“What’s wrong, Paul? Don’t let that man get you all depressed about this.” Maeve could see that something was clearly bothering him. He was biting at his lower lip as he considered the situation, very agitated. The weather outside rattled the windows, and they caught the sound of voices carried on the wind and rain. The voices seemed to be in Paul’s head as well, a tempest of doubt and uncertainty. Kelly was supposed to bring in the last crucial numbers for their launch, and he was late. Could the annihilating effects of Paradox already be at work?
“I don’t think we’re going to the play tomorrow,” the words just slipped out, and Paul seemed to slump a bit in his chair, clearly upset. They would have to think this through a bit more. They had to be certain nothing would go wrong. Before he could say anything more, however, there was a noise on the stair well outside the study door. Someone was running up the steps with almost frantic footfalls marking his progress. They all turned to look at the door.
“Well, it’s about time Kelly showed up,” Nordhausen put in. The door handle rattled and then the door flew open. Kelly was standing in the entrance, wet, bedraggled and clearly out of breath. His laptop computer was encased in its satchel under his right arm. The gray hood of his rain coat was thrown back and his short brown hair was thoroughly soaked. There was a cut on his forehead, and his normally amiable features were drawn with concern.
“Good Lord,” he panted, “I made it. Never thought I’d get here alive!”
“Kelly, what’s happened?” Maeve had noticed the gash in Kelly’s forehead, and the dribble of blood down one side of his cheek. Nordhausen snapped his pocket watch shut.
“Well I suppose you brought your numbers, yes?” The professor was oblivious to Kelly’s state. “Close the damn door, man!” He turned to look at Kelly when he felt the cold draft, and his eyes widened with surprise.
“Haven’t you heard?” Kelly was still panting.
“What do you mean?” Dorland was up from his chair. Maeve was rushing to get a wet towel from the coffee station.
“You haven’t heard?” Kelly staggered in and reached for the back of a chair. “Well,” he said, swallowing hard. “We aren’t going to see the play tomorrow, that’s for damn sure.”
Everyone just looked at him.
2
The Nordhausen Study: Berkeley, California - 9:45 PM
There was a brief moment of paralysis and then the room animated again as Dorland spoke. “What haven’t we heard? Was there a fire at Sidney Hall?”
“Fire?” Kelly had a confused look on his face. Maeve rushed to his side with a towel soaked in hot water. She waved at Paul to help get Kelly’s raincoat off, but Dorland’s mind immediately shifted back to the project when he caught sight of Kelly’s laptop computer.
“Did you manage to finish your comp cycle?” He was already easing the satchel strap off of Kelly’s shoulder.
“Put that down,” said Maeve. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”
Paul noticed the cut on Kelly’s forehead for the first time, and winced. Kelly Ramer was one of his oldest and dearest friends. The two men had met in high school and had grown up together, sharing the rich mythology of their adolescence together, a history that often re-emerged in secret shared phrases that carried a wealth of meaning between them, but sounded like childish nonsense to anyone who had not lived out the experience they referred to.
They clowned together, and made silly tapes that they stored away over the years in the ‘Eternal Tape Archives,’ a record of priceless moments they had lived together. They shared the same music and appreciation for literature, and an almost mystical fascination for computers that had become so prevalent in the culture these days. It was Paul who had first caught the computer bug, and he quickly persuaded his friend to acquire one of the very first ‘personal computers’ that could be bought in the mid 1980s, a Commodore 64. From there they both graduated to an Amiga 1000 and then jumped on the first 286 series computers that began to circulate as ‘IBM clones’ when the PC age began to gather steam. Kelly went on to specialize in computer networks and the arcane science of Information Technology. They were in their early twenties then, and now, over 25 years later, Kelly was ready to celebrate his 48th birthday, though no one would guess he was that age to look at him. While he carried a little extra weight through the mid-section, he had a full head of dark brown hair, and a sharp, animated intelligence that found him interested in virtually everything. He gave his friend a look of wild eyed surprise, and Paul stopped what he was doing, immediately sensing that there was something very wrong.
“Good Lord,” said Kelly. “You mean you three have been in here locked away in a meeting all this time?”
“Yes,” said Nordhausen from across the room, “and where have you been all this time?”
Kelly slumped into a chair and Maeve was already dabbing at the cut on his forehead. “How in the world did you do this?” her eyes wrinkled with concern.
“It’s chaotic out there,” Kelly burst out.
“Well, I’ve heard of unruly crowds at concerts,” said Maeve, “but for Verdi?”
“Verdi?” Kelly gave them all a disoriented look. “Hell, the whole city is in an uproar! People are running around like madmen out there.”
“What in blazes are you talking about?” said Nordhausen. “It’s just a little rainstorm. People in California get positively silly with a little rain. They don’t know how to drive and they—”
“OK, Time out!” Kelly raised his voice, making the telltale sign of a ‘T’ with his hands as he spoke. “Turn on CNN. You’re not going to believe this.”
“I don’t keep a television in the study,” said Nordhausen. “I barely tolerate my set at home.”
“Then turn on a radio or something, there’s been one hell of an eruption in the Atlantic and the whole east coast is in a panic.”
“Eruption?” Dorland was immediately interested. “Where?”
“The Canary Islands, off West Africa.” Kelly took a deep breath. “Palma,” he continued. “The whole western flank of Cumbre Vieja has collapsed. There was a massive landslide.”
Paul had often talked about the prospect of such a collapse ever since he had first stumbled on the research of Dr. Simon Day around the turn of the millennium. Day, and his colleagues at the Hazard Research Center of University College in London, had been warning about a build-up of groundwater in vertical columns that seemed to be destabilizing the flank of the Cumbre Vieja Volcano on the Island of Palma. The research indicated that it could be some time, many hundreds of years, in fact, before an eruption capable of collapsing the flank would occur. Paul hesitated when he first heard the news, but he immediately began digging for all the information Kelly had. “When did it happen?”
“About three hours ago, from what I could pull in on the car radio. I had just finished my comp cycle and I was rushing to get over here. The traffic is crazy! People are all over the streets and BART stations are jammed. Hell, some idiot walked right in front of my car and just stood there. I leaned on the horn but old guy refused to budge. Then, he just looked at his watch and walked away. In any case, I got curious as to what all the commotion was about and turned on the car radio. Every channel had the same story!”
“Tsunami!” Dorland had already surmised the implications.
“Mega tsunami,” Kelly corrected him. “Remember that book by Bill McGuire we picked up at Borders a few years back?”
“You mean the book on natural catastrophes?”
“It’s happened! The coast of North Africa got slammed an hour ago. A 200 foot wave hit Western Sahara about an hour after the eruption.”
“Thank God that’s a sparsely populated coast,” said Maeve.
“Yes, but Casablanca got hit further north in Morocco and was all but inundated. The water wasn’t as high there. Some reports have it at under hundred feet, but that was on the back side of the event. The main force of the water dome will be directed west across the Atlantic and—”
“The east coast,” said Dorland. He ran over to the bookcase scanning about desperately. “Where’s your atlas, Robert?”
“Bottom shelf; to the right.” Nordhausen was up off his chair to assist. In a moment they had a thick volume of the Rand McNally World Atlas over on the study table and Paul was frantically flipping through the pages for a map of the Atlantic. “I’ll get my shortwave.” Nordhausen ran off and flung open a closet near the entrance. Maeve was still trying to dab the last traces of blood from Kelly’s cheek.
“Did you fall or something?” she asked, clearly as concerned for Kelly’s well-being as anything else. She had come to know him quite well since she joined the project three years ago, and they often worked together running calculations for Maeve’s Outcome studies. She was quite fond of Kelly, though a bit awkward with that emotion and too quick to hide it with the routine of their work.
“Like I said, it’s crazy out there. People are running around like idiots. I jumped on 280 to take it up to the Bay Bridge two hours ago and it was jammed.” Kelly was waving his arms about as he spoke. “It took me an hour to get over the bridge, and when I got up here it was almost nine PM. I tried to call, but couldn’t find my cell phone. Probably left it at the University. I got off at my normal exit and made for the pay phone near a Seven-Eleven. When I got out to make the call, some idiot came around the corner and damn near ran me down. I jumped back and slipped. Hit my head on a god-damned street sign! The guy never even stopped. People are running around like madmen out there. I was so pissed off that I just went back to the car and hurried over here.”
“We need to try and get more time on the Berkeley computers,” said Maeve. “It’s too hard going into the City, especially the night before the project launch. I told you we should have set the meeting later, Paul.” Maeve had a distracted, almost pained expression on her face, and she was still fussing with the towel, maneuvering to press a clean surface to the cut on Kelly’s forehead.
“I’ll be fine,” Kelly tried to smile.
“When was the eruption?” Dorland had found his map and was squinting over the page, his finger pressed on the blue surface of the Atlantic off the coast of West Africa. “Did you say three hours ago?”
“Quiet down people,” Nordhausen chimed in. “I can’t hear this thing.” He was fiddling with the dial of his combination AM/FM and shortwave radio, angling the antenna to try and improve the reception. A peal of thunder intruded and the sound of voices seemed to increase outside the study window.
“Three hours…” Dorland pursed his lips as he thought. “Did you say the wave that hit Western Sahara was over 200 feet?”
“Two hundred fucking feet!” Kelly still had the same look of amazement on his face. “Can you believe that? I heard this an hour ago and I still can’t get my mind around it.”
“Well if it was that high on the back end of the eruption I can only imagine what the water dome was like when the flank of the volcano went into the ocean. Are you sure it was the western flank of Cumbre Vieja?”
“That’s what they said on the news. Hell, Robert, why don’t you have a television in here?”
Nordhausen frowned at him, his ear pressed against the speaker of the shortwave radio as he turned the dial with his other hand.
“Let’s see,” said Dorland. The speed of the landslide had to be between 100 and 200 meters per second.” He was calculating something in his mind, brown eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he considered. “That’s going to push some mean water out into the Atlantic,” he concluded. “Three hours would put the wave-front of the tsunami sequence somewhere east of the mid Atlantic Ridge by now. Anybody who was living on the coastal regions of the Canary Islands is dead, and I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass for real estate in the Azores. Another ten or fifteen minutes and that place will be history, if you’re right about the eruption time.”
“I’ve got something!” Nordhausen rushed over to the study table and set the shortwave down next to the open Atlas. He adjusted the volume and they all leaned in to listen, faces blank with anticipation. Maeve bit at her lower lip, clearly upset.
“This is the BBC…” There was a wash of static as the signal faded briefly but the announcer came back on as Nordhausen jiggled the antenna.
“Get an AM station,” said Kelly, frowning at Nordhausen as he adjusted the antenna. “Will you let go of that?” Kelly shot him an exasperated look.
“I’m improving the damn reception.” Nordhausen’s body acted as an extension of the antenna when he touched the slim metal and Kelly hushed up, leaning in to hear the news.
“The eruption reported on the island of Palma in the Canary Islands has now been confirmed. Seismographic signatures reported at receiving stations in London set the time of the eruption of the Cumbre Vieja Volcano at a few minutes past four in the morning, Greenwich Mean Time.”
“That would be eight-o-clock our time,” said Paul. The signal faded briefly and Kelly shot a warning glance at Nordhausen, still convinced he was somehow interfering with the reception. Maeve went over to the sink at the coffee station, still listening as she rinsed the towel off under a stream of hot water. No one noticed as she eyed the telephone on the wall, picking the receiver up for a moment before putting it back in its cradle.
“…Damage reports are still sketchy at this time, and we have no official news yet from Santa Cruz de la Palma. Authorities have declared a state of national emergency in Morocco where tsunami waves struck a little before six in the morning, Greenwich Mean Time. It now appears that coastal cities and towns have been hit very hard there, and at Casablanca, a wave series exceeding 30 meters in height struck the city and harbor causing extensive loss of life and catastrophic damage. The tsunami is expected to strike the Straits of Gibraltar within the hour and all citizens are advised to seek the highest possible ground. Meanwhile, authorities in London estimate the speed of the tsunami sequence moving west from the Canary Islands into the Atlantic to be in excess of eight-hundred kilometers per hour. A high water tsunami warning is now in effect for the entire north Atlantic, and a severe flood warning has been issued for the Azores. Authorities also believe the coasts of Portugal, France and even the UK are in for extreme tidal surges in the morning hours of Wednesday. Evacuation orders are now being issued for all areas below fifty meters in elevation where citizens are advised to seek higher ground inland and migrate away from coastal regions immediately…” A burst of static interfered with the transmission again.
“They won’t get hit very hard,” said Dorland. “The Iberian Peninsula will take the steam out of the northern wave fronts. They’ll just catch secondary sequences rebounding from the coast of Portugal.”
“I’d hate to live in Lisbon,” Nordhausen put in. “The 1755 tsunami that hit after an earthquake in the Atlantic was estimated to be no more than 15 meters, but it still killed some 60,000 people.”
“Not to mention the tsunami after Krakatau blew its top in the late 1880s.” Dorland had always had a fascination for natural catastrophes. “That event produced wave run-ups of 30 to 40 meters above normal sea level. In flat-lying areas the water swept inland for many miles—right through dense jungle! There were over 30,000 killed there.”
“Wasn’t there an event in Alaska in recent times?” Asked Nordhausen.
“Lituya Bay,” said Dorland. “July, 1958. It was a combination of many forces after a strong earthquake in the eight-plus range. The ground motion of the quake triggered a giant rock-fall at the head of the bay. It was as if an asteroid had hit the bay and this caused a massive upwelling of water that actually lifted huge segments of glacial ice. The wave splash was thought to be over 1700 feet! Thankfully, the damage was mostly confined to the local area and it was sparsely populated.”
“What about us?” Kelly reached out to adjust the reception dial. “Can’t you get any local stations on that? I’m sure every station in the world has picked up the story by now.”
“What’s wrong with the BBC?
” said Nordhausen. “Imagine what’s just happened, people. They’ve got nothing out of Palma because everyone’s dead. God only knows how they got the news on Casablanca!”
“Must have been reported by incoming airline traffic,” said Dorland. He was squinting at his map again, still calculating. “The Madiera Archipelago has probably been wiped off the face of the earth,” he said. The Azores and the Cape Verde Islands are next. Anyone who can’t get to high ground there had better find an airplane.”
“Those are all volcanic islands,” said Nordhausen. “They’ll have plenty of elevation, but I doubt the residents had much warning.”
“What about us?” Kelly asked again. He switched the reception dial to the AM position.
“Leave that alone!” Nordhausen was after him in a minute, reaching in to re-set the dial.
“We’re in no danger here, of course,” said Dorland “But the east coast has about six hours.”
“What?” Kelly had lost his battle with Nordhausen and folded his arms in resignation as he half listened for the shortwave signal again. Nordhausen adjusted the dial.
“You don’t think it will be that bad out east, do you, Paul?”
“Are you kidding?” Paul spun the map around so they could see better. “Most of the energy is heading west into the Atlantic. The wave front that hit Western Sahara was bad because it was so close to the initial eruption, but the damage in this hemisphere is going to be appalling. Wave heights will probably be well above fifty meters in northern Brazil. It's likely they’ll see water that high coming ashore in Florida, New York, Boston, hell, all the way up to Greenland! It all depends on the initial velocity of the landslide during the collapse. If it exceeded a hundred meters per second we could see wave run-ups of at least ninety meters on the east coast. Water that high, with that much force behind it, will push inland for miles. This is going to be very bad.”
Meridian - A Novel In Time (The Meridian Series) Page 4