by Byron Tucker
Crossing the undefined boundary of his property, Ryan took the access trail to the main snowmobile / ATV trail that ran the length of the Keweenaw, the peninsula that curved seventy miles out into mighty Lake Superior like a crooked finger. It was broad and well-maintained, and heavily-used as a result. It being a weekend, people were out in droves, zooming around him in their four-wheelers, in a big hurry to get nowhere. But he didn't let the noisy antics of weekend riders get him down, since he knew some rather remote trails very few people knew about, let alone tried to access.
After riding a dozen miles or so on the main trail, he turned onto an old logging road, which led to a scarcely visible trail, with grass and weeds as tall as a man. The path followed the spine of a small ridge, eventually rising above the rest of the landscape, although the woods were just as dense as ever. Then he hit the part that was a bit tricky, the two-track, if it could even be considered as such, quickly fading into a path of large rocks.
Ryan debated whether to just park it here and walk the last half mile to the berry patch, or go for it. He turned to look at Shelly, being a good passenger as always, and said, “How about we do a bit of rock crawling, huh?”
The dog looked at him, as if to say “Whatever.”
Laughing, Ryan eased the Gator onto the rocks, giving it just enough gas to get up to the next level. He had done this a few times before, but there were a couple of places where it was easy to get a wheel trapped, or possibly tip the whole thing over. Taking his time, the air punctuated by Shelly's barking, he lurched the side-by-side on one side and then the other as he powered over a couple of half-buried boulders.
The sun beat down from the cloudless sky, making him wish that he'd brought his shades. Hell, I didn't even bring the Glock. Not that he'd need it, as hunting season was still months away and the threat from wild animals was nil, but it was just a good idea to carry whenever he ventured into the woods alone, out of cell phone range.
Ryan chuckled to himself, goosing the Gator over a section of smaller rocks, the thick woods giving way to spotty clearings. He hadn't come out here to play out his end-of-the-world fantasies. He came out here to enjoy a beautiful, warm summer day with his Shelly, and actually do something for the sheer enjoyment of it. What a concept, huh?
Getting past the last rough stretch was easy, the dry rocks providing great traction even on the steep parts. Soon afterwards, he spotted it. His secret blackberry patch. The clearing wasn't particularly large, but it was chock-full of mature blackberry bushes, all of which were loaded with luscious, ready-to-pick fruit. Even at first glance, it looked like the best crop in years. Experiencing a surge of child-like excitement, Ryan hopped out of the vehicle and immediately took his shirt off, taking a moment to douse himself with bug repellent. Grabbing the five-gallon bucket out of the bed of the compact vehicle, he glanced at Shelly nosing the ground and said, “You have fun doing your doggy thing. I'm gonna pick me some berries.”
Shelly perked her nose, sniffing the air. In a flash, she darted into a narrow gap between clumps of bushes, chasing a rabbit or some other small animal. He knew that she was smart enough not to wander too far and get lost, and he had his dog whistle just in case, so he made a dash for the first bush and started picking, his right hand working with practiced ease. He sampled a few of them from a couple different bushes, quite pleased with their sweet taste. They were some of the best he'd picked from this patch, with amazing consistency of ripeness and sweetness. Yum. No doubt he would be making lots of jam with these.
Ryan moved from bush to bush, the level of berries inside his bucket rising past a quarter, and then half. The air buzzed with the hum of dragonflies flitting back and forth, grasshoppers jetting out from under him whenever he moved about.
Damn, what a beautiful day, he kept thinking to himself. Somehow, he got the feeling that he needed to savor this moment, that he'd not be able to do this again for a very long time. It was a silly fear, as he had plans to take his nephew on outings like this when his family made it back from Yellowstone.
A dark cloud moved over the feel-good center of his brain. He set the bucket down, unable to keep those thoughts out of his mind. Was it really that close to going off? Or was all of this a result of his failure to reconnect with society after the great falling-out with his former business partner and his subsequent falling-out from society?
Once he had the realization that he could never be part of the “machine,” seeking power merely for the sake of having power, he allowed himself to drop off the face of the Earth, riding motorcycles and chasing women – not having a care in the world. And when he got tired of that, he decided to adopt a survivalist lifestyle, which was really a fancy way of saying “hermit.” Maybe his brother was right after all – he just needed to get a life instead of hunkering down for a Doomsday that would likely never come. Despite his logical thinking, however, he just couldn't shake the dark mood swooping over him like a rapidly developing thunderstorm.
Ryan let out an exaggerated sigh as he glanced at his bucket, now two-thirds full of delectable blackberries. It was more than he needed, even accounting for a pie or three that'd make as well. Since his trusty fishing rod and tackle box were in the Gator, he toyed with the idea of swinging by one of the ponds on the way back and catching himself some dinner. He picked up his bucket and carried it back to the vehicle, using some bungee cords to secure it in the back. With no sign of Shelly, he clapped his hands and shouted, “Shelly! We're leaving now!”
He sat in the driver's seat, wishing for a smoke.
He shook his head. Where did that come from? He had quit his pack-a-day habit eight years before, in his early forties. Come to think of it, he hadn't craved a cigarette in years, signaling that his former addiction had been put to bed for good. Until now. For some unknown reason, he wanted a cigarette. Not just a casual desire, but a dammed strong one, like a I gotta have one right now kind of craving.
Hopping back out of the Gator, he shouted for Shelly again several times in rapid succession, filled with a sudden desire to head straight home. He had no idea of what it could be, but something spooked him, and he needed to get to the bottom of it right away.
Despite his calls, Shelly still didn't return, and Ryan's breathing quickened with worry. Maybe she'd really gotten lost this time, having chased that rabbit a tad too far. Wishing that he'd done it sooner, he reached for the doggie whistle and did three long blasts on it, sending the high-pitched sound into the surrounding woods. He knew the whistle had a great range, but if something had happened to her...
He blew again, doing his best to stifle the growing panic inside him. His chest tightened as he blew on the whistle again, alternating with shouts of “Shelly!” at the top of his lungs.
Just as he was about to hop into the ATV and go look for her farther down the trail, Shelly came bounding out of the woods, looking no worse for wear. With the biggest wave of emotional relief he'd experienced in ages, Ryan fell to his knees and embraced the large dog, allowing her to lick his neck and face. Rubbing her behind the ears, which she loved more than anything, he said, “Where in the hell have you been? I was really worried about ya. Next time, you come to me when I call for you, okay?” The dog licked him some more. He stood up, brushing his legs with his hands. “Come on, let's head back to the house.” Shelly let out a single bark in affirmation.
Despite his relief about Shelly being okay, he couldn't shake the overwhelming presence that something was up, that this time, things really were different. His brother and his perfect, all-American family were headed to the nexus of Doom itself, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He realized that the sudden lack of earthquakes and geyser formation of the past few days meant something different was happening under the huge, restive caldera. He felt it, mind, body and soul.
Not only was it coming, it was coming soon. Very soon.
* * *
With the kids gone swimming in the hotel's indoor pool, Sam kicked his shoes off and s
at down on the bed, flipping through TV channels with the remote, thrilled about the great start to the family vacation.
He had been able to get the Winnebago parked in the hotel parking lot without difficulty, and following the advice of his wife, he made reservations at the Drover, a famed local eatery, for 7:30, giving everyone a few hours to unwind from a day on the road. Jimmy and Eliza were getting along great, and Irene was in a fantastic mood, really the happiest he could recall in years. He reminded himself to thank his boss for forcing him to take this vacation, as it sure was doing a world of good for his family.
The words “hydrothermal volcanic eruption” coming from the TV shook him out of his pleasant reverie, and he instinctively turned up the volume with the remote. According to the newscaster, a large, violent eruption of steam was taking place in a remote area of Yellowstone, likened to a “super-geyser.” A jerky camera perspective zoomed in on the geyser in the distance, towering like a ghostly skyscraper over the forest.
Sam called out to his wife, currently in the bathroom fixing her hair. “Irene, you should see this.”
She came out into the room to look at the TV, smoothing out the front of the long dress she had on with her well-manicured hands. “That looks serious. Maybe your brother is right about some of this.”
Sam shook his head as he met Irene's gaze. “It looks serious, yes, but that's just a pinprick compared to what Ryan talks about. If that's the extent of the great Yellowstone Supervolcano, then I'm not impressed. And it's just steam, it's not even that pyroclastic flow that kills people.”
Irene looked at him for a moment and said, “We could always change plans and go to Colorado.”
Sam shook his head. “Jimmy and I checked into that earlier, but all the campgrounds are booked up. If we can't visit Yellowstone, I vote for us to spend more time in the Tetons. We still have three more days before we're due to arrive in Yellowstone anyhow. If things have calmed down by then and everything's open, great. If not, we'll just switch to Plan B.”
Irene sported a semi-concerned look. “So you still think what your brother's telling you is bunk?”
He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Yes, I do. He's just stuck in this doomer mindset, and it's hard for him to see that the timescale of these things is far greater than the timescales of our day-to-day lives. Yes, I agree Yellowstone is in a very active geologic stage right now. But it's been doing that for millions of years. It's why they made a national park out of it. I have full faith and trust in the National Park Service to only keep the park open if they know it's safe to do so.”
The corners of Irene's mouth turned up a tad. “Well, you know I have full faith and confidence in you to make the right decisions on this trip. To tell you the truth, I don't care where we go, so long as the kids are enjoying themselves.”
Just then, Jimmy and Eliza burst into the motel room, wrapped in towels. Sam glanced at them and asked, “Did you guys have fun in the pool?”
Eliza nodded, wearing an adorable impish smile on her face. “Yes, we had a blast. Jimmy showed me all kinds of cool tricks on the diving board.”
“Great. Well, you guys better get showered and dressed, since we'll be heading out to dinner in less than an hour. We're going to take a cab over there, since I don't want to be moving that motorhome.”
Jimmy laughed, waving at his sister to use the bathroom first. “Yeah, that's because you're too chicken. If you'd let me drive it, I could take us to the restaurant and back no problem.”
“No, you're not driving that thing,” Irene rebuked. “This is our big night out, to celebrate our vacation, so taking a cab will be part of the experience.”
“Well, I wish we could be going right now, as I'm starving.”
Sam chuckled and said, “What are you, an eating machine? You've been munching on chips and trail mix the whole way out here.”
Jimmy shrugged his bare shoulders as he plopped down at the nearby table, activating his tablet with a jab of his finger. After a few seconds of browsing the device, he looked up and said, “There's a new e-mail from Uncle Ryan. It says to make you read it.”
“Oh, let me see, then.” Sam took the tablet from him, reading the longish message on the screen. Frowning, he looked up at his wife and son and said, “If you want my honest opinion, I think Ryan's gone off his rocker.”
Jimmy snatched the tablet back from him to finish reading it for himself. “Wow, he's saying that we need to turn back immediately and come straight to his place.”
Sam gritted his teeth in annoyance. Just when things were about as close to perfection as they could possibly get, Ryan wanted to wreck the party with this stupid Yellowstone supervolcano tripe. Waving his hands in the air to get the attention of both his son and wife, he said, “You know what, I'm not going to let that man spoil our wonderful vacation. We're going to stick to our itinerary and if something comes up to prevent us from going to Yellowstone, we'll change our plans accordingly.”
“I agree, Sam,” Irene said. “We shouldn't let your brother's fears interfere with what we're doing. Just like you said, if it's not safe, the park will be closed.”
Jimmy looked up from the tablet, frowning. “But Uncle Ryan says that it's all a massive cover-up. They don't want to cause panic and all of that, so they're keeping it all a secret.”
Sam had to restrain from snapping at him, thinking about how Jimmy was a sixteen year-old kid easily swayed by opinions of adults in his life, like his esteemed uncle. “Jimmy,” he began slowly, making sure he had his undivided attention. “I just want to pose this to you. If the government really knew this thing was about to go off, and let's say the guys at the top wanted to keep it a secret, do you really think it's possible that they'd be able to keep a lid on it for any length of time? Don't you think there are plenty of people out there who don't work for the government would know about this and bring it to the attention of the media? Shoot, don't you think they would at least have the sense to close the park at least?”
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, fidgeting with the tablet in his hands. “I dunno, Dad. Maybe it's possible, maybe not. No way of knowing for sure, is there? But yeah, if you still want to go to Yellowstone, I'm game.” He broke out into a smile. “That'd be the baddest thing in the world, to have front row seats to the biggest volcanic eruption ever.”
Sam shook his head vigorously. “No, that wouldn't be good, as we'd be vaporized. According to your uncle, the 'death radius' is five hundred miles from the volcano.”
Jimmy pursed his lips. “So that means if we're within five hundred miles of Yellowstone when it goes off, we're dead meat?”
“That's what he says, although I have no idea if he's right or not.”
Jimmy pointed at the TV and said, “But we'd know it before it went off, like really bad earthquakes and stuff.”
“I agree, Jimmy. If it was getting ready to have a cataclysmic eruption like Ryan thinks, it'd be a whole lot worse than what's happening out there now. The ground would shift, the roads would be cut off, eruptions like the one today would be happening by the hour. I think it'd be pretty obvious. Like I said, we'll monitor the situation over the next couple of days. If things get much worse out there, we'll just make other plans.”
“I guess I can buy that,” Jimmy said. “The eruption, if it does happen, probably won't be for years.”
Irene said, “You've got me convinced. I vote we stick with our current plans.”
Sam let out a relieved sigh, glad Jimmy and Irene were on the same wavelength about this. As a father, it was his duty to ensure the best vacation possible for his family, and by golly, he was going to take them to Yellowstone, come hell or high water.
Or his brother Ryan.
Chapter 5
At five minutes before five AM, Sam opened the door of the bedroom compartment of the motorhome and flipped on the lights in the living room where the children were sleeping. “Rise and shine, kids. I want to get an early start today, so we can have plenty of time to ma
ke it to the campsite at Yellowstone.”
Jimmy sat up in the fold-out bed, rubbing his eyes. Putting on a bemused smile, he said, “So you wanna see the place before it goes ka-boom, huh?”
Sam laughed. “Well, no. We need to beat the traffic. We'll be coming in from the east, which will be a help, but it's going to be a slow drive. Let's get dressed and get this bed put away. Mom will fix you guys a bowl of cereal and some toast, and then we'll be on our way.”
It turned out to be a wise decision to hit the road by six, as driving through the expansive state of Wyoming took up the majority of the day, with their progress slowed by the towering Rockies once they left the Interstate a bit past Sheridan. He took the scenic highway, which snaked through the spectacular Bighorn range, with everybody in the family oohing and aahing at the sights along the way. They stopped for a lovely picnic lunch Irene had thoughtfully prepared, next to a roaring river which delighted Jimmy and Eliza both. Eliza's asthma seemed to be in remission, and she had no problem being physically active as she played at the river with her big brother, which made him feel better about reserving a campsite at eight thousand feet of elevation at Yellowstone.
Sam took in a deep breath amid helping Irene with the clean-up of the picnic lunch. Sure, Yellowstone was getting a bit restless, with more hydrothermal eruptions and a rash of moderate earthquakes in the past thirty-six hours or so. But as long as the place was open, he refused to turn back. While Mt Rushmore had been enjoyable, he knew the kids would be more than a bit disappointed if they couldn't see Yellowstone, considering it was the main focus of this vacation.
Furthermore, he had called the campground at Yellowstone the evening before, just to confirm things, and the woman on the phone seemed upbeat and laid-back about the goings-on in the vast park. She insisted there had been nothing more than a few “very gentle” earthquakes in the vicinity of the campground, and the new eruptions were all happening in a remote area of the park away from the main tourist areas. If Sam couldn't trust a campground employee on-location at Yellowstone, he very well couldn't trust his brother sitting fifteen hundred miles away planted in front of a computer screen.