Cataclysm

by Tim Washburn

  “Sir, I’ve found your surface fault just south of the Steamboat Geyser. The news is not good, sir.”

  “How so, Susan?”

  “It’s venting steam and heavy clouds of white smoke.”

  Tucker turns toward Rachael. “What do you think?”

  “Could be just a hydrothermal explosion. Or it could be the beginnings of a vent opening.”

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  “With the temperature increases and ground deformation? I’d vote for a vent.”

  Tucker winces before keying the microphone. “Susan, can you continue circling the area for a few more minutes?”

  “Ten-four. I’ll keep a visual on it.”

  “Thanks. And Susan, maintain a safe distance from that area.”

  “What’s a safe distance, sir?”

  Tucker looks to Rachael for an answer.

  She shrugs. “I wouldn’t want to be within fifty miles of the place. She might have more maneuverability if she flies at a higher altitude.”

  Tucker keys the radio. “Susan, ascend to your flight ceiling and keep the area in sight. How are the roads in that area?”

  “Will do. Traffic is at a standstill for as far north as I can see.”

  CHAPTER 44

  The backwoods of Yellowstone National Park

  With the four Mayfields and Walt riding in a single-cab pickup, elbow space is at a premium. There are groans and grunts as the pickup bounces across the rough terrain. Matt, hugging the outer door, cries out every time his injured leg slams against the vinyl seat.

  “How far are we from Mammoth?” Jessica shouts above the wind noise shooting through the open windows.

  “As the crow flies—less than twenty miles,” Walt answers. “But I’m guessing a little more than thirty on our current route.”

  “How long?” Matt asks, his face a sheen of perspiration.

  “At this rate, maybe an hour and a half, if we’re lucky. But we’ve got some rugged terrain in front of us. Could take as long as a couple of hours.”

  “Do we have that long?” Jess asks.

  Walt shrugs and taps the brakes as he slows the truck near a small creek. “Keep an eye out for a place to cross.” He turns the truck to the right, now driving perpendicular to the small stream. He pulls the truck to a halt near a game trail leading down to the water and steps out for a closer look. The area at the bottom is muddy, dotted with deep imprints from either elk or bison. Walt scans the bank for another crossing area in the distance, but sees nothing. He returns to the truck and squeezes back aboard. “The crossing’s muddy, but it’s our only option.” He turns the pickup in a wide circle and lines up on the trail. “Everybody, hold on.”

  After dropping the gearshift into low, Walt gooses the gas and the truck rockets down the bank. The front tires splash into the mud and the truck sinks several inches, halting all forward momentum. Walt floors the accelerator, cursing the truck to move. Large gouts of mud spin skyward as Walt labors to free the pickup. He jams the gearshift into reverse and tries to back out, but the back tires spin in place. Shifting from reverse to drive over and over again, he tries to rock the truck from the quagmire, but succeeds only in burying the pickup to the fender wells. Dejected, he slams the transmission into park.

  Jess gives him a stern look. “Now what? We can’t walk to Mammoth.”

  Walt turns toward her. “I’m aware of that. Just give me a minute to think.”

  “Mason and I can get out and push,” Matt says.

  “I can, too,” Maddie adds.

  Walt opens the door. “I don’t think a dozen men could push us out of this mess. There’s a place up ahead where the road crews store salt for the winter. I’ll walk up and get one of the loaders.”

  “We’re going with you,” Jess says.

  “You’ll just slow me down. Can’t be more than a mile over to the place. I’ll be up there and back before you know it.”

  “Walt, we’re going with you.” Jess enunciates each word, making her stance clear.

  “Suit yourself.” He steps from the truck and sinks up to his knees in the mud. He mutters a few curse words, some aimed at Tucker, as he struggles to pull a leg free. With effort, he extricates himself from the deepest mud. “Hand me one of the kids. I’ll carry them over to the other side.”

  Maddie scrambles across the seat and climbs into Walt’s outstretched arms. He slogs across the creek and returns to retrieve Mason. “Jess, can you help get Matt across? Probably need to keep his injured leg out of the mud as much as you can.”

  “We’ll make it. Wouldn’t want to slow you down.”

  Walt turns around and asks Mason to ride piggyback. Mason climbs aboard and wraps his arms around Walt’s neck. They wade through the mud and Walt lowers him to the ground next to his sister. He turns around in time to see Jessica face-plant into the sludge. The children start laughing, and Walt gnaws on his bottom lip as he wades through the muck to help her up. When he gets her back on her feet, the only things visible are the whites of her eyes. Walt leads her over to a deeper pool of water to wash off before returning for Matt.

  Once all of the Mayfields are ashore, Walt leads them up and out of the ravine with one of Matt’s arms draped across his broad shoulders. Jess’s face is somewhat clean, but mud clings to her hair and clothes.

  “You should have just jumped into the water,” Walt says.

  “Easy for you to say. That pool of water was burning hot.”

  Walt comes to a halt and turns toward Jess. “The water wasn’t cold?”

  “I don’t know what your definition of cold is, but that pool of water was scalding hot.”

  Walt starts walking as fast as he can while half dragging Matt. “We need to move quickly. Hustle up.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “That creek is spring fed out of a spot just east of Norris. It’s usually so cold it’ll numb your fingers.”

  “Oh shit,” Jess mutters quietly, trying to keep the children from overhearing.

  “That and more,” Walt says.

  “What difference does it make if the water’s hot or cold?” Matt asks.

  “Where are we?” Jess asks Matt.

  “Yellowstone?” He takes a moment to ponder his response. “Oh shit.”

  “Exactly,” Jess says. “We need to haul ass and we need to do it quickly.”

  Camp 11–Bossier City, Louisiana

  Interview: Patty from Pinedale, WY—hairstylist

  “The kids were out of school for the summer and driving me up a wall. I have two boys, ten and twelve. Always wanting to do something, you know what I mean? Their dad, my ex, works in the oil fields. The boys still haven’t heard from him, so we don’t know if he got out in time. It won’t be the end of the world for me, but I hate it for the boys. But back to my story. I took two days off from work and took the boys camping. They’d been pestering me about seeing the buffalo up at Yellowstone, so that’s where we ended up.

  “We’d just gotten the tent put up when the earthquakes started. I don’t mind a little moving and shaking if I’m on a dance floor, but I didn’t much care for the ground moving under my feet. Told the boys to take down the tent, and they did after some screaming and hollering. Don’t get me started on the trip out of the park. We made it back home and put the tent up in the backyard. I’ll be damned if we weren’t ordered to evacuate from there. But I guess we’re camping now, huh?”

  CHAPTER 45

  Affordable Air Flight 2136, cruising at 31,000 feet

  Captain Neil Lockhart glances out the front windscreen of the 737-400. “Looks like clear sailing to me.”

  Co-captain Victoria Delgado glances at the map display. “We’re still a ways from Yellowstone.”

  “Yeah, but if anything was going on we’d see it from here. Especially if it’s as large as you claim.”

  “It’s not what I claim. It’s what the scientists can prove. Want me to plot a course to divert around the area?”

  �
�I don’t see any reason for it,” Lockhart replies. “Besides, as I said earlier, I can’t take another late arrival on my record.”

  Delgado turns toward Lockhart. “Why the hell do you care about arrival times? This time next year, you’ll be at your favorite fishing hole with a twelve-pack of Bud iced down in your favorite cooler.”

  “I don’t like to fish, but I do like me some Budweiser. No, I’m worried because I wouldn’t put it past the bastards to put me out to pasture early. Corporate would cream their pants if they could cut me loose without paying any retirement benefits.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Neil, always trying to find the positive in any situation.”

  Lockhart laughs, his belly jiggling against the taught fabric of his shirt. “Hey, somebody has to tell it like it is. Would you switch the radio over to Salt Lake Center?”

  Delgado reaches down to the console between the seats and dials the radio knob to the appropriate frequency. “Good to go.”

  Lockhart triggers the transmit button. “Salt Lake Center, Affordable Air 2136.”

  After a brief delay a female voice answers. “Go, 2136.”

  “Yellowstone volcano status?”

  “Threat level remains orange, 2136.”

  “Roger, Salt Lake Center. Requesting 38-zero.”

  “2136, climb to 38-zero and maintain.”

  “2136 climbing to 38-zero. Good day.”

  “Good day, sir. Notify if you observe any anomalies.”

  “Roger, Salt Lake Center. You’ll be the first to know.”

  Delgado turns her head and smiles. “If you’re not worried, why are we ascending to 38,000?”

  “A little more wiggle room—just in case.”

  “Seven thousand feet is not going to buy us much if the Yellowstone blows.”

  “How far out are we now?”

  Delgado glances at the flight computer. “Less than sixty. Still not too late to divert.”

  “Nah. We’re good to go. Though it would be a hell of a sight to see from up here.”

  “No, thank you,” Delgado says. “I don’t want anything else to do with volcanic ash. Our squadron hit some ash over Iceland when we were on military maneuvers. Seized up my engine and I had to dive down for a restart. Scared the hell out of me. It scoured the canopy so bad you couldn’t see out. I’ll pass on tangling with any more volcanoes.”

  “Didn’t ground control alert you to possible ash clouds?”

  “Yeah, after the fact. Apparently one of their smaller volcanoes just decided to randomly spew out some ash. That’s the thing about volcanoes—they’re totally unpredictable.”

  CHAPTER 46

  White House Cabinet Room

  President Saundra Drummond shuffles back into the Cabinet Room, her shoulders slumped. Those present stand at her entrance but she waves them down as she pulls out her chair and sits. She turns her focus to Henry Edmonds, secretary of agriculture.

  “Henry, how much grain do we have in storage?”

  “I don’t know the number off the top of my head, ma’am. But not as much as in past years. The continuing drought has significantly reduced yields. Most of the grain is stored on private farms or farmers’ cooperatives with the overall capacity somewhere in the neighborhood of thirteen billion bushels. I’d guesstimate we have maybe eight billion bushels in storage, and that includes corn, wheat, and soybeans, but mostly wheat and corn. Soybeans are more difficult to store because of their moisture content.”

  President Drummond begins massaging her temples. “How long would that last us?”

  “Not long, and probably a third of that is feeder corn that’s used in the livestock industry.”

  “That feeder corn may be going to human consumption,” the President says. “And most of these grains are stored where the ash fallout is predicted to be heaviest?”

  Edmonds takes a sip of coffee and rattles the saucer when replacing his cup. “Unfortunately, yes. But grain loss is not our only problem. The beef, hog, and poultry industries might very well be decimated. Some of the largest feeder cattle operations in the world are in the Midwest. Same for the hog and poultry industries. If the Yellowstone volcano erupts, we could be in for a long slog, Madam President.”

  “That’s an understatement, Henry.”

  The Cabinet Room remains eerily silent for a brief moment. Dr. Claire Espinoza takes advantage of the lull. “Madam President, there are many hurdles we’ll face, but two of the most important will be water and electricity.”

  President Drummond swivels her chair around. “How so, Claire?”

  “As you know, most municipalities rely on water reservoirs, or lakes, to use another term, to store their potable water. Volcanic ash, especially in the amounts we’re talking about, can change the water chemistry. The ash can leach some pretty nasty chemicals into the water supply, and ash can remain suspended in water for long periods of time, causing high levels of turbidity. This turbidity causes a marked decrease in disinfection rates, which leads, in turn, to a substantial increase of harmful bacterial levels. But that may all be moot, because the ash could clog every pump and valve in the water supply system. Potable water will only be attainable from underground sources for a period of weeks or months, which leads to the second significant problem.”

  President Drummond moves the massage from her temples to the back of her neck. “Power?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Volcanic ash is highly conductive, especially when wet. We could be looking at sustained power outages across a large portion of the country.”

  “For how long?” the President asks.

  “Weeks, almost certainly. Months or years in the hardest-hit areas.”

  “Anything we can do to mitigate the damage?” President Drummond asks as she swivels her gaze around the table. “Anyone?” A lot of eyes are staring at the table. “We’re here to solve the hard problems, people. I want a plan on my desk no later than tomorrow morning on how we’re going to deal with the water and power issues. What else?”

  “Madam President, if I may,” the director of the Federal Aviation Administration says with his hand in the air.

  “More good news, Nolan?”

  Nolan Kinney, a short man who’s carrying a few extra pounds after retiring from the cockpit, cringes at her statement. “Unfortunately, yes, Madam President. If the eruption is as large as predicted, air travel anywhere in North America will be extremely limited, if at all. As a matter of fact, any type of travel would be severely hampered.”

  President Drummond picks up a pen from the table. “What about planes in the air, if, or when, the volcano erupts?”

  “Depends on location. Any flights within two or three hundred miles of the eruption could face catastrophic engine damage.”

  “Should we issue a grounding order, now?”

  “How certain are we of an eruption?” Kinney asks.

  “That’s the million-dollar question, Nolan. Claire, would you call Dr. Lyndsey on the speaker system?”

  Claire nods and pulls Lyndsey’s cell number up on her contacts list. As she’s scrolling to his office number, her phone rings. She glances at the display and answers. “Jeremy, I was in the process of calling you.”

  “Claire, it’s happening.”

  “Hold on, Jeremy. I need to put you on the speaker system.” She glances around the table. “Anyone have an aux cord?”

  “Forget the cord, Claire, just put him on your phone speaker,” the President snaps.

  She does. “Jeremy, you’re on speaker.”

  “Is the President there, Claire?”

  “I’m here, Dr. Lyndsey,” the President shouts across the table. “What’s happening?”

  “We have a possible vent opening just southeast of the Norris area, ma’am. Right now it appears to be only smoke and steam.”

  “How do you know this one is volcano related and not another hydrothermal explosion?” the President asks.

  “This particular opening is beyond any of the park’s kno
wn hydrology features. We believe the smoke and steam are the result of an upward intrusion of magma. Ground temperatures in Norris are increasing significantly, providing further evidence of rising magma.”

  “To be clear, Dr. Lyndsey, you and your team believe what?”

  “We believe an eruption could occur at any moment, ma’am.”

  President Drummond looks over to the FAA director. “I want all airspace within three hundred miles of Yellowstone cleared immediately.”

  CHAPTER 47

  The backwoods of Yellowstone National Park

  What should have been a ten-minute walk is now approaching forty minutes as Walt helps Matt across the treacherous terrain. Dead trees lay scattered all across the ground, their spiny limbs lying in wait as trip hazards. Everyone in the hiking party is covered with dirt and pine needles after several tumbles. As they break through a clearing near the salt storage area, Walt is praying that all the heavy equipment is not out on the roads.

  After they work their way around the piles of salt and sand, Walt’s prayers are partially answered when he discovers one old loader remaining. That’s the good news. The bad news is that all of the glass is shot out and the left rear tire is flatter than a roadkill squirrel. Walt sighs as he pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and opens the side door to the barn. “Can’t buy a damn break,” he mutters before turning back to the Mayfields. “You guys look around for things we might need. Chains, pry bars, and even water jugs if you can find any. I’m going to see if the loader will start, then air up that tire. But we need to be quick about it.”

  Walt walks over to a pegboard next to a small office to search for keys. Finding none, he conducts a quick search through the office and comes up empty again. Another string of curse words escapes his mouth as he exits the office and grabs a pair of wire cutters before heading out to the loader. With tires large enough to have their own zip code, the Caterpillar 980 is a beast of a machine. It stands over twelve feet tall, weighs nearly thirty-three tons, and the bucket mounted on the front is large enough to hold the family car. The loader was new back in the late ’80s, but the Wyoming winters have exacted their revenge. The once bright yellow paint has faded to the color of watered-down mustard and the dash is riddled with cracks. But Walt pays no mind to any of this as he climbs up into the cab and ducks his head under the dash. He traces the wires leading to the ignition and cuts them. After stripping away the insulation, he pauses to run through a list of positive thoughts before touching the wires together.