Faulted

by Jacqueline Druga

  “He saw us, right? He saw us?” Carter asked.

  “He saw us. He’ll find us,” Guy said. “We’ll be together soon.”

  Ruben turned around in his seat. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Yeah,” Guy said. “Me, too.”

  With a ‘whew’ and an exhale, Guy relaxed. All his fears had been relieved. The destruction seemed to end and his son was alive and well.

  Everything was going to be fine.

  Like excited school girls at a concert, CJ and Mindy embraced, jumping up and down, excitedly exclaiming, “They’re alive. They’re alive.”

  “Oh, CJ,” Mindy gushed. “This is great. “

  “I know. If that bus wouldn’t have almost hit me, I wouldn’t have seen them.”

  “But they’re going to San Bernardino? That’s over fifty miles away. That’s further than higher ground. Why do you think they’re going there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. They’re alright. We know where they are. Let’s go.” With enthusiasm and renewed vigor, holding Mindy’s hand he moved, rushing toward the area of town with the slew of car dealerships.

  One way or another he would find a vehicle.

  He had a destination and his family.

  CJ felt good, optimistic. He would be with his father and son soon.

  The worst he believed was over with.

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

  When he arrived at Cheyenne Mountain the day before, injured and confused, Parker saw the effect of the rushed effort to preserve not only what they could of the government, but ensure the survival of those who could help with some sort of law and order when it all fell apart and it was well on its way.

  Military trucks carrying soldiers and supplies formed a long convoy on the road to the mountain.

  When the last of the trucks had finally arrived, the gates were closed and sealed, despite the reports of the growing number of civilians that had made a pilgrimage to the mountain in hopes of salvation and safety. Civilians who watched their homes crumble.

  Now he sat, slightly rested, several sutures in his head, trying to take it all in.

  Gary Boothe, an astrophysicist and geologist from NASA, had the floor, complete with images that were projected on the large screen behind him. It was split screen, divided in four. The top two images were taken in space of the asteroids and the bottom images were earth, each marked and color coded. Blue were the areas affected by water and flooding. Red was impact sites, orange were areas affected by seismic activity, and there were purple circles that hadn’t been explained.

  Parker rubbed his chin hard, the whiskers from his five o’clock shadow were abrasive on his hand. His eyes shifted from the images on the wall to the monitors that showed the people gathering outside.

  “The Atlantic wave started in New York,” Gary explained, “Making its way down the entire eastern seaboard. It washed in a hundred and twelve miles. Everything on the coast within thirty miles is gone.”

  “So we lost New York, Washington…” Parker started the list.

  Gary nodded. ‘Philly, Florida.”

  “Florida is a state.”

  “It’s under about ten feet of water right now. It will recede … eventually.” Gary cleared his throat. “The three meteorites that impacted the Atlantic, landed so close to shore, there wasn’t time to issue an evacuation. We are making that attempt now in the west.”

  Charles leaned into Parker. “We have choppers warning. National Guard has been deployed and right now are trying to move as many people as we can.”

  “Can we?” Parker asked.

  “As many as we can. They have about two hours to get to higher ground. It’s not looking good.”

  “I’m looking at this …” Parker stood and pointed to the map. “Is this the seismic activity that’s from the impact sites?”

  “More or less,” Gary replied. “While these are categorized as meteorites, I’d say they are borderline asteroids. When they hit, the immediate area is flattened, gone. The impact causes a fireball and the blast winds can travel close to five hundred miles, the closer you are, the more damage. Earthquakes of seven, eight, even nine on the Richter scale can travel hundreds of miles around the epicenter. However, this is just the tip of the iceberg. These hits have triggered a chain reaction that is getting out of control.”

  “Explain chain reaction.”

  “We aren’t just having earthquakes from the impact. Here …” he pointed to the coast of California, then to the Midwest around Kentucky. “Here.” And his hand moved north toward the Pennsylvania area. “And here, for example it’s genuine seismic activity. The quakes in these regions are expanding outward, they will continue for a while.”

  “How?” Parker asked. “I mean, I’m confused. The earthquakes are residual from the impact, right?”

  “Yes and no,” Gary said. “Think about legs. Old legs. Perhaps your grandmother’s legs. All veiny and lined.”

  “Oh, Dear God,” Parker said.

  “That’s the United States.”

  “I am to liken the US to my grandmother’s varicose veins?”

  Gary nodded. “Only those veins are fault lines. There are hundreds of fault lines in the US, but there are five major areas. And they are where I just pointed. If Grandma had a big varicose vein in her knee and was hit by a baseball right on that vein or close, that vein could burst, or start bleeding beneath the skin. The blood would spread out, causing pain in a wider area. The vein could even rupture, and there’s nothing that can be done until the vein heals … or ruptures then the after effects kill her.”

  Charles raised his hand slightly. “So the fault lines, like say, Andreas or Cascadia are Grandma’s veins and the meteor is the baseball they were hit with.”

  “A line drive.”

  Parker shook his head. “I liked the darts and globes analogy better.”

  “The veins were a good analogy.” Charles sat back. “So they are all active now?”

  “Every one of them,” Gary answered. “And there is nothing we can do but wait it out. Then … then we can see where we stand and what you need to do to initiate the best chance of long term survival for as many as you can.”

  “How long?” Parker asked. “Days, weeks?”

  Gary shrugged. “I’d be guessing. Major quakes, the next couple of days, each of them diminishing in intensity.”

  “Right now we’re in the second wave of meteorites,” Parker said. “Once they hit, and there isn’t that many, we can start to assess.”

  “Um ... No.” Gary shook his head. “The meteorites are problem number one, massive Fault line activity… problem two.”

  “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like problem three?”

  Gary pointed to the map. “See these areas of purple?” he indicted to the various shades in circles, ranging from deep to light.

  “I was wondering what they were,” Parker said.

  “These two dark spots represent Long Valley Caldera and Yellowstone. I haven’t even touched Mount St. Helens or Rainer.”

  Parker blinked long. “They’re all going to blow.”

  “They are. I mean we could be wrong, but I doubt it. I’m saying days at most, maybe even hours. With this much seismic activity, they’re already letting off steam.”

  Parker sighed out. “The ruptured vein.” He walked closer to the map. “California is purple, the entire area is purple. What about those being evacuated? They’re going to higher ground, but they aren’t out of danger, are they?”

  Gary shook his head. ‘No. Not for a while. They’ll have to keep going east. Southeast at first then make their way north, somewhere after Texas. They can survive the eruption in California, but the after-effects of the volcano will decrease survivability. And realistically, you aren’t going to be able to move all those people. If the eruption does happen, the ash alone will inhibit any travel. It’ll choke out all engines.”

  “This isn’t good.”

  “No, it’s
bad.”

  Charles asked. “Is there anything we can do in the meantime?”

  “If the Midwest region of Ohio, Michigan and parts of Canada make it through this next series of impacts, you can focus there.”

  “What about us?” Parker asked. “We’re close to Yellowstone.”

  “We are,” Gary replied. “Fortunately, we are not in the kill zone. Unfortunately, between Long Valley and Yellowstone, like a bad case of food poisoning, we’re gonna get hit at both ends.”

  Parker cringed. “Can you stop with the analogies?” he turned and when he did he looked at the monitor showing the people gathering outside. “What about them? What happens with them when the eruption occurs?”

  “They’ll have to move on or they’ll die.”

  “How many are out there?” he asked Charles.

  “Several hundred,” Charles answered. “Why?”

  “Let them in,” Parker said.

  “Excuse me? We are already going to be strained on supplies as it is.”

  “Then we’ll strain more. Send our units out to salvage as much as they can from anywhere they can. But I will not have those people die out there. They’re hurt, scared and need help. Open the gate,” Parker said. “Let them in.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Los Angeles, California

  Her name was Stacy, but her name no longer was important. The young mother would be one of millions whose hopes, dreams, life and body would be washed away in a second.

  When the first quake hit, she raced from her apartment, nine month old baby daughter in one arm and a toddler son on her hip. She made it out safe and sound, fleeing from flying debris. Still clad in pajamas, raced out into the street, dodging items which rained down on her from above.

  She didn’t know where to run or what to do.

  The ground shook while she was making lunch. At first she did what she was supposed to do, stood under a sturdy doorframe. But the more the floor shook, the more Stacy thought, ‘this isn’t going to work’. Once outside, Stacy viewed her safety options amidst the shaking ground.

  The parking lot was her best choice and she fought to keep her balance, as she hustled, barefoot to an empty area of the parking.

  When the second big quake came, she watched everything just fall down around her. Then shortly after things settled, the biggest of them all arrived, ensuring that nothing was standing in her area.

  She was scared. Her husband had not returned home from the night shift at the airport. She feared he’d never get home. Her first priority, and what he would want, was to take care of the kids.

  Neighbors huddled together, making tents. Gathering blankets from cars and rubble. Using them and drapery to create tents over spaced between remaining cars. Placing the fabric in the car door to hold it up.

  They lit fires, stayed warm, shared food and helped each other with any medical needs. Those still standing searched though the ruins for survivors who could still be alive.

  Then the final and fateful one hit.

  Stacy believed she had been blessed. Angels watched over her making sure she was in the right place at the right time.

  Everything erupted around her.

  Just before the ground lifted a wave of pressure and wind blasted by her and she was shielded. The car in front of her lifted and flipped over the heads of her and the children.

  After that, the sky was roaring red in the distance, there was nothing left around them and she and the others began walking to the pilgrimage east.

  That was two in the morning.

  They walked all night until morning, listening to the overhead announcements to evacuate and get to higher ground.

  At an excruciating slow pace they made their way toward downtown Los Angles. Twelve miles. Strangers helped her carry the baby when her back ached and a woman found her shoes to wear just at the point Stacy’s feet started to bleed.

  She trudged on, it was the only way.

  Three miles from downtown, a military tuck stopped to pick up her, the kids and two others from their walking group. Those who looked vulnerable and weak.

  It felt good to stop, to rest, even if it was only a few minutes.

  Stacy was proud of her children. With all they had been through, they were remarkably quiet and rarely cried.

  They had survived everything thrown at them, there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t survive the impending wave.

  Stacy began to doubt that the second they arrived in Los Angeles.

  There were more people than she expected, all crammed together around the convention center, waiting to get a seat on one of the few buses there.

  More vehicles arrived, people with regular trucks, offering to take a few. Had Stacy not gotten out of that truck, she probably would have gotten a ride. A part of her believed there would be a seat for everyone. She had no idea the vehicle was pushing forward. She thought it was going back for more people.

  But as the vehicles moved out, the crowd grew agitated, and it became hostile.

  They fought and banged on buses and any means of transportation that passed them by. The hordes of desperate people pushed and shoved forcing Stacy to back up for the safety of her kids.

  That only pushed her further behind.

  Cars came from nowhere with no regard to how they drove. They plowed through the crowds, hitting innocent bystanders even as they kept on going.

  People fought for a seat on the bus or a place to stand in the aisle.

  Finally, Stacy was close. She was three people from getting on the bus and suddenly they stopped taking more.

  “We’re full. We don’t even have room to stand.”

  “Please,” Stacy begged. “Please take my children. Please.”

  The driver got on the bus and closed the doors.

  Stacy shouted and pleaded to those who stared out the window. Begging for someone to reach out and take her baby.

  No one did.

  Then the last of the busses and trucks rolled out. Stacy stood there. Her baby in her arms as she held her son close to her hip.

  When fifteen or so minutes went by and no more vehicles arrived Stacy knew her chance to catch a ride was over.

  Hundreds of people were stranded.

  The intensity level increased when people started shouting that the wave was coming. How they knew, Stacy hadn’t a clue.

  It all went absolutely insane.

  Within minutes of that rumor, dozens of helicopters flew overhead, all going east as emergency sirens blasted in the air.

  As if things weren’t chaotic enough, that send people into a tailspin,

  They all began to run.

  When the crowd around her thinned out and dispersed, that was when she heard it.

  The faint roar of water in the distance.

  “Oh my God.”

  Higher ground. Higher ground.

  She looked around.

  A building.

  It was a block down the street and had to be ten stories high. That had to be high enough. They were a good distance from the shore, how high could that wave possibly be?

  Others ran toward that building, as it was the closest, and Stacy joined them.

  It was amazing to her how much fear, worry and adrenaline fueled the body when it needed it.

  Clutching both her children, she raced to the building, following others inside. It was dark and without power. She trailed behind those who ran to the stairwell.

  She wasn’t fast.

  Physically there was no way she was anywhere near as fast as others. They ran by her. Shoving into her, but Stacy kept going.

  Heart pounding in her chest, so much she felt it in her ears, her breath was literally gone as she made it to the top and saw the light of day as it peeked through the door to the roof.

  She did it. She had made it. She was there and safe.

  With the last bit of her energy, her toddler son dangling in her embrace, Stacy burst through the open door.

  It was loud.

&nbs
p; Not the dozens of people on the roof, but the ocean. She could hear how threatening it sounded.

  Where? Where was it?

  Finally she saw the direction everyone faced.

  She joined the group, looking outward. At first it was hard to see, the color blended into the skyline, then she saw it moving. It moved with a vengeance, full of debris, sweeping up and gathering everything in its path.

  “We’ll be okay,” someone said. “It doesn’t look that high.”

  “It’s not high,” another said with enthusiasm. “We made it.”

  But it was only their perception, not reality.

  The wave was that high and the closer it drew the more Stacy saw the destruction it caused, crashing through overpasses causing them to crumble. It wasn’t the water as much as it was the cars and debris it brought with it.

  Stacy had one choice.

  She couldn’t run or hide.

  All that she had gone through wasn’t building to her survival, it was building to her end. It wasn’t fair, but what could she do.

  She clutched her children tightly, told them how much she loved them, and whispered a prayer that they wouldn’t be frightened or feel any pain.

  Her eyes stayed focused on the water and only closed them when it arrived.

  There was an eruption of screams and then it slammed through.

  The moment it collided with her, Stacy was lifted and moved backward. Her legs kicked and she struggled against the watery aggressor. It hit her so hard, her skin burned with the sting and pain as the bones in her body break. The pain of the impact was excruciating, but not as much as the heartache when she realized her hands were empty.

  She had lost her children, they were ripped from her arms with the fury of the raging ocean.

  Once she knew they were gone she closed her eyes again, extended out her arms, allowing the water to move her, she accepted her fate.

  NINETEEN

  Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

  Wearing jeans, a t-shirt and baseball cap was like a disguise for Parker. No one seemed to recognize him as he moved about the refugees that were setting up camp in the hallways until everything was organized. He worked alongside the workers, trying to register everyone and seeing what they needed. Passing out, food, water and blankets.