Yellowstone: Hellfire: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Yellowstone Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  But it was that drive and determination that landed her a position with the BBC in her favorite field of study, earth sciences. And now she was sitting on a blockbuster story.

  Propped up in bed with her laptop open, she stared at the clock until it was 7:00 a.m. in London. Her senior editor was known to be an early bird and properly British prompt as well. As the digital clock on the bedside clock ticked closer, she prepared to dial him up.

  There’s a saying, you had me at hello, which usually applies to something far different than the response she received from her editor to her proposal. Despite the fact it was now 2:00 a.m. in California, Ella was wired with excitement. She recalled the events of the day, from the moment she began asking questions to the press gaggle following the symposium.

  He’d tried to interrupt her several times to tell her he’d seen the satellite feeds of her questioning Dr. Donovan, but Ella continued anyway. Excitedly, she relayed her proposal. She wanted to be assigned a photographer and a vehicle. She wanted to go to Yellowstone and follow the story.

  When she finally finished, she leaned against the headboard, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Her editor was silent on the other end of the line, which immediately led her to believe that they’d gotten disconnected, which meant she’d have to start all over again. Or, worse yet, he’d hung up on her.

  “Hello? Are you still there?” she asked hesitantly.

  Her editor began laughing, as did several other colleagues in his office. He’d placed her on speakerphone, and during her hurried, one-sided conversation, she had been unaware of it.

  “Yes, Ella. We’re all still here.” The group on the other end of the phone call began laughing again as several journalists made themselves known by saying hello or jokingly teasing her about wanting to stay in the States to work on her suntan.

  “What do you think, sir?”

  “I think you’re absolutely priceless, Ella! That’s what we all think! And while you’ve been waffling away I’ve contacted our LA bureau to assign you a photographer. Travel is arranging your flights from LAX to Billings, Montana. And we’ve booked you a room at the Grant Village Lodge.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, Ella. Oh is right. You’d better start getting ready to go. I suspect you’ve stayed awake all night waiting to call me, am I right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, you can sleep this evening. I need a brief story this morning before you leave, but don’t give away the goods just yet. Get to Yellowstone, locate this hotshot volcanologist, and get the exclusive. When this story breaks, it’ll rattle some cages.”

  “Yes, sir. Many thanks.”

  Ella hung up the phone and immediately pumped her fists into the air. This was going to be the biggest story of her young career. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to calm herself because this adrenaline rush would only last so long before she crashed. She turned her attention back to her laptop.

  She navigated to one of her many disaster-threat apps, which she employed to keep abreast of potentially catastrophic events around the world. It appeared Hawaii was taking another hit. A bright red triangle with an exclamation point in the center covered the Big Island. Apparently, Mauna Loa was showing signs of activity, and Kilauea continued to erupt. Two major volcanoes wreaking havoc at once would be a rare event.

  Then she noticed the stratovolcano at Mount Cleveland in Alaska was under an eruption advisory. Between June 10 and June 13, 1944, Mount Cleveland generated a VEI 3 eruption, a hundred times more powerful than what was currently being experienced in Hawaii. The ash plume rose twenty thousand feet into the air and covered much of the Gulf of Alaska before making landfall in Canada.

  Ella thought for a moment. Mount Pinatubo’s major eruption occurred around the same time frame in June of 1991. Here we are, she thought to herself, the first two weeks of June. It might not be a scientifically accepted pattern, but things do come in threes.

  Chapter 14

  Grand Loop Road

  Yellowstone

  Jake loaded up the Expedition as he returned to his regular duties for the first time in a couple of weeks. His job as a law enforcement ranger was generally uneventful. Most of his calls dealt with lost hikers, responding to motor vehicle crashes, and providing emergency medical treatment.

  Too often, social media caused stupid people to do stupid things. People posed themselves in risky situations like diving off the cliffs at Firehole with a GoPro camera strapped to their head or attempting to pet a bison. A month ago, Jake had responded to a call involving a marathon runner from Canada who was gored by a two-thousand-pound bison. While Jake was keeping the victim stable during the wait for the ambulance, the jogger explained he’d seen the bison grazing and thought it was cool to see one in real life.

  He’d approached the massive animal in an attempt to pet it. Bad idea. His first impression of a large, but passive creature turned into a run for his life as the bison charged him. The behemoth managed to dig one of its curved horns into the runner’s butt, briefly lifting him off the ground. The impact tossed the jogger forward ten feet. As the bison charged again, the man hustled for a cluster of trees where the bison couldn’t pursue him.

  Throughout his career, more dangerous situations had occurred, including officer-involved shootings. After 9/11, the law enforcement rangers became more heavily armed. Prior to 2001, a gun-in-the-glove-box policy was in effect to avoid creating undue concern from park visitors. Now law enforcement rangers were well-armed, highly trained police officers not unlike the cops who patrol city streets.

  The entire team at Yellowstone went to the Public Safety Training Center in Santa Rosa, California, two weeks out of every year for training. In addition to advanced firearm classes, a full-scale scenario village and campground had been developed to practice dealing with active-shooter scenarios.

  Jake rarely thought about this aspect of his job, as, fortunately, Yellowstone had not experienced an active shooter, but he was certainly prepared if they did. Now his daily gear load-out included two sets of handcuffs, bear spray, pepper spray, a nine-millimeter sidearm with four extra magazines, and an M16 automatic rifle.

  Subconsciously performing a mental check of his gear before he left, Jake fired up the ignition and wheeled the Expedition down the mountain toward Grand Loop Road and headed south. It was a thirty-mile drive from his cabin to the administrative offices located at Grant Village, but his first stop, which was part of his daily routine, would be for breakfast and coffee at the Lake View Café.

  Jake was deep in thought, analyzing how he intended to explain what he had seen while fighting the fire that day. He didn’t want to appear to be a crackpot, and he certainly didn’t want to ruffle any feathers. With the departure of Dr. Peake, whom Jake had the utmost respect for, he was unsure of the proper person to approach at the YVO.

  He considered reporting it to his supervisor but was afraid it might get sloughed off into the proverbial file thirteen, a euphemism for the trash can. He needed breakfast and strong, black coffee to clear the fog out of his brain. The first day back to work was always the hardest as he tried to reestablish his routine.

  Grand Loop Road leveled off as it entered the Lower Geyser Basin. At this point, a wide-open prairie emerged, and Jake took in the view. He rolled down his window to enjoy the fresh air. Movement caught his eye to the left of the truck. After checking his mirrors, Jake slowed down to focus.

  A swishing sound could be heard, which piqued his interest. It was a sound he’d never associated with Yellowstone. He looked up through the windshield to see if any storm clouds were brewing. Much-needed heavy rains had fallen the night before while he slept, but the front had moved out and left behind clear blue skies with no wind.

  The sound grew louder, and then suddenly he heard a low rumble as well. At first it was faint, almost inaudible, but as he strained to listen, the noise grew louder.

  There were two separate and distinct sounds mixed together. One, sof
t like the wind blowing the tall grasses that surrounded him. The other, more intense, deep, and foreboding.

  Jake stepped out of the truck and stood on the chrome side step to get a better look. Large swaths of grain were being knocked down or displaced. Whatever was approaching was moving fast, and the sounds had increased in intensity. Then he remembered.

  The fire had caused the relocation of part of the bison herd inhabiting Yellowstone into the Lower Geyser Basin. For whatever reason, they had been startled and were stampeding directly toward him.

  They were barely fifty yards away, so he jumped to the ground and scrambled to reenter the truck. It was only seconds before the lead part of the herd was upon him.

  Jake rolled up his windows and waited. He couldn’t drive off, as the herd might react and charge his truck. Two or three direct hits by the powerful animals would knock the fifty-five-hundred-pound Ford on its side. It was safer for him, and the stampeding herd, to remain stationary and allow them to pass.

  He waited, his heart beating out of his chest, as the first of the herd exploded out of the field and charged toward him. They split into two groups, flanking the front and back of his truck. More rumbled past. Too many to count. He was engulfed in a sea of brown fur and thundering hooves, which were deafening.

  The field was flattened as the last of the hundred-plus bison sped past him into the western part of the basin. This was the second time in Jake’s career he’d seen the bison stampede. The first was the morning of Sunday, March 30, 2014, when a four-point-eight magnitude earthquake hit the Norris Geyser Basin. A couple of hours before the quake, Jake had witnessed a much smaller stampede than what had just occurred.

  Jake had spoken with one of the geologists later that day in 2014, who assured him there was no correlation between the two and that the reports on conspiracy websites of an imminent eruption of the Yellowstone supervolcano were unfounded. At the time, Jake had shrugged it off, and as he fired up the truck to get some breakfast, he smiled and shrugged this stampede off as well.

  Chapter 15

  Lake View Café

  Grant Village

  Yellowstone

  “Well, lookie here what the cat dragged in,” exclaimed Florence Jean Holloway, the fortyish tender of the sit-down counter at the Lake View Café in Grant Village. Flo, as Jake affectionately called her, was the stereotypical gum-chomping, big-haired career waitress who could’ve been ripped straight out of the seventies sitcom Alice. “Honey, ain’t you somethin’ for my sore eyes. Where’ve you been?”

  Jake removed his camouflaged cap and tossed it on the round bar stool next to him. He stretched to lean over the counter and planted a kiss on Flo’s outstretched cheek.

  He glanced over to a couple sitting at a nearby table, who were fascinated by the exchange. The two looked mismatched. The older man had wild, fiery red hair and was dressed like a hunter. The young woman with him was very pretty and nicely dressed.

  As Jake leaned back to make sure his fanny hit the stool, he noticed the woman’s prosthetic leg sticking out from under her pant leg. He looked up and gave her a smile before turning his attention back to Flo.

  “Flo, I’ve been fighting fires. Literally.”

  “Did they drag you into that?”

  “Yeah, all hands on deck, as they say.”

  Flo slid a mug of black coffee in front of him and Jake took a sip. After the way his morning started, a shot of Irish whisky might have been appropriate too.

  He glanced over and noticed the young woman was studying him. She continued to drink her coffee, but neither of them was eating. Her companion was making notes in a spiral notepad and periodically checking his iPhone. Jake shrugged and continued his conversation with Flo.

  “Hon, can I get you the usual? Made the special way you like it?”

  “Sure. Western omelet stuffed with hash browns. I need sustenance and my six-pack abs disappeared years ago.” Jake looked to his left and then back toward his right. The restaurant was empty compared to usual. “Kind of a light crowd, isn’t it, Flo?”

  She finished putting the order into the computerized cash register system and returned with the coffee pot. She topped him off and sighed. “Yeah. The last two days have been like this. There was some geologist down in Cali that scared the bejesus out of everyone, claiming Yellowstone could erupt at any minute.”

  Jake chuckled. “Come on, people should know better. Those articles come out every week in those British tabloids.”

  The red-haired man seated with the young woman very vocally cleared his throat, which caused Jake to pause. They were obviously eavesdropping on his conversation with Flo.

  “Nah, this was different, Jake,” started Flo, getting suddenly serious. “There was some kind of conference, and a lady geologist who’s pretty well respected said the water injections are gonna cause Yellowstone to blow.”

  Jake hadn’t read the article and wasn’t much for getting into the science of what was going on under their feet. It did amaze him daily that millions of visitors travel to Yellowstone every year to watch the geyser at Old Faithful put on a show or to camp in the beautiful park, which he loved as well, all the time being fully aware that this was the largest, most dangerous active volcano on the planet.

  Real smart, Jake. Maybe you should pay attention.

  “Flo, something weird just happened to me.”

  “What was it, hon?”

  “I was just overrun by bison stampeding through the Lower Geyser Basin just above Old Faithful.”

  “Whoa! Really? Was somethin’ chasin’ ’em?”

  Jake laughed. “Flo, I think the only thing those two-thousand-pound beasts would run from is if Stan the T. rex skeleton at the Dinosaur Center came back to life. You know the bison can get excited at times, but this was a herd of over a hundred. They went roaring past my truck.”

  “Are you talkin’ like before the quake years ago?”

  “Yeah,” said Jake as he unfurled the napkin and retrieved his utensils. He began eating his omelet while Flo greeted some more guests.

  Jake enjoyed coming to the Lake View because it was the most casual of the full-service restaurants in the park, and it offered diner-style counter service, which suited him because he almost always dined alone. He enjoyed the playful banter with Flo in the mornings and always admired the view of the West Thumb of Yellowstone Lake.

  As he finished his meal, Flo returned to the conversation. “Jake, you know there have been a couple of things I’ve noticed in the last week. I haven’t seen any ducks or loons around. Now, I thought the fire might’ve run ’em off. But there’s one more thing. Me and Buddy went fly-fishin’ along the shoreline across West Thumb. Hon, you know how it is up there. The cutthroat trout are good sized and there are plenty of them. We didn’t catch a dang thing. Nothin’.”

  “Flo, I don’t know about the birds, but the fire is a logical explanation. Maybe give it another week and they’ll come back. I don’t know what to tell you about the lake trout. I’ve always done well up on that part of the shore. Can’t blame the fire for that, however.”

  Jake wiped off his mouth and patted his stomach, which was still flat and solid despite his previous self-deprecating remarks. While Jake didn’t have the chiseled core he’d once sported during his short stint in Hollywood, he still remained in great shape through hiking, mountain climbing, and hunting.

  Jake stood to retrieve cash out of his pocket, when a young boy entered the diner. He casually walked to the counter and got Flo’s attention.

  “Good morning, young man. How can I help ya?” Flo chomped her gum and made the boy feel welcome.

  “Ma’am, what should I do about these?”

  The boy plopped a paper bag on the counter and opened it for Jake and Flo to see.

  Chapter 16

  Lake View Café

  Grant Village

  Yellowstone

  The boy of about ten years old was a good-looking, cute kid in a little Opie Taylor kind of way. He w
ore blue jeans, rolled up at the cuff, a jeans jacket over a white tee shirt, and a pair of white Converse sneakers, which were now soaked in mud. He looked at Flo and then up to Jake, who towered over him.

  “See? They’re dead.”

  Before Jake could address the boy, the well-dressed young woman made her way to the counter and attempted to see inside the bag.

  “What’s dead?” she asked.

  Jake was immediately intrigued by her British accent. He took a longer look at her and then turned to the boy.

  “The frogs,” the kid replied. “They’re all dead. Hundreds of ’em.”

  “What’s your name?” asked Jake as he lifted the bag closer to his face to get a better look. There was a foul odor that was unusual emanating from the carcasses. The dead frogs had not yet decayed. In fact, they appeared to have died very recently, as in the last several hours. Yet they smelled somewhat like rotten eggs. He mumbled to himself as he studied the contents of the bag. “Western toads.”

  The boy responded, “Jesse James, like the outlaw, but I’m a good kid.”

  The group laughed at the youngster’s sense of humor although he seemed deeply concerned about what he’d found.

  “Well, Jesse James, the good kid, let’s go have a look, okay?”

  The young man took back his paper bag and turned for the door. “Yes, sir. I’ll show you.”

  Jake dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, which was more than twice what his tab was. He always tipped Flo generously, and in return, she took better care of him than anyone else in the Lake View Café.