by Ellis, Tara
After a brief, private conversation between the Lokono’s, the Captain nodded at Mr. Sandwood in agreement. Jess saw her father was off the phone and his face was pinched up in one of his infamous looks of displeasure as he watched the general manager. The two might make a show of getting along in public, though they fought over pretty much everything behind closed doors.
The tribal members took their spots, standing in a circle in the warm shallow waters along the edge of the spring, being careful to avoid the bottomless depths in the middle. Some of the tourists walked away, apparently not reassured enough. However, most of them stayed, filling the viewing platform at the end of the path and crowding in to get a good view.
Jess tried to follow Akuba when she left to join her family and take her place in the steaming water, but her dad held her back. “We’re going home,” he muttered, glancing nervously at the sky.
“But, Dad—”
A firm hand on her shoulder cut off any further whining and Jess’s eyes filled with tears. She’d been waiting all year to watch Akuba perform the ritual with the elders for the first time. It was an important part of her transition into the leadership role.
The sounds of the jungle were coming back to life and a loud screech drew Jess’s focus to the shifting shadows of the thick foliage. No matter how hard the resort worked to hold it back, the jungle was always pressing in, reminding everyone where they really were. At that moment, Jess could feel its energy more than ever before. She hesitated enough so that her dad tightened his grip and he stopped to look down at her. Whatever he saw on her face made him pause and then he also turned to stare into the jungle.
The hairs on Jess’s arms rose as the beginning chants from the ritual rose in volume, mixing in with the call of the Amazon. Swallowing hard, she admitted she agreed with her dad. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to go home and confess everything she’d done that morning. He’d pretend to be mad for a few minutes, and then maybe they could go fishing in the stream that ran through their property.
Jess’s premature optimism was ruined when a collective cry of enthusiasm from the onlookers overshadowed the other sounds. Both Jess and her Dad looked back at them, wondering what could have caused it. Several people were pointing at the hot spring, while others were excitedly holding their phones up to take pictures or videos.
A low rumbling shifted under them through the ground, making the wooden planks of the boardwalk vibrate. The excitement quickly turned to fear and people fell back out of the way as the Lokono’s ran from the water. Some of them were obviously in pain, and a woman started to scream.
“It’s boiling!” a man shouted.
The rumbling faded, but a new sound like an old kettle percolating grew louder. As people scattered from the Libi Nati Hot Spring, Jess could see that it was indeed boiling. Only, it wasn’t possible. The spring was hot, of course, but it had never been more than a hundred degrees. Her father tested it daily.
Jess was being pulled backwards by her dad and she strained to see the pool. The agitation of the water had increased until it was churning, and then steam was released forcefully under more pressure.
Old Faithful
The thought flitted randomly through Jess’s head and the comparison startled her. They’d been to Yellowstone twice, and her favorite destination was Old Faithful. The steam eruption was an incredible event to witness, and everything about it came flooding back as Jess witnessed all the similarities evolving in front of her in the Libi Nati.
With the cries of fear from both the tourists and the Lokono’s echoing through the clearing, Jess grabbed at her father’s hand. She was already in motion when he yelled at her.
“Don’t look back!”
Chapter 4
JASON
Seattle, Washington
An explosive sound filled the open market like a wave of energy, erupting into the space and bouncing off the stucco walls of the surrounding shops. The percussion from the detonation threw Sergeant Jason Hunter to the ground, knocking his helmet off and the wind from his lungs. It was one part of what saved his life. He still caught a barrage of steel balls as the shrapnel found their intended targets, but only two managed to lodge in his flesh.
Ears ringing, the first thing he became aware of was the screaming. Men, women, kids... they all blurred together into one horrific chorus. Dirt and bits of unidentifiable matter rained down, creating a pattering sound that no one should ever hear. It underscored the cries of desperation and those already pleading for help.
The smell of bleach burned Jason’s eyes and nose, and the soldier in him registered that it confirmed the presence of TATP; a dangerously unstable explosive commonly used in suicide-bomber vests.
Staggering to first his knees and then his feet, Jason squinted, unaware of the blood flowing from his forehead. He couldn’t determine if there was anyone left at which to point his M27 assault rifle.
It was supposed to be a simple diplomatic babysitting mission. There was a meeting involving the local mayor of the small Iraqi town, and Jason’s battalion was close and available to provide security.
His eyes were watering, making it hard to see clearly. As Jason took a staggering step forward, he tripped over something. Glancing down, he saw it was a severed arm, still holding a weapon similar to his own.
Reeling away from the sight, Jason’s foot caught on another body part. Protecting his weapon, he grunted as he sat down hard, landing in a patch of wetness next to what remained of his best friend. The other reason he survived while half of his brothers didn’t, was that his best friend’s body acted as a human shield.
His breath coming in ragged gasps, Jason began to panic while scrambling backwards in the dirt. He had to get away. He was a medic, but there was nothing he could do for the dead.
Whimpering, Jason felt bile rising in his throat and he flipped himself over onto his stomach while concentrating on slowing his breathing.
This isn’t real. This isn’t real…
A wet nose nudged at his exposed cheek and he focused on it. That was real. Reaching up with a trembling hand, Jason found Marty’s neck and pulled the dog closer. The physical contact further solidified his surroundings, giving Jason another point of orientation on which to concentrate.
He hadn’t suffered a flashback for over a year. The bombing happened six years into his eight years of deployment with the Marines. Thirteen years later, he could still smell it.
Marty whined and nudged Jason again. The dog had never seen him behave that way and it was clearly stressing him out. Jason could do it for him. He could pull his shit together for the poor dog and stop freaking him out.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Jason muttered while releasing Marty and pushing himself up on to his hands and knees. He was on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, next to his bed. A small swath of light spilled in from the short hallway, which helped confirm his surroundings.
Jason turned and plopped down with his back against the bed, draping an arm around Marty as he waited for his heartrate to go back to a normal cadence. His shirt was drenched with sweat. Jason pulled it over his head in one angry motion, throwing it to the floor. He thought he was past the worst of the PTSD. It usually took a big trigger and he’d never had such a vivid nightmare…
“You’re shaking, Marty.” Jason stared at the medium-sized dog and frowned. As his head cleared, he was able to discern everything a little better. A trigger. The sound.
Standing, Jason crossed to the only window in his room and checked outside. Lights were flashing on in the homes of several neighbors and he became aware of someone walking around in the apartment above him. He glanced at the beside clock and the digital display showed it was five thirty-four in the morning. No one was ever up that early in his four-plex.
The sound. As the nightmare faded, the explosive sound that originally woke him and triggered the flashback solidified. Rubbing at his face, Jason stared down at Marty, who was watching him with an intensity he’d nev
er witnessed in the dog.
“Must have been an earthquake, my main pooch,” he said lightly, trying to put his friend at ease. It at least made him feel better, knowing there was a reason for the traumatic episode. “Come on. Let’s go find a nice milk bone to make it all better.”
As Marty happily plodded after him to the kitchen, Jason tried to rub the last of the unease from the back of his neck. While he knew he was currently in the safe metropolis of Seattle, a part of him would always be in that market in Iraq, terrified and staring into the gaping darkness of death.
There was something lingering with him as he turned all the lights on and pulled out the treat bin. A sense of danger that only a soldier would understand.
Chapter 5
PETA
Mauritius island
Indian ocean, 1,200 miles off the southeast coast of the African continent
The building shuddered again as Peta pushed through the connecting door between the lab area and front office.
“Dr. Kelly!”
Peta jerked to a stop at the sound of her name, her muscles responding like a poorly handled marionette from the ongoing surge of adrenaline. She had forgotten about the only secretary the lab employed. How could she have forgotten? “Ayesha, are you okay?”
The young local woman nodded, her eyes flitting back and forth between Peta and Devon. Bits of glass stuck to her dark hair and blood trickled along her jawline. “Is it the island? Did MOHO island erupt?”
The gaping windows behind Ayesha faced south so Peta could see the roiling mass of gasses and debris. It was getting closer. Faster than should have been possible. They didn’t have time to discuss the situation. “Come with us,” Peta shouted instead while running for a door in the far corner.
“What? No! I have to go home.” Ayesha didn’t make a move to follow them. She was gasping for breath and frantically attempting to dig her keys out of her purse.
Devon stopped to point out the windows, his body tense with emotion. “Look at that! It’s a pyroclastic flow and it’s moving fast. We won’t stand a chance unless we get underground.”
Ayesha stumbled backwards over broken glass and an overturned office chair, her hands reaching blindly for the front door. “My kids. I have to get to my kids, Devon.”
Peta could barely make out the other woman’s muttered words through the ringing in her ears, but she didn’t need to in order to understand. Peta hadn’t gotten to know Ayesha very well, except that she was a single mother with two young children. Her heart ached at the realization that the woman would likely never hold them again. “Ayesha!” she screamed, desperately trying to think of the right words. “The only way you can help them is if you come with us and wait for it to pass. They might be okay if they’re inside, but you’ll get caught out in the open.”
Shaking her head, the other woman pulled the door open. “I have to try,” she groaned.
Peta snatched at Devon’s hand so he wouldn’t chase after her. “Let her go.”
Devon yanked his hand away and glared at Peta as the front door swung shut behind Ayesha. “You know she probably won’t even make it home. I doubt the roads are passable.”
“The only way you were going to get her in the basement was to drag her there. It’s not our place to keep her from trying to reach her kids.” Peta headed down the stairs, falling against one side as a large tremor groaned through the cement walls. She tried to block out the thought of the building coming down on top of them. It was a very real possibility, but her choice was either death by being buried alive or burned. Peta hesitated; an intense sense of claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm her in the dimly lit stairwell. It took her back to another place and time where she also faced death while being trapped.
“Peta.”
Devon’s voice was so far away and she could almost feel the coolness of the steel against her cheek.
“Peta! Why’d you stop?”
Powerful hands on her shoulders anchored Peta’s perception. The cement step under her feet vibrating with yet another quake solidified it. “I think it’s a pyroclastic surge.”
“What?”
She started moving again, not daring to turn and acknowledge Devon. Her grip on reality was precarious at best and so Peta focused on the one constant in her life that worked; science. “I said pyroclastic flow earlier, but since this eruption is initially the result of seawater intrusion into the caldera, it would have created a base surge compiled primarily of hot gasses, instead of the typical ash and debris you also get with a regular pyroclastic flow from an ash column collapse. That explains why it’s traveling across the water so well.”
She was rambling, but it was working. Peta’s feet were obeying her again and she’d reached the floor of the basement. The lights flickered, creating a strobing effect, and dust was heavy in the air. She blinked a few times to get her bearings. In the months she’d been working at the lab, there hadn’t been many reasons to go into the basement. The building was from the world war two era, and had been built as a military base by the French army. It was old, but built to withstand an attack.
“This door,” Devon said as he brushed past. “Dr. Crane made me carry several boxes of survival gear down here a week ago. I thought it was pretty strange at the time but—” he paused, halfway into the room. “He knew, didn’t he? That this could happen.” His handsome face clouding, Peta figured Devon was thinking of Ayesha and the million other residents on the small island.
Peta began to shake her head against the accusation and then choked back a sob. “He tried to warn me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from both emotion and inhaled dust. “It was after our dive earlier this week, when we first discovered the crevasse and took some samples. He had an outrageous theory he’d been working on since Outlander first mapped the fracture. He tried going to the board about it,” Peta insisted, when she saw the accusatory look Devon was giving her. “They wouldn’t even listen without more evidence, which is what I think he was doing today. To get more samples as well as extended mapping of the seafloor to attempt a confirmation on the depth of the crevasse.”
“And this theory included a collapse of the seafloor large enough to wipe us all out?”
Peta shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, eager to get inside the room beyond Devon. “No.” She cleared her throat and tried again with more sureness, wincing at the stabbing pain it caused in her ears. “No, Devon, of course not. While he suspected the crevasse might reach the MOHO, at the time it wasn’t big enough to create an event of the scale we’re experiencing. I suspect this seismic activity is part of a massive expansion of the rupture.
“Henry was trying to get our lab moved to Diego Garcia, and to put together an evacuation contingency plan for both Mauritius and Madagascar as a minimum response to even a much smaller breach. I didn’t blame the board for laughing him out of the room,” she added shamefully. “To suggest the new fissure could be miles deep and actually reach the Mohorovicic Discontinuity? If he had presented something more feasible, say, an explosive eruption of MOHO Island, he might have gotten them to at least talk about it. But you know Henry.”
Devon led the way into the small room without answering. Yes, Peta figured he knew Henry well enough without her having to explain the older man’s need to grandstand. Everything had to be an opportunity for a lecture, to show to the world how Doctor Henry Crane was the smartest person in the room. She loved the guy like a father, but he was also the most arrogant person she’d ever met.
Devon dragged a large plastic container out from under a table and slid it across the floor toward Peta, shaking his head. “Even after what we just experienced and what I saw coming at us over the water, I have a hard time accepting this.”
Peta yanked the lid off the tub and immediately tossed aside a box of dust masks. They would need some much more substantial gear. “Accept it, because it’s the only plausible explanation at this point, until proven otherwise.” Peta threw an industrial chemical respirator
at him.
“You really think this is necessary so far underground, behind a couple feet of concrete? This place was built like a literal bunker and we’re over six-hundred miles away from the explosion.”
Peta was getting frustrated by Devon’s need for her to explain everything to him. She scowled at him while trying to adjust the awkward straps on her own respirator and ignored the question. “Isn’t there supposed to be a SAT phone down here for emergencies? We need to contact Diego Garcia and report what we know.”
“We can help with that.”
Peta spun around to face two men standing in the doorway behind her. Though their fatigues were covered in dirt and their faces smeared with blood, she recognized one of them. She smiled for the first time since the world had turned upside down. He might be their ticket off the island. “Aren’t you a pilot?”
The man nearest her gave a sharp nod before entering the rest of the way and motioning for his companion to follow. “Yes, ma’am. Lieutenant Rogers. Ensign Hernandez and I flew Dr. Crane out to the Outlander yesterday. Our orders were to wait here for the next supply run, tomorrow. We were in our quarters when…whatever this was hit.”
Peta watched as Rogers walked with purpose to a table as he spoke, and she appreciated the sense of control she got with him in the room. While she and Henry were put up in rented houses close by, the other scientists who hadn’t been there as long, as well as any rotating soldiers, were set up in the old barracks behind the building. Devon and Ayesha were the only other civilians working in the lab that day, but Peta had no idea how many military personnel there might be. “Is there anyone else in the barracks?”
Lieutenant Rogers glanced at her while he opened a large plastic container she recognized as the military version of a SAT phone. “No. The Ensign and I drew the short straws for the weekend duty. Before I raise someone on this, do you mind telling me what in the hell happened and why you feel the need to outfit us with gasmasks?”