by Scott Bergin
The water continued to flow off the cliff and down the mountainside. As the water left the threshold of the dam, it started to fizz and turn yellowish brown. This was the result of the carbon dioxide being released. Then, once the level of the lake dropped significantly, the entire lake turned the same color. A thick mist covered the lake while it was being drained. The cloud started to drift to the southeast at fifteen miles per hour. The cloud began to sweep across the rolling plains, killing every animal in its path. The path it created was several miles wide and long, but only a few hundred feet high. Any animal caught in the way of the cloud would be completely starved of oxygen for at least ten minutes. Even if someone was able to hold their breath for that long, they would not be able to survive. Such a severe lack of oxygen would cause all of their skin to blister and die.
The raging flood made its way down the mountainside uprooting trees and taking them with it. The dam, which was now completely demolished was starting to mix with the water that ran over the top of it. The thundering roar of the water came through the trees at the base of the mountain only seconds before the violent waters ripped the jungle apart.
An unsuspecting village lay on the plains just below the mountain, just beyond the thick of the jungle. All the villagers were awakened by the earthquake and the small aftershock that followed. They started to gather in the middle of the village to discuss what had happened. They had experienced earthquakes before, but none so strong. Some of the houses sustained damages, and any injuries appeared to be minor. Most were people being shaken out of their beds, or falling to the ground. However, until everyone was accounted for, they could not be sure. This was part of the reason to gather in the center of the village. The other reason was to swap stories about the incident while it was all still fresh in their heads. Surprisingly no one was screaming. They were all just calmly walking, or running, to the center of the village. Then one villager came sprinting out of the jungle toward the opening into the center of the town, he was the only one screaming. Most of the people turned toward him. Many of them froze in an attempt to hear what he was screaming, but they could not. There was a tremendous rumbling in the jungle behind him that made it impossible to hear what he was screaming. In noticing that everyone had frozen in their tracks, he began waving his arms while running toward them. Then the rumbling behind him revealed itself. The water did not simply crash through the trees, it came over the trees. The wave was more than fifty feet high, and it seemed to devour the jungle as it broke free of it.
The villagers now froze for a different reason, awe. They stood stunned and helpless as the wave tore apart the jungle, and came roaring toward the village. The man who had been running from the wave was swallowed up by it, then spit back out the top and swallowed back up again. The same thing was occurring with several small trees as well. The wave struck the village with enormous force. The more fortunate villagers died upon initial impact with the wave. Some died when they were thrown against houses or trees. Those who were wedged up against a sturdy enough object were torn apart by the force of the water. The unlucky ones were thrown about in the water until they drowned. Some were even crushed under the sheer weight of the water, but in the end they all died. In one way or another, they were all killed. Not one scream was heard. The sounds of the tidal wave covered them all.
The water continued to cascade out of the lake and flow through the village for a full hour and a half after everyone was already dead. By the time the water had completed its journey, there was virtually no evidence that a town had ever existed there. Every structure was totally flattened and washed away. The pieces of the buildings were scattered along the sides of the newly formed river. Beside these unrecognizable remains were the remains of the villagers themselves. Debris from the town was thrown more than a hundred yards to either side of the path the water cut through the landscape. Much of the wreckage was dragged downstream for several miles. Some of it was dragged as far as the next village in the wave's path.
There were eight other towns and villages of various sizes in the path of destruction, before the water was able to reach another river system. Each of them suffered the exact same fate. They were totally decimated by the flash flooding. Some larger towns had survivors, but there were very few. Those who somehow managed to survive lost everything, and everyone. In all eight villages there were more than five thousand people, and fewer than twenty people survived the flooding.
Once it reached another river its speed slowed down, but its force grew immensely. This allowed it to flood hundreds of settlements that lined the banks of the rivers. This destruction was far more massive and widespread than the random chance of hitting a village on a remote mountainside. The settlements that lined these banks were ripe for destruction. They were used to the rainy season bringing excesses of water through the rivers, but the rainy season was still far off. Far enough off to keep anyone from expecting flooding. This flooding would be more water than an entire rainy season would bring though these rivers, and it would be happening all at once. What would make it worse would be the lack of warning. The sun had been shining brightly in the sky, and would continue to do so. There was no television or radio in any of these little settlements, so warning them would be nearly impossible. The result of this lack of ability to inform the population rapidly would be the needless loss of thousands of lives.
When all the water had worked its way down the mountain, Lake Nyos became silent once more. Only a small amount of water still remained in the base of the lake. Where the lake had been there was now only a huge slimy crater. Thick mud walls lined the crater, and small amounts of water still poured in from underground sources. The lake had caused all the damage it ever could. Now it just sat there, empty and harmless. It no longer looked as ominous as it once had. It looked nearly the same as any of the villages it had destroyed. The water pouring in made no sound, and very little sound was made by the water that trickled out where the dam used to be. By the side of the dam still hung Thomas' calling card, the small satellite dish. The descrambler had been torn from it, and washed down the mountainside. That was the reason the transmission had been interrupted, but there was no way for Thomas to know that. The tree was at the very edge of the dam, and as a result it now hung far over where the dam used to be. If the destruction had taken off another five or six feet of embankment the tree would have certainly fallen over the edge. Instead, it swung precariously over the edge of the sheer cliff. If a high wind were to come by, the tree could easily be thrust over the side concealing all evidence of the manmade disaster.
On the opposite shore lay an entire herd of sheep, dead from asphyxiation. The lethal carbon dioxide gas had blown across where they were grazing. The sheep lay peacefully, next to their dead shepherd. He did not look so peaceful. The horrified look frozen on his face gave the impression that he had not died without suffering excruciating pain. His jaw was locked open. His eyes stuck wide open and dried out. Most of the skin was blistered and burned off his face and hands, hands that gripped his throat tightly. It looked as if he had strangled himself while burning to death. In a way he had, the carbon dioxide had done both. It burned the skin by starving it of all the necessary oxygen, and it had strangled him in the same way. The same fate that had struck the man down had also killed the sheep, but on the sheep the damage was much harder to detect. They lacked the gruesome blistering and burns, because their hair covered them. They also lacked the expression of grimacing in pain. The sheep just lay there with tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths, and their eyes wide open.
The cloud of deadly gas continued to make its way down the mountain, guided by the strong wind currents of the higher elevations. Once it had traveled fifty miles the cloud began to slow its speed down. The elevation dropped off and the cloud was no longer guided by the strong currents that had brought it this far. The lower currents were now in charge of its speed and direction. The cloud had only killed a small number of people, just shepherds and farmers. It
had, however, killed a variety of wildlife. Several hundred animals had suffered the same fate as the sheep that lay near the lake. As the cloud continued its way out of the mountains and down toward civilization, a growing number of people would suffer the same fate as well.
As the cloud changed altitudes, it changed course and speed. The lower winds only pushed it along at five miles per hour, and they sent it on a course toward the heart of the country. The toxic gas now headed for the nation's capital Yaoundé. The cloud had barely begun to dissipate at all in the first fifty miles, and any weakening was only at the very edges. The center of the cloud was still as lethal as the moment it left the lake. It would take a couple of days to reach civilization. By that time it would have gotten even smaller, but it would still pose a serious threat. Once information of the cloud's potential hazard was fully understood, whatever cities or towns that lay in its course would have to be evacuated. That is, if they were not already devastated by the poisonous mist.
Chapter 9
April 8
4:10 p.m.
90 Miles Northwest of Yaoundé, Cameroon
Busanda stood impatiently by the side of the truck. He had done what Silthe had asked him to do. Inside the truck were the remains of the last two elephants he had to kill. Busanda was anxious to get his final meeting with Silthe underway. The fact that he was several hours late with the tusks was certainly going to put Silthe in a horrible mood. But Busanda knew that if he was ever going to be able to get out from under Silthe, it was going to be today. Busanda looked around the warehouse, any thought that could distract him would be welcomed. The big shipment of tusks out of the country was getting closer. Even if Silthe had not told him, the tension in the air would have given it away. Some rich French investor was paying for the whole shipment. The man had wanted to come down and inspect the facility himself, before investing in the operation. Somehow Silthe had managed to work out a deal with him. A couple of tusks were smuggled to him, and he sent the money down without seeing the place first. That was about six years ago. Since then the investor had traveled to the warehouse a few times, but Busanda had never met him. Very few people ever had. Even fewer knew his name. Silthe would clear out the warehouse of all workers, except the snipers. Everyone else would get the day off. But if anyone showed their face that day, the snipers had orders to shoot them down on sight. All Busanda knew of the investor was that he had some type of connection that allowed him to get the shipments out of Cameroon and into France. Busanda figured that just meant he had lots of money and knew which customs officials to bribe.
"Damn you! You're over four hours late." Came the loud deep voice from the other side of the truck. Silthe came around the back and surprised Busanda, who was looking around to see where the voice came from.
"And this time I am not accepting any of your lame excuses." Silthe continued. "What if I had given you until the day of the shipment, would you have delayed us then? And what if some of the tusks end up getting damaged, could I trust you to get us more on time? And don't even tell me you haven't been able to get the tusks, or I swear I'll rip you in two!" Silthe was steaming mad. Veins were sticking out on his throat and on his face. It looked as if the dress shirt had cut off all the circulation to his head. Something else had obviously gotten him mad and Busanda being late again had just pushed him further. Busanda wasn't dumb enough to ask what had ticked him off, he just assumed it had something to do with delaying the shipment.
"No, I have them." Busanda replied, "And I have no excuses this time."
"Good!" Silthe barked, only inches from Busanda's face. "Then you won't mind if I don't fuckin' pay for them either!" The raspy course sound in Silthe voice was obviously the start of going hoarse. He toned his voice down a notch in an effort to save his speech. Then he continued, "And maybe next time you'll have a little more respect."
"I don't think so." Busanda replied.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, you little bastard!" Silthe snapped, flinging drool and spit at him as he yelled.
"I just meant that there won't be a next time." Busanda replied. Perhaps now was not the best time for him to stand up for himself, but it was too late. He knew that the only way out was to show Silthe that he was not afraid of him, and that he had no interest in working for him anymore.
"So you think that's it huh?" Silthe asked, scoffing at his arrogance. "You think that you can just tell me when it's over for you?" Silthe started poking him in the chest harder and harder. "Let me tell you a thing or two. It's not over until I say it's over, and you're not out of it until I say you're out of it. You got that?" Then Silthe pushed him backwards and he hit the side of the truck.
"Yeah I got it." Busanda answered, rubbing his chest where Silthe had been poking it. With a quick push Busanda stood himself off the truck and stopped rubbing his chest. "Well then, If you want to give the command to let me out then do it." Busanda said as he looked coldly at Silthe, showing no fear. "Because I guarantee that I am not ever going to do anything you ask me to again, you fat worthless piece of shit!"
Silthe's eyes widened. "If you're really sure that you want out that badly, you can have it." He responded.
"What the hell do you think I've been trying to tell you, you stupid fucking moron!" Busanda yelled. This was the first time he had yelled at Silthe, and he had no idea what the reaction would be. But right now, he didn't care. No matter what, he was going to convince Silthe to let him go. Silthe took one step back from him and quickly scanned him up and down. Then he nodded his head.
"All right." He said, "I guess we can do just fine without you." Busanda felt so relieved that he let out a huge sigh, and didn't see Silthe raising his arm and grinning. Silthe snapped his fingers twice, and got Busanda's attention.
"Sniper!" Silthe shouted. "Down him." Silthe lowered his arm until he was pointing right at Busanda. Busanda looked up toward the sniper, but saw nothing. By the time his eyes began to focus on the sniper, the bullet had struck his head. The bullet raced through his forehead and tore the backside of his head off. His head snapped forward, and he stood for almost two seconds after he was dead. Silthe stood with a grin as he watched Busanda fall face first and hit the ground. Then Silthe leaned over the body, as if somehow Busanda could hear through the gaping wound in the back of his head.
"I told you, we will do just fine without you." He said, then he kicked Busanda in the side of his head. Silthe Looked up at the truck, which was now covered in blood. A chunk of Busanda's head slid down the canvas top then fell off. The piece landed with a squishy sound, though it was mostly skull and hair. But with the amount of blood that covered everything, it was tough to tell one piece from another. Silthe took a few steps back to avoid the blood that flowed from Busanda's head, and across the ground. "Somebody clean this mess up, and get the tusks while you're at it." Silthe yelled at no one in particular. He was still staring at the remains of Busanda, scattered across the truck.
Silthe turned away and noticed the commotion among the workers. It was not caused by the shooting, it was something else. The sniper who had shot Busanda was no longer in view, he had run off toward the commotion. Silthe ran up the stairs to the catwalk. He looked out across the warehouse and saw most of the workers were panicking. Some of the workers were falling down, holding their throats. Those that weren't, were screaming and running for the exit. Then Silthe looked straight across the catwalk and saw the fans blowing something in. It looked like it was smoke, or tear gas. But it would have been impossible for the police to have surrounded the warehouse without being detected. A forest fire was another possibility, since the rainy season had not yet arrived. But it wasn't smoke either, smoke could be smelled in small amounts first. There had been no sign of smoke before, this was something different. Whatever it was, Silthe knew that it was killing the men and it was coming in through the ventilation system. Silthe saw the sniper on the catwalk near a large vent that was almost half open. "The ventilation system!" Silthe yelled to him.
The cloud that had been kept mostly outside swept quickly through the building. Silthe saw the cloud enter and envelop the sniper. Then the cloud made its way through the building, and across the catwalk. Silthe turned to go down the stairs, and the cloud hit him from behind. All the oxygen was torn from the air in an instant. Every time Silthe breathed in he felt nothing, except a deep burning in his lungs. One foot slipped off the first stair and Silthe lost his balance. He fell onto his face on the stairs, his arms did not respond. As he slid down the metal staircase he could feel his nose breaking, worse and worse as it hit the edge of each stair. Still gasping for air, Silthe continued his belly slide onto the floor. The floor was slick with blood from Busanda's body, and Silthe kept sliding. He looked up just in time to see Busanda's corpse. Silthe's face hit the open wound in Busanda's head full force. Immediately Silthe grabbed Busanda's head and forced it off his face. With the taste of brain fresh in his mouth, Silthe realized that there was still air down here. Still coughing and gagging, Silthe rolled over. His head rested on the corpse, and his body lay in a pool of blood. The blood was not only Busanda's, but his own as well. Blood continued to flow freely from his nose. It ran down the sides of his face and mixed with that on the floor. Silthe looked up, and watched the cloud make its way toward him. Cascading down the stairs, and rolling gently across the floor. Silthe reached over and grabbed Busanda's head. He pulled it by the hair and twisted it around. When this wasn't enough, he grabbed it by the sides and snapped the neck. Silthe stared into Busanda's lifeless eyes. "I let you out too easy. I wish I had made you suffer through this, you bastard!" Silthe threw the limp head backward into the ground. Then the cloud struck again.