Tertiary Effects Series | Book 1 | Rockfall

by Allen, William

  News from overseas gradually trickled through the cracks in the information dam. Thanks to the 50,000 watt Mexican radio stations along the border, we learned of the worsening conditions in that country as the beleaguered federal government there struggled to deal with the loss of the Baja Peninsula and much of their own West Coast.

  Tijuana was gone, completely wiped away in the wake of the massive tsunami, and further down the coast the resort cities of Mazatlán and Puerto Vallarta, as well as dozens of other less well-known coastal cities, suffered a similar fate. The destruction of Baja did manage to blunt the force of the waves across the Sea of California and spared the state of Sonora from the worst of the disaster. There, cities suffered the equivalent of hurricane force storm surges and winds of no more than one hundred miles per hour. Listening to the reports made for depressing work, but at Mike’s insistence, all of the adults took a shift of a few hours in the evenings to monitor the HAM radio broadcasts as we struggled for more news.

  The Mexican radio stations also passed on reports, all second-hand, of the supposed fate of the so-far silent Eastern Pacific nations. I’m sure the President of the United States was displeased with these disclosures, and we seldom heard them repeated after the first reports went out. This made for even more grim news, but I, we, needed to know so we could plan accordingly. Fortunately, or maybe not, I happened to be on duty that night when the most up-to-date report came through, thoughtfully translated from the Spanish to English by some helpful soul.

  As I’d suspected, the list of drowned countries represented a large chunk of the world’s population. No one was confirming the meteorite strike, but more reliable reports placed the epicenter of the initial earthquake in the East China Sea, about an equal distance between the cities of Shanghai in China and Kagoshima in Japan. I was writing quickly as the list of cities and countries quickly unspooled. At the end of the report, I had some names supposedly confirmed as being destroyed. Once again, I felt the urge to throw up at the dreadful news.

  That night, after the kids were in bed and the adults had adjourned for one last cup of coffee on the front porch, I addressed the subject, along with a few other topics, with what had become the normal briefing team. This included all the adults on the property minus Beatrice, who begged off after sitting through only the first meeting. Though she couched it in different terms, I understood her excuse to mean she didn’t want to hear the bad news.

  This one looked to be just about the worst, as I needed to address the information we’d been gathering about the state of the world.

  “I’ve got a preliminary list of countries I think, and I stress, I don’t have any corroborating evidence, were effectively destroyed by the meteor strike.”

  “What do you mean, effectively destroyed?” Marta asked carefully, like she was negotiating a mine field.

  “The land might still be there, but the population has likely dropped below a quarter of what it was. Probably much less than that. For example, I doubt Japan has even a tenth of the pre-strike population, based on proximity to the impact zone and the volcanic nature of the islands themselves.” I paused, clearing my throat before plowing ahead. “That’s, uh, not taking their nuclear reactors into account, but we know at least some of them have gone supercritical.”

  “I presume China is a total write-off, then?” Nikki inquired.

  “I don’t know. As you are all aware, we are getting our news from second and third-hand sources. The same merchant vessel that survived the tsunami heading back to Seoul only took a brief look at the coastlines as they sailed past. Or so I’ve heard.” I sighed in frustration, cursing our own gutless government for working so hard to keep the truth from us. “The captain authorized his radio operator to share what they’d found. His broadcast reports were in English but they were not the best sound quality, or so I’ve been told. Never heard the originals, and I don’t think any of you guys have either.”

  With a shake of their heads, I confirmed the negative and went on. “All I got was a summary that the station in Nogales somehow got their hands on. Probably by way of India and then southern Europe. Again, we are stuck playing Telephone while trying to piece things together.”

  “Who else is on the list?” Marta asked solemnly. “I know some of them from what I heard, but I don’t think I’ve wrapped my head around it still. Even after all this time.”

  “Like I said before, I don’t know about all of China, but the coastal areas as far inland as two hundred miles have been wiped clean. That was reported by an Indian Air Force pilot who flew reconnaissance missions over the affected area, looking for survivors. His was also one of the first and only accounts that reported signs of blast damage consistent with a meteorite impact, though he didn’t classify it as such.”

  “How the heck did that report get out?” Mike wanted to know and all I could do was shrug.

  “I’m just going by what the BBC is saying,” I explained. “The Brits have actually been pretty straight with their public, but they just don’t seem to know as much as the U.S. or Mexico. Not sure how the Southern Hemisphere is taking it, except again, the Brits reported Australia’s northern territories suffered what the correspondent described as catastrophic losses in Darwin and throughout the surrounding countryside.”

  “But that’s so far from the impact zone,” Marta objected.

  “Catastrophic was the word the Brits used, not me,” I explained calmly.

  I knew after Marta and Mike had visited Australia and New Zealand on vacation a few years ago, they’d fallen in love with the people and the scenery. If not for their ridiculous gun laws, I half-suspect my sister-in-law would have been lobbying my brother to relocate.

  “I’m sure the tsunami was unprecedented, like what hit our own West Coast, but this was after the waves plowed through the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, and Papua New Guinea. I think those island nations are in the same or similar conditions as reported in Japan. Then there’s the Korean Peninsula, which was treated in a similar fashion, completely removing the need for a demarcation between North and South.”

  “Is that it?” Nikki wanted to know, already teary-eyed. “I mean, that’s bad enough, but what about the other countries around the Pacific Rim?”

  “No. You guys already knew about Hawaii and Mexico, but from what I’m hearing, the rest of Central America faired just about as poorly. Lower total death tolls, but a higher percentage of their populations lost. The Panama Canal is effectively filled in with trash and debris, and the capital cities of Honduras, Nicaragua, Guatemala, and Costa Rica are all gone. Too close to the Pacific side. Same for coastal cities in Columbia, Ecuador, and northern Peru. The rest of the country would’ve survived if not for a string of volcanoes kicking up a fuss, running from central Peru through the middle of Chile. From what I can tell, at least the rest of South America seems to be weathering the initial effects without too much damage, except again where volcanoes are acting up. As you might have expected, the Atlantic sides all fared much better despite the coastal flooding from the sea rise.”

  “What are we looking at, death toll-wise?” Mike asked briskly.

  “Globally? Probably in the two billion range,” I replied dully. “China’s too big to be totally wiped, but unless I miss my guess, we’re looking at Tibet and Nepal being free again for the foreseeable future. Those are folks accustomed to living in harsh climates and surviving earthquakes. In fact, they may end up expanding their borders into the Middle Kingdom for some payback.”

  “Karma is a bitch,” Mike agreed with a forced grin. It was a grimace more than anything else, and I instinctively knew that was part of his coping mechanism.

  “How can you two be so calm talking about so many people being dead?” Marta asked, shooting glares that alternated between me and her husband.

  “Cause I’m an asshole,” Mike admitted, “but I don’t know Bryan’s excuse.”

  “Yes, you are, but not about this,” I shot back, then turned to regard Mart
a. “I can talk about it with a surface calm only because I haven’t stopped thinking about those unimaginable numbers of dead since shortly after I got Mike’s initial call. If it makes you feel any better, I threw up the first time I started getting a handle on the sheer magnitude of this disaster.”

  Marta had the decency to look away.

  “I’m sorry, Bryan. I didn’t mean anything. Like I said, I just can’t wrap my head around those kinds of figures. And I know we’re looking at this for other reasons, right?”

  “Exactly,” I confirmed. “This isn’t new territory for us, but it bears repeating. For literally tons of consumer items, what there is in the supply line and warehouses is all there will be for sale. Maybe forever, and maybe just until the United States can get back into manufacturing that particular product or piece of equipment.”

  “We need to be careful about things like batteries,” Mike chimed in, picking up the thread with practiced ease. “Even with rechargeables, they’ll eventually wear out and stop taking a charge. One way we can extend the life on these batteries is to avoid depleting them past half charge. That keeps them from being ‘over-exercised’, I think is the best way to put it.”

  “Other things like iPads, iPhones, Kindles, and laptops, just be careful. Again, no replacements. I’d suggest getting a rubberized cover for all of the above, also only made in China but they cost ten or twenty bucks, as opposed to the three to five hundred dollars price tags for phones I’d expect to see soon.”

  “China made all that too?” Nikki ventured, feeling pretty certain she was right.

  “Or South Korea, or Vietnam,” I agreed. “Same for our clothes. Bangladesh survived, barely, but lost a good bit of infrastructure to the flooding. Ditto with Cambodia, Laos, and back to Vietnam. All were emerging apparel manufacturers, and now they are almost assuredly out of that business. So keep the clothes carefully, avoid snags, and reuse and recycle.”

  “So keep doing what we’re already doing?” Nikki said, poking fun at me while trying to raise the mood of the conversation.

  “Yeah, but now you know why I’m such a penny-pincher,” I declared, trying to inject a little levity to the grim subject.

  That garnered a nervous chuckle from the ladies. They knew I’d been scavenging any scraps of cloth not suitable for dust rags with the idea of making patchwork quilts. If this winter proved as severe as I expected, we would have the time on our hands once we were snowed in, and we would also need to quilts to help keep us warm.

  “All right, next order of business,” Mike announced, sensing it was time and well past to be moving on to the next subject. “I’ve worked out a deal with Wade to give us set practice hours at his gun range for three days a week. We’ve opened up that fence and installed a gate between the properties to expedite this and other things, so I just want to say this one time: be there for your range time. Do not make me come looking for you,” Mike finished, cutting a look at his wife.

  He knew better than to say anything to me or Nikki. We’d both been forced to use our carry pistols already, and all I wanted to do was figure out how to fit that scoped FN FAL in my back pocket. I never wanted to feel outgunned in a shootout ever again. In that last week, I’d used up so much .308 Winchester that Mike finally broke down and showed me how to operate his reloading equipment. It was a quality Dillon setup, and I took nearly a whole legal pad full of notes as he showed me the process. I also resolved to stock up on more reloading supplies, if such a thing was ever possible. The closest place I knew was in Jasper, across the county line.

  The travel prohibition had been talked to death since Mike and his family became stranded here, but they needed a travel permit from the sheriff’s office to make the trip back to Fort Worth. Leery as we all were now of the sheriff, Mike decided he would rather not draw attention to their presence at this time. As the violence in the cities continued to escalate, I knew he and Marta worried about their home, but the only thing either could think to do was call their next-door neighbor and check on conditions in their neighborhood. So far, nothing to report, and the clashes between rioters and National Guard troops still seemed far away from the suburban neighborhood.

  With Mike’s admonishment in mind, the meeting broke up a few minutes later and the couples headed off to bed. Even though I felt tired to the bone, I headed down to our radio shack to see if I could catch any more news. My ass was dragging from digging postholes all day, but with the rain dropping off to just afternoon sprinkles, Mike and I had hit the Bonner fencing project hard, focusing on the stretch of property facing the road. Nikki was a great deal of help, too, but she simply lacked the upper body strength for driving the cutting edge of the heavy posthole digger into the sodden clay and dirt of the ground.

  When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I headed on into the security room without pause, not bothering to turn on the lights in the basement hallway. I told myself I wanted to listen to the radio, but the truth was, I would probably only listen for a few hours, but I intended to stay up until at least two a.m. before hitting the hay. The security system didn’t do us any good if no one was watching the video tape, and we still lacked the personnel to cover the shifts.

  Marta and Nikki planned to get the kids in for training over the next few days, but until then, I could sacrifice a little sleep to keep us safe. So I plopped down in the chair, grabbed the headphones, and reached for my pen to start taking notes.

  Maybe tonight we would get more word about what was happening in Russia. Putin was apparently still on a rampage after rolling more tanks in to complete the reacquisition of Ukraine, or reunification, as he was calling it, and few thought he would stop there. Though Russia hadn’t come through the meteor strike untouched, losing the whole area around Vladivostok if I wasn’t mistaken, they were also making inroads into the Far East. I figured Mongolia was under new management, but had no way to confirm this. I’d checked Netfeed, but if anyone in the State Department was issuing any statements about the ongoing Russian aggression, I couldn’t locate them, and the president remained mum on the issue.

  As I switched on the desk lamp, I said a little prayer that we didn’t end up having to use the shelter for its intended purpose: surviving a nuclear attack.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  By Friday, I was almost thankful when the rains returned in earnest. My back was killing me and I was wondering if Mike aimed to give me a heart attack. Well, I would have wondered, if he wasn’t pushing himself just as hard.

  Since leaving the Army, Mike had managed to pack on more than a few extra pounds. Well, we all managed to gain little weight over the years, but Mike was pushing three hundred pounds and was on two different blood pressure pills. So I was worried about my little brother, especially since we’d lost our mother to a heart attack at a relatively early age.

  Walking back to the four-wheeler we were using to haul the tools and ourselves, I debated whether or not I should say anything. Mike could be sensitive about his weight at times, and I wasn’t in the mood to go poking the bear. Despite the rain poncho, I was soaking wet and miserable, so I figured Mike was about in the same boat. To my surprise, after we stopped for him to open and shut the gate at the Bonner property fence line, Mike raised the topic himself as I guided the little Yamaha side by side four-wheeler across the flooded pasture and on towards home.

  “I guess you are wondering why I’m pushing so hard?” Mike asked, opening the conversation.

  I shrugged, and after a second realized he didn’t see my motion in the rain.

  “I understand, I think. We need to get the fence in, and the weather’s not cooperating,” I replied carefully.

  “What you said a few weeks ago has stuck with me. About the changes and this coming winter. I’m afraid we’ve got problems coming before that. I was watching the Weather Channel last night,” Mike continued, “and there’s a hurricane forming in the Gulf.”

  I tapped the brakes in shock, whipping my head around.

  “That’s
too early,” I blurted out.

  “No, not really. Season officially started June first, but most folks don’t realize it,” Mike explained. “This is early for a tropical storm to start organizing, but this one is spinning up fast.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything at breakfast?” I asked.

  “Too many little ears around,” Mike explained. “Thing is, I expected this, what with all the energy getting released into the atmosphere. I heard there’s a static storm still raging out in the Pacific, a hypercane I think they’re called. We’ll see some of that leak over into the Atlantic, which should spawn an unprecedented number of hurricanes this year.”

  I shivered at the idea but nodded, getting an idea now about what was driving my brother. I’d heard the term hypercane used before, but to my knowledge they were only hypothetical up until now. My science nerd brother could explain the details better, but my understanding was it had to do with ocean water being heated up over a certain theoretical level coupled with certain other atmospheric anomalies in play. The one key thing that stuck out in my mind was the idea that these super storms were not only extremely dangerous, they also had a way of becoming permanent fixtures in the environment. In essence, they were self-perpetuating. Of course, up until now, they’d been hypothetical.

  “That’s what’s been up your butt these last few weeks,” I guessed.