But he didn’t send it.
Not just yet.
There was something missing.
Something blatantly obvious. So obvious he almost felt a sense of shame.
Stacy Snyder had been his intern for two years. She was bright, driven, and helpful beyond belief. She covered for him when he overextended himself, caught his mistakes and corrected them before he embarrassed himself, and was his sounding board whenever he wasn’t sure about something.
To leave her off the list would be a slap in her face and she deserved better than that.
He added her to the mailing list and read it one last time.
Then he hit send.
And started having second thoughts.
What he’d just done had the potential to save a lot of lives. If he was successful in spurring the government from stopping their current course of action, and instead developing an evacuation and relocation plan, the populations of great cities and small towns alike might get out in time.
Granted, many people would refuse to go. Conservative media could brand the warning as a great hoax, and many people would blindly accept that as fact. But most wouldn’t. Most would consider moving in with Aunt Betty in Charlotte or Uncle Charles in Buffalo a better option than choking to death beneath a thick blanket of volcanic ash.
So there was that.
But the e-mail was in all likelihood a career-ender as well.
Oh, the words he’d chosen in the text were one hundred percent accurate. He was sure of that. He’d checked his work several times, hoping desperately to find a flaw and being unable to.
So no one could fault him for spreading false information, for crying wolf when no wolf existed.
No, it was the political element of the whole thing that would bring about his downfall.
His announcement, once it got out, would bring the eyes of the world upon the University of Missouri-Springfield.
From all over the planet, reporters would fly to the tiny campus to thrust microphones into the faces of the chancellor, the dean, the board of regents, every faculty member and every custodian on campus. Basically they’d stalk anyone and everyone who would talk to them.
Wayne had seen the way pushy reporters can turn an organized press conference into a scene of chaos by asking the same questions a dozen times. When an answer doesn’t suit them they start yelling. Then they start shoving. It gets so bad they shout down the people they’re supposed to be covering. Then, failing to get the story they were hoping for, they end up interviewing one another. One reporter in front of the microphone, another reporter behind it as they pick apart and try to analyze every word that was said.
It was sickening to Wayne, what so-called “journalism” had devolved into over the past couple of generations.
He liked the chancellor. He liked most of the regents. He’d worked well with them in the past. He still golfed and socialized with several of them.
That would all change now, he knew.
His instinct told him that none of them would enjoy the worldwide attention getting ready to rain down upon them. It would be too much for them, he knew, and they’d wind up cursing the man who hit the switch that caused it all.
Wayne was tenured, and had been for several years.
They couldn’t fire him.
But they’d damn sure force him into retirement.
By getting him off the campus they could deflect the press and the unwanted attention.
They’d issue a simple press release. One of far fewer words than Wayne had used in his email.
It would say something like, “Professor Hamlin is no longer employed by this institution. Please refer all questions regarding this matter to him personally.
Wayne’s address wasn’t listed in the local telephone directory. But one of the reporters would find it. It’s what they do. And then his house, his whole neighborhood, would be inundated.
Old Mrs. Greeley, who lived down the block, had never liked Wayne much. She’d relish in the opportunity to tell the world how Wayne would sometimes mow his lawn in a raggedy old t-shirt and faded blue jeans, and how his actions brought down property values on the block. And how his dog sometimes got out and pooped in her yard. And how therefore the Hamlin family was a menace to society and should be forced to move someplace unfit for human habitation, like Cleveland.
Mike Turnbow, his neighbor three doors down, would bitch to the cameras about how Wayne once borrowed his lawnmower and brought it back out of gas.
That punk kid Stu, who for all Wayne knew didn’t even have a last name, would raise his hand and say, “I have something bad to say about Mr. Hamlin.”
All the cameras would immediately turn to him, and he’d whine about Wayne complaining about the noise every time Stu threw a loud party which lasted until three in the morning.
“This is America!” Stu would yell. “I should be able to throw a party if I want to, and it’s not his business how long it lasts.”
Just thinking about how his life would change was too much for Wayne.
He started to feel queasy. The pain in his left shoulder returned with a vengeance, now radiating all the way down to his fingers.
He stood up to get another aspirin and found it incredibly difficult to walk.
He suddenly felt a crushing pain in his chest. As though a full-grown elephant was suddenly sitting on his sternum.
He sensed an aspirin wasn’t going to fix this, not this time.
And he panicked.
This wasn’t the way he wanted to die. Not alone, in a lonely hotel room a thousand miles from home.
He stumbled out of his room and into a deserted hallway. There was no one there to help him.
But the door closed behind him. He couldn’t go back to call 911.
Two doors down and across the hall were the elevators.
If he could make it to the lobby, there’d be help there.
The elevator car seemed to take forever, although it was just two floors away when he pushed the button.
Finally, the elevator door opened and he poured himself inside.
He reached up to push the “L” button but wasn’t sure whether he’d pushed it or not.
For his mind chose that exact moment to shut down. Everything went black and he hit the elevator floor with a thud.
Still dressed in the boxer shorts and white t-shirt which had alarmed the maid hours before.
Chapter 44
Stacy Snyder had liked Professor Hamlin from the beginning. She was new to geology, having taken the class as a lark. Like many college freshmen she’d been unsure which major she wanted to pursue.
She was fascinated by all things related to the earth and its sciences, but wasn’t sure which field she wanted to get into. So she, like many others in the same position, decided to delay that decision as long as possible.
She took a handful of prerequisite courses that would be required regardless of her major.
Geology 101 was one of them.
Professor Hamlin was patient and kind and didn’t seem to mind her endless questions. He asked her early on, during a routine feedback session, about her major and she said she didn’t know.
“Many of your peers are going into Environmental Science,” he said. “Or Renewable Energy Sciences. They’re gung-ho and seem to want to solve the global warming and clean energy problems all by themselves.”
“Is that what you’d recommend, professor?”
“Probably. At least if you want to make a living in your chosen field. That’s where the money will be in science for at least your generation and probably well beyond. Most other earth science degrees will require you take a second job these days, I’m afraid.”
He reminded her of her own father, Professor Hamlin did. He seemed to have her own well being at heart.
They bonded almost immediately. And while there was never anything untoward or unseemly about their friendship, they truly enjoyed the infrequent conversations they had.
A
couple of months after they met the university finally granted his request for a student intern.
Stacy was first in line to interview for the position. And she was, of course, the only one he interviewed.
Since that day they’d become more than professor and student intern. They became good friends and trusted colleagues.
Of course she needed to know what was going on. She’d be adversely affected by his forced retirement.
He’d apologize to her. Try to explain to her it was the only way.
He hoped she’d forgive him.
When Wayne hit the “enter” key to transmit that email, Stacy was at home in her off-campus apartment.
It was her one day off. The one day off during the week when she had no classes or study groups. One of two days off from her part-time job waiting tables at a local restaurant.
The one and only day each week she had all to herself. When she could go wherever she wanted, or nowhere at all. When she could hit the gym to work off the fast food she usually lived off of. Or when she could order a pizza and veg on the couch all day.
She typically didn’t answer the phone on these days, unless she recognized her parents’ unique ring tone.
At the precise moment Wayne Hamlin collapsed on the elevator floor, Stacy was relaxing in a hot bubble bath and listening to her favorite tunes, blasting into the bathroom from an adjacent room.
She didn’t have a care in the world. Not one.
Later she walked up to a local bar called “The Library.”
The name typically caused confusion among newcomers and tourists, until they put two and two together.
It was contrived as a convenient excuse for its patrons. It allowed a man (or woman, for this was after all the new millennium) to tell his or her spouse, “I’m leaving work early. I’m going to stop at the library on the way home.”
It was a reach. A far too obvious attempt at being cute.
But in a college town where bars outnumbered churches or banks or supermarkets, a bar needed a gimmick of some type to set it apart from the others.
Stacy had been stalking a bartender named John who worked weeknights at The Library.
At least that was the claim her friends made.
Stacy thought the term “stalking” was too harsh herself, but she couldn’t deny she was immensely interested in the man.
So interested she stopped by for a glass of wine or two every chance she could. But only when John was working, and she refused to sit anywhere but the bar.
On this particular night John was working from eight p.m. until the bar closed at two in the morning.
Stacy dragged two of her friends with her and they warmed three bar stools for a considerable length of time.
Her friends finally peeled off, deciding they placed more value in two varsity soccer players who offered to escort them home.
Stacy stayed for another round.
“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” John suggested to her. “It’s past midnight and I know for a fact you have classes tomorrow.”
She countered, “Oh yeah? And jush how do youuu know I haves clashes tomor… tomor… tomorrows?”
“Because you told me, just about five minutes ago.
“Twice.”
“Oh yeah? Well, if you’re so shmart, hows come you’ve never ashed me out on a date? Huh?”
“If I ask you out on a date will you go home and get some sleep?”
“Oh, boy, will I!”
“When’s your next night off?”
“Tooshday.”
“Can you write down your address without screwing it up?”
“Sure I can, you jus’ wash me. But ya gotta gives me something to writes wiff.”
He handed her a scratch pad and a pen.
She stuck her tongue out of one side of her mouth and tried as best she could to write legibly.
He looked at her effort and scratched his head while trying to interpret it.
“Hey, this is right around the corner.”
“Of coursh it is, shilly. I can’t lives more than a blocks away from you.”
John turned to the other bartender and said, “Hey Jude, cover for me, will you? I’m going to walk this girl home. I’ll be back in ten minutes tops.”
Stacy started giggling uncontrollably.
John asked, “Now what are you laughing about?”
“You, you shilly man. You shed my favorites Beatles shong. You shed ‘Hey Jude.’”
He shook his head and helped her to her feet.
Chapter 45
When Stacy’s alarm clock went off the next morning she cursed like a drunken sailor.
She’d have thrown it across the room, but she rolled off the bed trying to reach it.
She didn’t even bother trying to climb back into bed. Instead she dozed off where she was, face down on the floor, a dirty sock just inches from her nose.
It was the sock which woke her up a second time.
That and the alarm clock, which continued to blare an annoying tone.
Her first class wasn’t until eleven a.m. today.
By all rights she should have been able to sleep in.
But she’d promised Dr. Hamlin she’d drop by his office each morning while he was gone, to sort his mail and to water his plants.
And she wasn’t just his intern. She was a trusted friend.
She stumbled to her feet and went immediately to the kitchen cupboard to retrieve some ibuprofen.
Did she really tell John she loved him when he walked her home? Was he really dropping by Tuesday night to pick her up and take her to a movie?
How could she possibly face him after making such a fool of herself and giving him the impression she was a lush?”
She made her way to the shower, turned it on as cold as she could stand it, and shoved her head into the torrent.
This wasn’t her. She was more responsible than this. She was better than this.
At least that’s what she kept telling herself as she showered, then guzzled two cups of coffee.
As she dressed she faced the reality of the situation. Yes, she’d made a fool of herself. Yes, she’d shown John she was easy and willing to date him.
Had she really told him unashamedly she wanted to bear his children?
She shook it off and put on her makeup.
By the time she walked down the steps in front of her apartment she’d come to terms with her own bad behavior.
She rationalized: “Well, at least he knows I like him now.”
As though it wasn’t already painfully obvious.
She drove to the campus and parked in Dr. Hamlin’s reserved parking spot.
She didn’t expect anyone to challenge her, and he certainly wouldn’t since he wasn’t scheduled to come back until the following day.
Truth was he wouldn’t have minded anyway, even if he came back early and had to park somewhere else. For he thought the world of Stacy.
She knew something was different as she walked up the sidewalk to the Earth Sciences Center.
Several people turned to look at her. A couple whispered to their companions.
As she walked down the faculty offices corridor, she could hear a telephone ringing. It could be coming from any of the offices, so she made no effort to run and catch it.
Halfway down the corridor it stopped ringing for a few seconds, then started anew.
Hamlin’s office was the very last one on the right.
As she got closer and closer to it, it became more and more apparent it was his phone which was ringing.
Amanda Haslett, who had the office directly across from Wayne’s, accosted Stacy in the hall.
“Thank God you’re here! Did the professor give you a key to his office before he left?”
“Why, yes ma’am. Why?”
“Please, for God’s sake, would you take that phone off the hook? It’s been ringing non-stop all morning.”
It was then Stacy noticed the door to Hamlin’s office. It was c
overed with sticky notes of all colors and sizes.
But it was the full-sized white piece of paper taped in the center of the door which caught her eye.
The one which read, in bold black sharpie:
DR. HAMLIN
CALL CHANCELLOR BENNETT
IMMEDIATELY.
“What in the world is going on?” she pondered aloud.
As she opened the door and stepped inside Ms. Haslett answered, “When you find out, dear, please let us know.”
Inside the office Stacy took the phone off its cradle and placed it on his desk.
Suspecting it would start beeping loudly after a few seconds, she then unplugged the unit from the wall.
At least that problem was solved.
She pulled out her cell phone and tried to call Hamlin.
His own cell phone went unanswered, and she couldn’t leave a message.
His mailbox was full.
So she couldn’t hear directly from the horse’s mouth what in the world was going on.
That added to her frustration.
On the floor just inside the door were several letters, mostly in business-sized envelopes, which had been dropped through the mail slot since she was last in the previous day.
She separated the routine stuff from anything that looked important, and put them on two stacks on his desk.
None of them gave any indication of anything unusual.
Next she went back to the door and started removing the stickies. She’d place them on his desk, in some semblance of order.
As she was doing so, two men she’d never seen before rushed past her into the office.
“Um… excuse me?”
“We’re from the Tribune, here to see Mr. Hamlin.”
Chapter 46
There was something about the men which rubbed Stacy the wrong way.
They were rude and pushy. And one of them smelled badly.
“Dr. Hamlin is out of town. Would you like to make an appointment for when he returns?”
The men looked at one another, obviously disappointed.
“When is he expected back?”
“He should be back at work on Monday.”
“Oh, that won’t do. That won’t do at all. What’s his cell number?”
The Yellowstone Event (Book 2): A National Disgrace Page 15