered to his daughter, “You’re in good hands.” He lifted his head when he heard a ‘hmm’ come from his father. “What?” Nathan asked. “She’s not in good hands?”
“She is,” he said, distracted. “There’s a mist rising on the lake.”
“Dad, of course there is. You heard that rain last night. It was horrible. I’m surprised there’s not a lot of damage. Plus, it’s morning.”
“I know mist. I’ve been living here my whole life. It’s different than the usual morning mist.”
“Dad,” Nathan chuckled his name. “It’s not even seven, it’s the same mist.”
“Come take a look.”
After another kiss, Nathan walked to the kitchen window. “What am I looking at?”
“The mist. Does it look different to you? Darker?”
“It’s the sun. Maybe there’s a fire somewhere.”
“Hmm.”
“Maybe you’re just looking for an excuse not to take her fishing.”
“Oh, I’ll take her fishing,” his father said. “Maybe just not on the boat.”
“I have to go. I’ll call when I get to the center.” He backstepped to Gin-Gin and gave her another kiss. “I won’t be late. Have fun. I love you.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
Nathan grabbed his keys and slowed down when he saw his father wasn’t moving. “Dad. You okay?”
“It’s thickening and looks like it’s rolling inland. Better get a move on, might make for dangerous driving.”
“Thanks. I’m headed out now.” He laid his hand on his father’s back and took another look out the window. The mist had thickened, it was odd, but nothing concerning. “Tell Mom I’ll call her later.” After receiving a nod from his father, Nathan left the home.
“Morning Nathan.” The neighbor from next door waved as he collected his paper.
“Morning,” Nathan replied, waved, and got into his car. He pulled out from the front of the house with a short, quick toot of the horn and drove down the road, heading toward the highway that would take him south.
It wasn’t that bad of a drive to Boston. He wished he was stopping for the day in Concord, that was a quick route. Boston was a good ninety-minute drive, but in the morning, it was closer to two hours. At least it was all highway. Nathan usually listened to older music or the talk radio, depending on his mood.
On that day, he was in ‘no radio’ mood until he hit about an hour into his drive, just south of Concord when he noticed two large military trucks going north on the opposite side of the road; they moved faster than the traffic. He wouldn’t have thought much of it had it not been for the large convoy of White Tractor trailers, large trucks, and a few white buses all moving together, all at the same speed, traveling north.
Through the corner of his eye he spotted the FEMA decal on the side of one of the vehicles.
Nathan knew what that meant, he had seen it many times before the disasters started. He remembered when there were only ten FEMA regions. Now there were fifteen—three dedicated to Texas alone. He guessed that number would grow eventually if the federal government could keep up.
But that movement told Nathan something big had happened.
He didn’t feel any tremors, so maybe the rain storms had caused damage. Reaching out, he switched on the radio, and sure enough the computerized voice was making an announcement. It was at the end of one, so Nathan didn’t have a clue what was said. Another mile down the road, hand on the radio, ready to try another station, the emergency beep alerted.
“The following roads have been closed at this time. Please seek alternative routes. Route 104 at the intersection of Pease Road. Daniel Webster Highway at College Road. Waukewan Road. Bartlett Hill Road …”
“Jesus Christ.” Nathan swerved and hit the gas when he recognized the road names all too well. “That’s Meredith.”
The next exit wasn’t far, and he took it, turning around and getting back on the highway to head back.
What happened in that area?
“Come on, Dad, pick up, pick up.” He spoke to himself after not getting an answer. “Call Mom’s house phone,” he instructed the car. It dialed. No answer. “Call the bait shop.”
Same thing.
No answer.
Nathan’s heart beat out of control. The only thing that gave him any comfort was the fact that his daughter was with his parents and there wasn’t a soul on the earth he trusted more than his father.
It was constant calling. Over and over as he drove as fast as he could and as far as he could until the FEMA blockade brought him to a halt.
Nothing was said over the radio. He hadn’t received any alerts on his phone. The worst-case scenario in his mind was some sort of flash flood.
He pulled his car over, got out and walked to the blockade on foot.
“I’m sorry, sir.” He was stopped by an armed soldier. “We can’t let you go in.”
“What’s going on?” Nathan asked. “My family is in there.”
“Sir, we have no information to release at this time.”
“Look”—he pulled out his wallet—“I’m Dr. Nathan Gale of the USGS.” He showed his identification. “You can let me in there.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Frustrated and scared, Nathan walked a few feet away, pulled out his phone, and called the director.
“Nathan,” Jim, the director, answered with a rush. “Is this you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“What’s going on?” Nathan asked. “I didn’t get an alert.”
“Nate,” Jim said. “We thought you were in Meredith.”
“I was speaking in Boston today. I was on my way …”
“Nate, is your family in Meredith?”
“They were when I left. Have they evacuated? What is happening? FEMA is here, they won’t let me through.”
“Nate … Nate … it … we think it was a limnic eruption.”
“What? That’s not … that’s not possible,” Nathan said in disbelief. “We have never had one here in the US.”
“I know. I know. We think … no, we’re pretty sure that’s what it was.”
“The lake isn’t deep enough.”
“The CO2 levels are high. Northeast winds moved it quickly and it settled. FEMA is going in.”
“You have to call them. Call FEMA. I have to go in. I’ll suit up.”
“Nathan, that’s not a good—”
“My family is in there!” Nathan shouted, then calmed down. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s alright. I understand. I’ll make the call.”
“Thank you.” Hands shaking, Nathan placed the phone in his pocket.
There had to be a mistake. Limnic eruptions happened in deep lakes when the CO2 in the water suddenly explodes creating a noxious cloud that suffocates and often burns the skin. Anything and anyone affected suffers a horrible, agonizing death.
He prayed that wasn’t the case. If it was, then his father was right. There was something different about the mist and Nathan, the expert in it all, hadn’t given it a second thought. Why would he? Of all the disasters that were happening across America, a limnic eruption was the furthest thing from his mind.
Nathan looked ready. He was suited up in hazmat gear; the oxygen tank weighed a ton but was nowhere near as heavy as the weight of worry on his shoulders.
He had two hours’ worth of air, that was it. He rode with the crew into the main portion of town, and then Nathan left them.
As soon as they stopped the vehicles and stepped out, the limnic eruption was the only explanation for what he saw.
Even with the thick mist still in the air, he could see it all.
Bodies strewn across the road, they lay on the sidewalk, in their cars. All of them with the same blueish appearance, enlarged lips, blisters near their mouths, and a frozen expression of fear and pain.
Upon seeing it, Nathan ran. At first to his father’s bait shop a block away. The store was still locked tight, and the car wasn’t out front.
He then made a beeline straight for his parents’ home
His pace slowed down as he neared the home and saw the taillights of his father’s car in the driveway. It was still running. He moved closer and saw the back door was open.
“God, no. Please. No. No.” He closed his eyes tight and, filled with incredible fear, walked toward the car. He was so focused on the open door, he never saw his father’s body in the driveway until his foot hit against him.
He groaned out in pain upon seeing his father and lunged for the car.
With agonizing pain, he cried out from his gut when he saw his daughter strapped in the car seat. He couldn’t look, he turned away quickly, unable to stare into the lifeless eyes of his daughter.
Nathan’s mother was in the front seat. Her head titled back, mouth wide open.
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