Cataclysm

by Tim Washburn

  President Drummond’s eyes widen. “Were these events volcano related?”

  “We believe they are, ma’am. Dr. Jeremy Lyndsey will hopefully provide more answers.”

  Espinoza leans in and speaks into one of the triangular-shaped speakers scattered around the table’s surface. “Jeremy, you are on speaker in the White House Cabinet Room with President Drummond in attendance.”

  “Good morning, Madam President.” The sound from the speaker is clear, but there are hints of nervousness in Jeremy’s voice.

  President Drummond leans forward in her chair. “I’ve had better mornings, Dr. Lyndsey. I’ll get straight to the point—is the Yellowstone volcano on the verge of eruption?”

  There’s a brief pause on the other end. “I know this is not the answer you want to hear, Madam President, but we just don’t know. Something is going on with the caldera. As Dr. Fulton told you, there have been several hydrothermal explosions this morning and recent gas readings suggest the magma may be moving toward the surface. We believe an eruption might occur.”

  The President drums her fingers on the table. “Why all this supposition, Dr. Lyndsey? Are you telling me with all the technology available today we can’t predict a volcanic eruption?”

  “All we have to rely on is the data from the various instruments arrayed around the park. We can study the known trigger events such as earthquakes, ground deformation, or a change in the hydrothermal systems, but what we can’t do is predict exactly when, or even if, the caldera will erupt.”

  President Drummond sags against her chair. “Give me a percentage, Dr. Lyndsey.”

  “There’s a hundred percent chance the caldera will erupt. But it could be today, next week, or ten thousand years from now. I’m not trying to be snide, ma’am, but the caldera is always restless. This morning’s unusual activity might be enough to relieve some of the stresses present, but they could just as well be precursors to a much larger event.”

  The President pushes out of her chair and stiffens her arms against the table. “Dr. Lyndsey, I need concrete answers. The people of this country are relying on me to make the difficult decisions, but I can’t do that based on conjecture or guesswork.”

  Claire Espinoza steps into the fray. “Madam President, we can’t provide concrete answers. We’ve ordered an evacuation of the park on the presumption of an eruption.”

  President Drummond throws her hands in the air. “Okay, we’ve established an eruption might happen, for whatever that’s worth. What are the consequences if it does?”

  The question is met with silence. “That bad, huh? Dr. Lyndsey, enlighten us, please.”

  “It will be a catastrophic event.” The sounds of typing on keyboard can be heard over the speaker. “I’m e-mailing Claire, I mean Dr. Espinoza, a copy of a computer simulation we ran recently on ash fall estimates.” A whoosh of a sent e-mail sounds. “Dr. Espinoza, it should be in your in-box.”

  President Drummond sits. “Dr. Lyndsey, we’ll get to your ash fall estimates, but walk me through what else could happen.”

  “I think most of us are old enough to remember the Mount St. Helens eruption back in 1980. That eruption ejected a little more than one half of a cubic mile of material. An eruption at Yellowstone will be a thousand times larger. We estimate there could be as much as 250 cubic miles of magma, which translates to nearly three and a half trillion tons of ash. The pyroclastic flows, moving at hurricane speeds, will spread in every direction for many miles, incinerating everything in their path. Ash, and a mix of acids, will be thrust into the stratosphere, where it will drift around the world for years, dropping global temperatures by as much as ten degrees. Here at home, the ash could well wipe out a good portion of the Midwest for many years.”

  President Drummond leans forward. “Dr. Lyndsey, is ash that much different than, say, a heavy snowfall?”

  “Volcanic ash is much, much different. It’s very dense and contains pulverized rock, minerals, and volcanic glass that will collapse roofs and structures throughout the central portion of the country. The ash is also hard and very abrasive and doesn’t dissolve in water. Rivers, ponds, and city reservoirs will be contaminated, and the ash will clog most of the water-pumping systems. But one of its most devastating aspects is that volcanic ash conducts electricity when wet. Power grids across large portions of the country will be crippled. Madam President, volcanic ash is nasty stuff, and I haven’t even broached the effects ash will have on agriculture, air travel, or the other chemical compounds associated with an eruption that will wreck havoc on our planet.”

  President Drummond leans back, stunned. After a moment of silence, she asks, “You mentioned agriculture, Dr. Lyndsey. What effects will an eruption have on that?”

  “You would have to speak with someone in Agriculture for specifics. But, this time of the year, most crops are in the ground, with the exception of the winter wheat. Ash is very acidic, and, with as little as three inches on the ground, the soil will be sterilized, killing any crops planted and preventing future replanting for some time. If you’ll look over the ash fall estimates I sent Dr. Espinoza, you will see that the Midwest area, the largest crop producers in the country, will be buried under large quantities of volcanic ash. The computer simulation suggested ash as deep as forty inches over most of the Midwest. Under those conditions, the land will be unfarmable for many generations. That area of the country produces most all of our wheat, corn, soybeans, and other grains. In addition, livestock will die by the millions, further reducing food supply, and”—Dr. Lyndsey pauses for a moment, then lowers his voice—“people will die by the tens of thousands in the immediate aftermath of an eruption. Not only from the ash, but from famine and disease. And the damage won’t be confined only to the United States. As I mentioned previously, a Yellowstone eruption could drop the global temperatures enough to eliminate growing seasons all across the planet. If that occurs, we’d be looking at death tolls in the millions, perhaps the tens of millions.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Old Faithful Inn

  Park Ranger Walt Stringer removes his hat and carefully blots the sweat from his blistered face. The Old Faithful Inn area is now what his old army sergeant used to call a clusterfuck. He’s been cussed out, cussed at, belittled, and berated since the sirens sounded. His patience is running thin and any desire to help the park guests is now leaching away. He slips away from the crowd and hunkers beneath the shade of a young pine tree for a brief respite.

  The guests with vehicles sit idling in a long line, waiting for an overturned RV to be cleared from the bottleneck at the entrance to the inn. What they don’t know is that the RV is not getting cleared anytime soon. People are fighting mad. Horns blare and curses are exchanged, and it sounds more like a gang fight than a national park.

  Not to mention the panic for those guests left stranded with no means of transportation. Not everyone drives to Yellowstone. A large number of people fly into Jackson or some other nearby airport and take a shuttle to their accommodations. But with the heavy outflow of traffic, none of the shuttles are making any headway into the park. Inside, the stranded are taking out their frustrations on the workers behind the registration desk, hurling verbal abuse that rains down like body blows. Walt tried to put an end to it but, short of shooting someone, it’s a losing battle. Hence, his trip outside.

  A larger group of stranded people are milling around outside, growing angrier as the tension and uncertainty mounts. Unfounded rumors run through the group like a bad case of the runs, and several people are weeping uncontrollably. Walt glances up to see a group of angry tourists striding toward him. He sighs and pushes to his feet.

  “How are we getting out of here?” an older, overweight woman asks.

  Walt waves to the line of cars. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s leaving at the moment. But the staff is trying to organize a convoy of buses to transport those guests without transportation.”

  The woman points angrily at the bottleneck. “How the he
ll are buses supposed to get through that?”

  Walt shuffles backward a couple of steps. “Ma’am, we’re doing the best we can under the circumstances.”

  “Well, that’s not good enough. What if that volcano blows while we’re still here?”

  The events of the morning have sapped all of Walt’s goodwill. “Well, ma’am, that’ll be one thing you won’t need to worry about. If the caldera erupts, me, you, and everyone else around here will be vaporized.”

  The woman claps both pudgy hands over her mouth.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go on about my business.” Walt sidesteps the woman, but before he can take more than two steps, the ground lurches beneath his feet. The lurch transitions to a violent shaking and, within seconds, what remains of the inn’s covered porch splinters and crashes to the ground.

  Another loud crack splits the air and the center portion of the parking lot heaves upward, overturning a line of occupied cars. Walt grabs on to a tree for support as the screams from those in the cars reaches a crescendo. Within seconds, the screams are drowned out by a sudden torrent of water that erupts at a spot between the loop trail and the inn. Rocks and debris are launched hundreds of feet into the air, and the roar of water is as loud as a jet engine. The rubble begins to fall, pelting people and vehicles in a hailstorm of debris.

  Walt covers his head with his hands and races for shelter at the side of the building. Rocks the size of bowling balls crash to the ground around him. Something slams into Walt’s head and he staggers, nearly falling, before regaining his balance. He makes the side of the building as a warm rivulet of liquid slides beneath his collar and drifts down his back. He probes the area gently and his hand comes away bloody. After walking his fingers through his hair, he discovers a large knot and what feels like a deep laceration. A slight concussion, maybe, but with no loss of consciousness he’s not overly concerned. And he’s less concerned about the cut, knowing scalp lacerations are notorious for bleeding profusely. He rips off a portion of his torn sleeve and wraps it around his head. Up next to the building, the noise level diminishes to dull roar, allowing him to hear the radio.

  “Repeating . . . Tucker Mayfield to Walt Stringer. Over.”

  Walt slips the radio from his belt and puts the handset close to his mouth. “Tucker, this is Walt. We just experienced the strongest earthquake I’ve ever felt.”

  “Stronger than the others this morning?”

  “Ten-four. Much stronger. And a geyser opened up between the loop trail and the inn, shooting rocks as big as cars into the air. It’s a real mess down here, Doc.”

  His statement is met with silence. He clicks the radio. “Tucker, you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Walt, it could be only a matter of time before we have some type of eruption. Are you injured?”

  “Just a few cuts and bruises. How much time?”

  “Don’t know, but you need to get the hell of there.”

  “Can’t. Too many people still here.”

  “You can. And I need you to. My brother and his family are somewhere on the road to Mammoth.” Tucker pauses and the radio goes silent. Then, “Walt, I’m asking as a friend. Will you find my family and bring them north? I know what I’m asking is a tall task but you’re the only one I trust to see it through. Plus you know this park like the back of your—”

  “Tucker, the friendship goes both ways. I’ll find your family and bring them north with me.” Walt takes a moment to survey the devastation around him. “If you’re a praying man, Tucker, you might put in a good word or two for us, just in case.”

  Camp 132–Millington, Tennessee

  Interview: Lucy from Lubbock, TX—retail sales

  “Orderly? No, I wouldn’t use that word to describe the evacuation process. The poor rangers were doing the best they could, but there wasn’t like a plan or anything. Which really seems odd, looking back on it. I mean, if one of the largest volcanoes on Earth is sitting under a good portion of the park, someone must have put some thought into a plan. Or maybe they had one and it went out the window when the panic set in. Who knows? Ever been to Yellowstone? Well, let me tell you, there are no superhighways through the park. Most are these windy two-lane roads with steep drop-offs. Even on a good day there’s a pucker factor to it. And this was as far from a good day as you could get.

  CHAPTER 33

  University Seismic Observation Lab

  Dr. Eric Snider stares at his computer screen as the webicorder displays a live stream from the seismometer located at Old Faithful. The squiggly peaks are much larger than any he’s ever witnessed at Yellowstone. He grabs the telephone and punches in a number. The call is answered just as it begins to ring. “Emily, do you have a depth on this quake?” Emily is Emily West, the postdoctoral fellow in plate tectonics.

  The sounds of hurried fingers on a keyboard, then, “It’s shallow, Eric. Just a little over two kilometers.”

  “Shit. Any preliminary magnitude numbers?”

  “High fives, maybe low sixes. Think it’s magma movement?”

  “I’d bet on it. Any signs of a harmonic tremor?”

  “No. But I have some more distressing news.”

  “What could be more distressing than the possible eruption of one of the world’s largest volcanoes?”

  “How about the eruption of multiple volcanoes?”

  Snider sits up straight. “Why? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Both the California and Cascades volcano observatories are reporting earthquake swarms. And, like Yellowstone, the earthquakes are increasing in intensity.”

  “Are you suggesting an eruption at Yellowstone could trigger eruptions in those areas?”

  “Maybe. Stay with me for a minute. The magma under Yellowstone extends as far west as a hundred miles. Sixteen million years ago, the hot spot now under Yellowstone was located on the Oregon-Nevada border. The southwest movement of the North American Plate has skimmed over the hot spot, putting it at the current location. Some scientists theorize that the breakup of the Juan de Fuca Plate has created a cross-linked magma system that links Yellowstone’s magma with the Pacific Northwest.”

  “But if that were true, wouldn’t an eruption at Yellowstone alleviate the pressure, reducing the risks for eruption at those other locations?”

  “Maybe. But an eruption at the park would be so violent that it might trigger other eruptions. The entire northwestern quadrant of the country is riddled with faults. It’s not a stretch to believe that the activity happening at Yellowstone is somehow related to the earthquake swarms now occurring in Oregon and Washington. If you remember back to 2002, a large earthquake in Alaska triggered seismic activity at Yellowstone. And that’s over two thousand miles away.”

  “Damn,” Snider mutters. “You’re talking Shasta, the Three Sisters, Rainier, Hood, and a dozen other volcanoes.”

  “Yep, it could create whole bevy of hell-on-earth scenarios. But we’re not there yet. How’s the evacuation going?”

  “About what you’d expect.”

  “Uncontrolled chaos?”

  “You got it. I’m just hoping there’s time to get it done. But it’s not going to get any easier. The governors of Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana are in the process of deciding an evacuation radius for their states.”

  Emily clears her throat. “Are we safe here, Eric?”

  “We’ll be safe from any pyroclastic flows, but Salt Lake City will be buried in ash. And if your theory about the Cascades proves true, there won’t be any safe places west of the Mississippi River. Yellowstone by itself will be a world changer, and I can’t even imagine the scenarios if any of the other volcanoes erupt. Have you shared your theory with anyone else?”

  “I just sent an e-mail to one of my mentors, Claire Espinoza. She’s now one of the assistant secretaries over at the Interior Department.”

  “If you have her cell phone number, you should text her a heads-up about the e-mail. Anything we can do to mitigate the damage n
eeds to start right now.”

  “Good idea—I’ll do that. I’ll keep you updated on what’s happening in the Casca—Eric, are you looking at the GPS feeds?”

  Snider scrambles to bring up the GPS feeds on his computer screen. “Damn. Is this data correct?”

  “Yes, look at the timestamps. That’s nearly two feet of uplift at Norris in the last two hours.”

  “And that’s very near the epicenter of the big quake back in 1975.” Snider takes a deep breath. “Emily, we might be close to witnessing an event no human has ever seen.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Near the Gardiner River, Yellowstone National Park

  Tucker eases the truck along the bank of the Gardiner River, looking for a place to cross. A little ways farther on, he finds what might be a promising location and puts the pickup in park. All three occupants pile out to stretch their legs.

  “I need to find a tree or I’m going to pop,” April says before turning and walking toward a nearby clump of lodgepole pine.

  Rachael and Tucker climb down the riverbank in search of the shallowest section of water. Rachael nods toward the direction of April’s retreat. “You and her have something going on?”

  “April? Nah, just friends. I might ask the same question of you. You two have some sort of disagreement?”

  “No. Well, maybe a little spat last summer. She’s a little too blond for me. If you ask me, I think she’s looking for more than friendship.”

  “I don’t remember asking you,” Tucker says with a tinge of anger in his words. “Nevertheless, she’ll need to look elsewhere. Besides, who put you in charge of my social life?” Tucker walks toward a shallow portion of the river where the bison have carved a path down to the water.