by Tim Washburn
CHAPTER 69
Near Happy Acres Motel, Bozeman, Montana
The mechanic hands the pickup keys over to Ralph Barlow. “Rebuilt the carburetor, put in a new air filter, and fashioned a prefilter up under the grille. There’s a case of spare filters in the backseat, but I can’t make no guarantees if you’re going to be driving through this ash.”
“I don’t expect any guarantees, but thanks for fixing me up.”
“Sorry it took so long. Been a while since I had to rebuild a carburetor.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“I figure about two hundred with the extra filters.”
Ralph counts out the cash and passes it over. “How often should I change the filters?”
“When she starts to feel sluggish, slap a new one in. I can’t tell you how long that’ll be. I guess it depends on how much more ash we get.”
“I appreciate what you did for me, Rusty, so I’ll let you in on a little secret. Take your family and go as far north as you can, as quick as you can. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“You a volcano expert?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call me an expert. Don’t wonder if you’re making the right decision. Just pack up and go.”
“You’re kinda scaring me, Mr. Barlow.”
“A little fear is not such a bad thing if it’s an impetus for action, Rusty. I know what’s likely to happen and, to tell the truth, it scares the hell out of me.” Ralph pats him on the shoulder. “Travel safely, Rusty.” He exits the garage and climbs into the cab of his pickup and eases down the road.
Ralph pulls into the motel parking lot and picks up June and April, who are standing out front. They toss the suitcases onto the backseat and climb in.
June rakes her fingers through her hair. “If I live the rest of my life without seeing another cockroach, I’ll be the happiest woman on earth. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s crawling across my scalp.”
April begins searching her own scalp with the tips of her fingers. “I didn’t think Montana had cockroaches.”
Ralph eases out on the roadway. “I think their habitat must be limited to the Happy Acres Motel. I don’t recall ever seeing another roach while living in Wyoming, either.”
April finishes with her hair and takes a peek down her shirt. “Lucky us. We stumbled across the only surviving cockroach colony in a two-state area.”
June gives a little shudder. “Happiness is Happy Acres in the rearview mirror. We should have asked for a refund for the second night we paid for, but, truthfully, I’m just glad to be out of there. Where are we headed, Ralph?”
“We’re going to stop in on Virgil Winkler. He’s now a district ranger up at the Helena National Forest.”
June gives her husband a surprised look. “I love Virgy, but shouldn’t we put a little more distance between us and the volcano?”
Ralph ignores her question as he veers around a stalled car.
“Ralph, why are we going to Virgil’s?”
“To get some ideas where we might go.”
June turns to look out the window, but quickly turns back. “Bullshit. You’ve been all over this country up here. You probably know this place better than anyone around. Now, what’s really going on?”
Ralph turns to look out the side window, his mind clicking through a litany of excuses. He turns back to look at his wife. “I might know the area around here, but Virgil’s spent a lot of time up around Calgary. We’d be safe up there.”
The answer seems to placate her, for now. April and June chatter away while Ralph focuses on keeping the truck on the road. The volcanic ash is nearly as slippery as three inches of snowfall. Traveling at reduced speeds, Ralph makes the right turn onto 287 after nearly an hour of driving.
The sky overhead is hazy with ash, but nothing like it was in Bozeman. With a prevailing northwesterly wind, a majority of the early ash drifted east and south over Wyoming and Colorado. Ralph cracks the window to let in some fresh air. A farmer is baling hay in a large pasture along the east side of the road, and the fragrant aroma of fresh-cut grass fills the cab. Ralph inhales several deep breaths, his first breaths of truly fresh air in a while. He cranks the window all the way down, creating a vortex of accumulated ash within the cab.
“June, roll your window down. See if we can clear some of this ash out.”
She smiles and cranks down the window. They ride along, the wind blowing through their hair.
April fiddles with the AM radio, standard issue under the government’s purchase agreement, trying to pick up a station. All she finds is static. She gives up and leans back against the seat. Ralph glances over to see her eyes closed, her long hair swirling behind her, the blond strands highlighted by the midday sun.
After crossing over the Missouri River, they roll into Townsend, Montana, a one-red-light town, complete with a farmer’s co-op and an Ace Hardware. The downtown area is one-building deep and runs for two blocks, with about a third of the buildings boarded up or posted with FOR LEASE signs. The next street over is home to the post office and the local high school, with room for what looks like about forty students.
Ralph pauses at the flashing red light and makes a right turn onto Highway 12. The small town quickly fades away, and he travels a little farther before turning off on Diamond Gulch Road.
June leans forward to better see around April. “Ralph, I’ve been trying to call Andy all day. Have you talked to him?”
Ralph winces at his son’s name. “Yeah, I talked to him. He and Michelle are out of Jackson and headed south.” Ralph had been sick with worry until Andy called from a pay phone to say all was well.
“You could have told me.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I guess I didn’t think about it.” Ralph turns into the driveway of a small ranch-style home, fronted by a large flower bed filled with pink bitterroot, the state flower of Montana. The front door opens and Virgil comes out to greet them. In his late thirties, Virgil Winkler is a big man, standing six-four and weighing north of 250 pounds. His smile is as broad as his shoulders. With a big, brushy mustache and longer-than-regulation hair, he looks exactly like the mountain man he is. Twice divorced, Virgil has been unlucky at love.
June climbs out of the truck and rushes in for a hug.
“How’s my Junie Bug?” he asks.
“Good, Virgy. So good to see you.” She steps back and introduces April.
He buries her in a hug. “Welcome to Big Sky Country, ma’am.”
Ralph walks around the front of the truck for his own hug. Virgil started in the National Park Service while Ralph was working his way up through the ranks. Ralph invited Virgil along as they moved between national parks, and Virgil became like a second son to Ralph and June Barlow.
Virgil steps back. “Ladies, the bathroom’s clean if you need it.”
They rush toward the house as Virgil turns to his mentor. “She know what you have planned?”
“Not yet. I was hoping your presence would be a mitigating factor.”
“Ralph, she’s going to be mad as a hornet. And I can’t say I’d blame her.”
“Virg, I left two people behind who I care for very much. I have to go back.”
“Where are they?”
“My best guess is somewhere around Mount Washburn. That’s the only place Tucker’s family could have been and survived the last eruption.”
“Let me go with you.”
“I need you to look after June and April. Things are going to get tough around here. I’d like for you to take them to your cabin outside of Calgary.”
“Things really going to get that bad?”
“Worse than you can imagine if the entire caldera erupts. About half of the country will be uninhabitable, and the other half will face starvation. I’m not sure even Calgary is far enough away, but it’s the only option I could come up with.”
“Okay, Ralph, I’ll look after Junie Bug and that pretty lil gal. You’ll meet up with us in Calgary
?”
“Absolutely.”
Virgil claps his friend on the shoulder. “Okay. I’ve got a couple of cold beers for when the fireworks start.”
Ralph follows Virgil into the house, his feet growing heavier with each step.
CHAPTER 70
Summit of Mount Washburn, Yellowstone National Park
After a round of tearful greetings, Rachael tries to herd everyone into the snow coach. Maddie, Mason, Matt, and Jess are covered with grime, and Walt’s face is just beginning to scab over. Jess takes Tucker by the elbow and leads him away from the group.
“I think Matt’s leg might be infected. Anywhere we can get some antibiotics?”
“No. One of the ranger stations would have been an option, but they’re all gone. How bad is it?”
“It’s red and swollen. Maybe it’ll help if we stop along the way for him to soak his leg in one of the streams.”
“We can try, Jess, but we’re running out of time. The entire caldera could erupt at any moment.”
“All we can do is try.” Jess steps up and wraps Tucker in a hug. “Thanks for finding us.”
Rachael, watching over the top of the snow coach, shouts, “Let’s go, people. Time’s a-wasting.”
Jess breaks the embrace and climbs into the back as Tucker grabs one of the gas cans to pour into the coach’s tank.
Rachael gives Tucker an annoyed look when he climbs in. “Did you use both containers?”
“Just one. Should be good to go.”
He spreads the map out on his lap. “Fastest way out of here is to head for the northeast exit.” He glances up at Rachael. “We’re going to need to navigate along the entrance road to get out of here.”
Rachael takes a deep breath. “Gotta do what we have to do.” She presses the starter, puts the snow coach into gear, and turns a big circle around the parking lot.
“Uncle Tucker, what is this thing?” Maddie asks from the backseat.
Tucker pats the dash. “This is our escape vehicle. Now, hold on, Rachael drives a little crazy.”
“Only because your uncle doesn’t know how to drive a stick shift,” Rachael says as she lines up on the road and feeds the engine more gas. “Here we go.”
Those in the back pass the canteens around like sharing the finest champagne. Tucker hands out snacks they had raided from the vending machines. They devour the food as Rachael navigates down the mountain, picking up the road back north. It’s not long before Walt and the Mayfields conk out, the jostling of the snow coach rocking them into a deep sleep. So far, Walt has told Tucker little of their ordeal, other than to say it had been a close call. They had burrowed deep into the abandoned mine shaft, drinking water that dripped through the roof of the mine. Walt had fashioned some torches out of sticks and rags, otherwise they would have spent the time in absolute darkness. Tucker shudders at the thought. The root cellar had been bad enough.
The snow coach engine sputters and surges and Rachael finesses the gas pedal to keep it going.
“Pull over. Let’s check the filters.”
Rachael eases off the gas and the yellow beast coasts to a stop. “Why now? We didn’t have any problems on the way here.”
“We’re carrying more weight, and I bet the tracks are kicking up a lot more ash.” Tucker climbs out of the cab and sets to work shaking out the makeshift filters.
Rachael climbs out to confer. “Maybe we should consider heading back toward Mammoth and pick up the road north to Bozeman.”
Tucker glances up from his task. “Will you grab the spare rags? This one has a large hole in it. Could have sucked some ash into the engine.”
Rachael retrieves the strips of blanket and hands them over. “What do you think of my suggestion?”
“Are you concerned with driving past all the carnage?”
Rachael looks away, nibbling her bottom lip.
“If we turn west the chances of surviving a larger eruption are almost nil. If we head northeast our chances improve considerably. And we don’t know if this engine issue is going to worsen. I think if we make it to Red Lodge we might be clear of the pyroclastic flow.” Tucker fits the filter against the grille and stands up.
Rachael steps closer and rests her head on his shoulder. “Will you drive?”
“Of course. Now, help me with the other side so we can get back on the road.”
After finishing the other side, Tucker takes the wheel. He hits the starter with his foot and the engine cranks but refuses to start. He pulls out the choke and pats the steering wheel. “C’mon, baby, you can’t let us down now.” The starter cranks for fifteen seconds before the engine sputters to life. He high fives Rachael as a cloud of black smoke billows from the tailpipe. “Back in business.” Tucker eases off the clutch, and the snow coach stutters forward, starts to take off, then dies.
“Maybe I should drive,” Rachael says.
“It’s not me. The thing just died.”
“It died because you let the clutch out too fast.”
Tucker turns for an angry response but bites his tongue. “Maybe so.” He triggers the starter and the engine fires up.
“Nice and slow, Tuck. She’s finicky.”
Tucker slowly releases the clutch and the snow coach lurches forward, pauses, and lurches again before finally moving ahead. Maddie leans over the front seat. “She was right, Uncle Tucker, you suck at driving.”
Tucker ruffles her hair. “Do not. They still asleep?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how after that. When are we going to be home?”
How do you tell a nine-year-old that she may never make it home or that her home may no longer exist? “It’ll be a while yet, Maddie. You thirsty?”
“No, but I really need to pee.”
Rachael turns and brushes the hair from Maddie’s face. “Can you hold it for a little while, sweetheart?”
“Maybe. Are you Uncle Tucker’s girlfriend?”
“I’m . . . well . . .”
Tucker glances over his shoulder. “It’s complicated, Maddie.”
“You need a girlfriend, Uncle Tucker.” Maddie scoots away from the front seat.
Rachael reaches over to take Tucker’s hand. “I think you should take your niece’s advice.”
“Right now I’m worried about keeping us alive.”
Rachael yanks her hand back as if stung by a bee.
Tucker glances her way. “Can we sort all this out later?”
“You didn’t have any trouble sorting it out in the cellar.”
Tucker turns back to the front and parks both hands on the wheel. They ride in silence as the ash continues to fall. Rocky cliffs hug the left side of the road, soaring skyward at nearly a ninety-degree angle. The guardrails on the right side are buried under the ash as the ground slopes steeply downward toward the Yellowstone River. Tucker white-knuckles the wheel, steering through the narrow cut that was once a road. Singed lodgepole pines stand sentinel, refusing, for now, to give up their hold on the rocky soil.
A low, loud rumble rolls across the landscape, vibrating the wheel in Tucker’s hands. He glances at Rachael. She felt it, too.
“We need a shortcut. Any shallow areas where we could cross the river?”
Rachael stares out the side window.
“Rachael—any shallow areas? I really need your help here.”
Rachael answers in a flat voice. “No. Our only hope is to stick to the roads.”
Tucker sighs, grabs the map, and glances between the road and the map, trying to find a shortcut. Rachael yanks the map from his hands. “I told you, there are no shallow crossings, plus, like you said, there are thousands of tree stumps scattered all across the landscape. Our only option is the road.”
Tucker lowers his voice. “You felt the rumble. It could be a third vent opening. We’re out of time.”
“Uncle Tucker, I really need to pee,” Maddie says from the backseat.
Tucker gently taps the brakes and brings the snow coach to a stop. The others stir awake.
“Okay, guys, last bathroom break for a while. I put some rags back there somewhere. You need to cover your nose and mouth before going outside.”
They all tie rags around their faces and climb out to do their business. Tucker reaches over to take Rachael’s now-limp hand. “I like you, Rachael”—she tries to pull her hand away, but he grasps it tighter—“hell, I probably even love you. But I haven’t been in a relationship for a very long time. Can we please sort this out at another time?”
She turns to face him. “There may not be another time, Tucker. And you’re not the only one who hasn’t had a relationship in forever, but . . . but I don’t want to die without having made a lasting connection with another human being. Preferably with you.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“I’d say the odds for our survival are less than fifty-fifty.” Rachael pushes open the passenger door and steps outside.
Tucker exhales a long breath before putting the coach into neutral and applying the emergency brake. He steps out to relieve himself, his mind tumbling through an obstacle course of emotions—from fear to confusion, then back to fear before coming to rest against the lip of a dark hole—a hollowness at his core. He quickly zips up and slogs around to the front of the coach. He catches Rachael before she can climb in and pulls her to him and buries his face in her curly hair. He whispers, “I love you, Rachael, and probably have for a long time without admitting it to myself. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I want us to face it together.” He tilts her head back and gently puts his lips to hers.
“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend, Uncle Tucker,” Maddie says, her hands on her hips.
“I lied, Maddie. Let’s roll.” Rachael reclaims the passenger seat while he helps his brother into the back. “How’s the leg?”
“Hurts like hell, but I think it’s the least of our worries.” Matt lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’ve got yourself one hot girlfriend. You tell her about our old man?”
“I told her. Hopefully she’ll never have the unfortunate experience of meeting him.”
Tucker returns to the driver’s seat. Once everyone is situated, he eases out on the clutch without stalling. He gives Rachael a smile and she rolls her eyes. With everyone awake, the coach is pleasantly noisy. A few miles down the road the conversations come to a screeching halt when another rumble sounds and the coach lurches violently. There’s a deafening crack, and a portion of the roadway splits apart, tumbling down the steep hillside. Tucker floors the gas, hugging the cliff side of the road. He glances in the rearview mirror to see a massive rock slide burying a portion of road just behind them. “Help me watch for rock slides,” he shouts as he keeps the accelerator to the floor. More pavement crumbles away, taking a section of guardrail with it. A large boulder slams the road ahead, momentum sending it tumbling down the valley.