Sinagua Rising: A story of survival after a worldwide catastrophe

by R. G. Andersen-Wyckoff

  All of the remaining men, as well as Jen and Mel, were conscripted to work on the new greenhouse.

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  Reminiscent of the barn raisings in farming communities, the new greenhouse seemed to rise from the kiva in leaps and bounds.

  It took six men, pushing, pulling, and lifting to get the small cement mixer up on the plaza and attached to one of the generators. With a hose attached to one of Jack’s new spigots, Jen and Mel took charge of mixing the cement, sand, and river gravel the men had also moved up to the site, while the men took wheelbarrow loads of wet cement to put in the post holes and then set the poles into the wet mix. By the end of the first day all of the exterior poles had been set and the large square tied together with 2x6s. In the succeeding days the interior poles were cut to order, put in place, and tied to the rest of the framework with the glulams they had previously prepared.

  Colby and Bud directed the work and did most of the critical labor so that, by the end of the week, the roof frame had been completed and they were tacking the plywood on the roof. The nailing was made easier by using a nailing gun from Colby’s trailer, powered by the generator. Colby wanted to cover the entire roof and would go back and cut the appropriate openings for the glass and skylights later. In this way, they could work during the rainy periods and during the winter snows. Finishing the roof would be the last thing they did next spring. They covered the roof with plastic sheeting before turning their attention to the framing of the walls and setting the sliding glass doors and glass panels in the appropriate walls. The areas not having glass were covered with Tyvek. But, before they framed in the sides they moved the three, eight-foot diameter, polyethylene fish tanks inside the structure. They were three feet deep and would have been difficult to move inside later, when the framing was completed.

  Once the roof was covered, Colby released Tanner and Matt to work on the staircase and trail down to the creek. They carried the circular staircase that had previously been brought up to the storage tent from Colby’s storage building and set it down through the opening in the east tower, anchoring the center pole in some concrete still remaining in the mixer after the greenhouse poles had been set. They leveled the floor around the base of the stairway and then carried buckets of river gravel up the path to cover the floor of the cave. By the time they finished carrying the gravel they could hardly move their arms. It had taken them the better part of two days to complete the task. Repairing the tower structure and building the handrail on the trail would have to wait for other days. Tonight, they had been told, there was going to be a party!

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  Bishop and Carly had met surreptitiously with Michael and Maria and had determined they needed to have a special party to celebrate the one-month anniversary of the CME and the beginning of the Duwa adventure. They refused to treat their current situation as a test of survival but rather an adventure—just an adventure that had an uncertain time frame.

  Bishop made an unannounced trip to his house in the Village, using Tanner’s Cherokee, while the others were busily going about their projects. No one but Carly, Michael, and Maria knew he had gone and he was back within an hour, his journey a success. At lunch that day they informed everyone there would be a party that night, but said nothing further about it. Carly confided to Tara what they were doing and she and the other ladies moved the children to the Westin tent for the afternoon.

  That day the sun had come out long enough to warm things up and they all decided that an afternoon bath and swim were in order. They used the new spiral stairway in the east tower instead of having to climb down the aluminum ladder, as before, and they heaped their praises on Tanner and Matt for their work. Praise helped ease the aches in their arms and backs a bit, but the soak in the cool water of the pools helped even more. By the time everyone was ready for dinner they felt clean and refreshed.

  When they entered the Meeting Hall they were greeted by sparkling Christmas tree lights strung in zig zag patterns down the length of the ceiling of the tent and along the sides. Bishop had always hated the job of stringing those lights around his home each Christmas season, and taking them down even more, but this time he didn’t mind at all. With the LED ceiling lights turned off, the colored lights lent a festive atmosphere to the Meeting Hall. The reaction from everyone was worth the effort. Carly had placed red and green Christmas candles on each of the dinner tables and brought out her red and green napkins. Each place was set with china and silverware and a glass of Tang.

  “Is it Christmas?” asked Kiera. “No,” responded Carly, “but it’s a special celebration.”

  “Before we see the special fare Michael and Maria have prepared for us tonight,” said Bishop, “I wanted to tell you all how proud I am to be part of such an extraordinary group of people. Tonight marks the one-month anniversary of the CME that so dramatically turned our world upside down and changed our lives, and here we are working side by side, hand in hand, to make a new life for us all. Our family has grown and we’re enriched by the addition of our new members. Michael and Maria, and Carly and I felt we all deserved a special party to memorialize the accomplishments we’ve made already and the many we know are yet to come. So, not only are we celebrating one month of achievements but we’re celebrating the fact that we know, whatever might come in the future, we can deal with it as a community. So, here’s to the village of Duwa and to the Duwanians,” he said as he raised his glass of Tang in a salute.

  At Michael’s request they all sat down as Carly, Maria, Tara, and Tina collected the plates and began serving dinner. When they returned from the field kitchen each plate was steaming with tender slices of all natural beef over noodles with savory mushrooms and onions in a rich sour cream sauce. Maria served heaping plates of buttermilk biscuits and each table had a squeeze bottle of honey Michael had collected from somewhere in Tequa. For dessert they were served apple crisp. Had anyone bothered to ask they would have been told that the Beef Stroganoff had come from a case of #10 cans Michael and Maria had found in the inventory from the Ranger Station, as had the dehydrated mixes from which Maria had made the biscuits and apple crisp. But no one bothered to ask, it was just too good. Even Jackson, Belle and Chloe, who got to lick the sauce off the plates, would have joined in the applause for the cooks if they could have. Carly, Tara, Ellen, and Mel took care of washing and drying all the dishes while the others relaxed or gathered around the radio to see what reports Jack might raise. Other than some static filled garble and repeats of the President’s message, he hadn’t heard any other useful information since the President’s message the week following the CME. But tonight was different.

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  The radio crackled as Jack slowly turned the dial and then: “CQ, CQ, Calling CQ. This is AD5UAP, Alfa-Delta-Five-Uniform-Alfa-Papa.”

  Jack quickly turned the volume up so all could hear and explained that the operator was trying to get a response from anyone listening. Then the call came again.

  “CQ, CQ, Calling CQ. This is AD5UAP, Alfa-Delta-Five-Uniform-Alfa-Papa.”

  By this time Jack had the signal coming in quite clearly and everyone was gathered in a semi-circle around him listening intently. No response was heard. Then:

  “This is AD5UP, Alfa-Delta-Five-Uniform-Alfa-Papa transmitting in the blind. This is AD5UP, Alfa-Delta-Five-Uniform-Alfa-Papa transmitting in the blind.” Jack quickly explained that the sender was not getting any response from other radio operators and was going to go ahead with his message, anyway.

  “This may be my last transmission,” said the operator. “I’m running low on fuel to operate my generator and have lost contact with those I have previously communicated with.

  “I am broadcasting from Fawnskin Village at Big Bear Lake, California, in the San Bernardino Mountains about 70 miles due east of downtown LA and 120 miles almost due north of San Diego.

  “I am retired and was at my cabin here in Fawnskin when the solar disturbance occurred. I had heard
the warnings on T.V. and had turned off all my electronics beforehand. I am somewhat of a prepper and had at least six months’ worth of food in my pantry and plenty of water available directly from Big Bear Lake. Unfortunately, I did not have a large reserve of gasoline and have used most of it over the past month for my generator.

  “When the solar disturbance, a CME they called it, occurred I was able to get on my radio and communicate with many of my friends throughout California. Unfortunately, I have now lost contact with them, either because they too ran out of generator fuel or something has befallen them. The first to go was my contact in San Francisco who had reported that major fires were raging in and around San Francisco and the Bay. I have not received any radio reports from Central or Northern California since.

  “Shortly after the CME I received reports that major fires were running up the coast creating their own weather and wind which, fortunately for me, was blowing from the San Bernardino Mountains to the ocean. The Los Angeles Metroplex was ablaze and gangs were running rampant throughout the cities.

  “The same was reported from San Diego, with the added concerns of major influxes of people moving freely across the border from Mexico. Following the President’s radio message the week after the solar event, I received reports that thousands of people were flooding into the military bases in San Diego and Camp Pendleton, near Oceanside. Those facilities were overwhelmed and had to be locked down.

  “The lack of food and water was always at the top of the reports I received and looting and anarchy were the rule rather than the exception.

  “Then, a week ago, I had the last report from the San Diego area, in fact the last report I received from anywhere in California, that an explosion had occurred at the San Onofre nuclear power plant and radiation was in all likelihood covering the area and being carried on the wind in unpredictable directions. San Onofre is about half way between LA and San Diego and about 65 miles southwest of Big Bear. My source reported that Camp Pendleton was being evacuated, he didn’t know where to, and where terror had already been a major problem, it had now turned to sheer panic. It was every one for himself. As the personnel carriers attempted to move military and their families from Pendleton they were overwhelmed by citizens trying to get onboard or to commandeer the transports. Massive loss of life was reported.

  “And then there was radio silence. One week now and all I can raise are some foreign correspondents, when the skip is in, and some operators in various parts of the country. Unfortunately, they also report that hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people have already perished and there is still no Federal response beyond the initial Presidential speech.

  “I am afraid that the effects of the San Onofre meltdown will spread throughout at least Southern California, if not farther, with disastrous consequences and, whether or not I was running out of fuel, I would be going off the air.

  “This is all I have to report in the way of summary and hope it is in some way helpful to those who may manage to hear it. God Bless You!

  “This is AD5UP, Alfa-Delta-Five-Uniform-Alfa-Papa signing off.”

  Those gathered around the radio sat and stood there in shocked silence until Bishop spoke up. “I know what we just heard is upsetting but we already knew that these things were happening, even as close as Phoenix. The added factor, of course, is the nuclear issue, but we’re a long way from Los Angeles, even if the wind was to carry it our way. And, besides, it won’t do any good to worry about it. We just need to continue doing what we’ve been doing the best we can and let the things we can’t control worry about themselves. We can grieve for those friends and family that may be in California and pray for the best for them but we can’t let that rule our lives.”

  “He’s right,” Mel said, “we’re a big family and we’ll take care of each other. What we’re building here in Duwa may be the exception rather than the rule around the country, but that doesn’t mean we can’t, or shouldn’t continue doing what we’re doing. Our future will be as bright as we make it and I, for one, plan to make it as bright as I can.”

  “Hear, hear,” responded everyone including the children, who also had been listening to the broadcast but not necessarily understanding the import of the message.

  Kiera, ever the one to brighten up the conversation and oblivious to the gravity of the radio report, asked Bishop, “Grandpa, how long are we going to be on this camping trip? I miss my cartoons on T.V. and we don’t have a T.V. here.”

  “Well,” replied Bishop, “we’re going to be on an extended vacation and camping trip here. I’m afraid we won’t be able to watch T.V. for a while. That’s why we have board games, books to read, and jigsaw puzzles to entertain us.”

  “Well, I still miss my cartoons,” she responded as she picked up Chloe and headed for one of the couches.

  “What’s a T.V. and cartoons?” little Manny asked as he joined Kiera and Chloe on the couch.

  “Oh, nothing,” Kiera said in her most authoritative voice, “just something from the old days.” To which the adults broke out in laughter and the radio report was relegated to the position of interesting information but of no direct consequence to them. It did, however, strengthen their commitment to Duwa and each other.

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  Three days after the celebration, after a short but heavy rain during the night, Jason donned his camouflage poncho and Tilley hat and, with his rifle tucked under his arm and his “camel” on his back, started his twice daily security trek. He stopped at the top of the mesa and checked the bridge to the south, checked the trail where it crossed the creek below the mesa, and then walked across toward the waterfall to check Jack’s Canyon and Pine Valley. With his binoculars he scanned the entirety of the valley and on up 179 to the north—nothing. Except for the spirals of smoke still coming from apparent camp fires in Pine Valley nothing had changed from the evening before, when he’d made his last trek. He turned around and began back the way he’d come. He was in the juniper forest, almost at the place where the trail crested the mesa, when he heard voices. He stopped, tucked into the nearest juniper, and listened.

  What was being said was not discernable, but there were two voices: a man’s and a woman’s. Their conversation was broken by very heavy breathing as they struggled up the steep, muddied hill, almost to the crest. He stepped out from the forest and startled the man and woman who were gasping for air, their hands resting on their knees. They were looking at a camouflaged figure with a rifle pointed directly at them.

  “Please, don’t shoot,” gasped the man. “We mean no harm.”

  “We’re looking for our daughter,” the woman stuttered, also gasping for air and now crying.

  They were both Hispanic. The man was about 5’7” and weighed about 150 pounds. He was nearly bald and wore no hat. He carried a suitcase in one hand, an empty water bottle in the other and had a sport jacket hanging over his shoulder. His slacks were covered with mud, especially the knees, where he had obviously fallen several times. You couldn’t tell the color of his laced dress shoes for the coating of mud. He obviously was not dressed for hiking and, to Jason’s eye, posed no obvious threat.

  The woman was likewise not dressed for hiking. She stood about 5’4” and weighed about 145 pounds. Her black hair was shot through with strands of gray and was disheveled. She wore a lose-fitting skirt and peasant blouse, and what had once passed for white tennis shoes. She carried several plastic bags in each hand, apparently containing a jacket and other essentials. She carried no water bottle though one may have been in the bags.

  “Where are you going?” asked Jason. By now both people had slumped to the ground, too tired to continue standing.

  “We are looking for our daughter,” said the man almost pleadingly. “Her name is Jessica Escalante. Her brother and sister, Tina and Jaime, are with her. She left a note and map for us on our refrigerator door telling us how to find her up here at some place named Tuwalanki. Please, we mean no harm to anyone. Can you help us?”


  Jason took his poncho off and then his “camel,” giving the water carrier to the woman. He then clicked his radio three times, as was the prearranged signal between he and Bishop, and Bishop immediately answered.

  “What’s up?” asked Bishop.

  “You won’t believe what I’ve found,” he responded almost incredulously. “I have two people here who say their name is Escalante and they’re looking for their children. I think they’re Jessie’s parents.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, Jase, bring them on in,” directed Bishop.

  “Should I bring them in on my secret trail,” asked Jason, “or on the long way?”

  “You bring them the shortest and fastest way you can,” replied Bishop. “I’ll get Jessie.”

  Jason retrieved his poncho, and the rifle he had rested against a tree, and helped the Escalante’s to their feet. He let Mrs. Escalante keep the water, which she and her husband were thirstily sharing. “Do you think you can walk another ten minutes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” responded the man for both of them. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” said Jason, as he picked up the plastic bags Mrs. Escalante had been carrying. “Just follow me.”

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  As they broke out of the juniper forest at the edge of the mesa overlooking Duwa Valley, Mrs. Escalante gasped. It was not from exertion but from the sight that greeted her. It looked like a military encampment sheltered in the valley up tight against a large promontory that rose quickly above it. On the promontory were the ruins of an ancient Indian pueblo, with red rock walls of differing heights and stone towers on either side of the village. In the middle of the village rose a wooden structure that looked like a big peaked roof, covered in plastic. She could not see the sides of the structure because of the pueblos. On the north side of the promontory were two large green tanks that she thought were maybe water tanks.