The Yellowstone Conundrum (24 page)

 
Just then a tank exploded that had the right combination of juice. The sky to the north was lit up with a wide-angle explosion, as if God was saying “Hey, let’s don’t forget Oregon!”

 
Andy sped across the center of the Hanford Reservation from Area 400 toward the western gate, which he knew would be much less crowded; although only fifteen miles to the south, the western gate was out of the downwind path of the radioactive death field. But it would be just a matter of time before the gate would be inundated with crazy people.

 
When Andy arrived at the gate there were eight cars on the inside. A single guard stood watch at the kiosk. A crowd of workers, at least half partially clothed in moon suit material. Everyone was screaming. The guard wasn’t letting anyone out. Needless to say, no one was pounding on the door on the other side demanding to be let into the nuclear reservation. The crisp, bright blue morning sky was dramatically painted with the reds, oranges, purples and yellows of the exploding tanks. The desert sky above the reservation up to two thousand feet looked like a remnant of a space launch at Kennedy, with the exception that there were ten plumes instead of one.

 
The single guard was brandishing his weapon, an older M-16 A4 assault rifle. While the Army and Marines had already started issuing M4 and M4A1 semi-automatic; lighter weight, easily accessorized with night vision devices, grenade launcher, shorter and lighter; guards at domestic nuclear plants were lower on the totem pole.

 
The loudspeakers squealed—squelched—then came on.

 
“Good afternoon. This is the President of the United States. Three hours ago our lives were irrevocably interrupted by a volcanic explosion in Wyoming, an event that will affect virtually every family—every person—in America, and abroad. For those of you listening, and the few seeing me this afternoon, understand that we all are in this together.”

 
“Let us out!” the crowd demanded. 

 
“You can’t keep us here!”

  Andy found himself shouting.
“That’s 200-West over there!” he pointed. “And that’s 200-East!” he pointed to an area in the horizon approximately half-way between 200-West and the Columbia Generating Plant. 

 
“First the facts; many years ago the land we know as Yellowstone National Park was a giant volcano, thousands of feet high. Three hundred thousand years go the volcano collapsed and formed a caldera, the center of the volcano—the land we know to be Yellowstone National Park.”

 
The group trapped on the inside was having nothing to do with the guard, who resolutely defended his station.  You had to feel for the young man, who had no telephone, no computer and no power to his kiosk.

 
“This morning the caldera has exploded and continues to explode; first in the Old Faithful Village area, then raggedly across the high mountain area into Idaho, and back to Wyoming, then north into Montana. An earthquake of 11.2—the highest ever recorded has caused ash to be spewed into the atmosphere. This ash will be carried by normal weather patterns across the country, then across the Atlantic, then across the Europe and Asia, finally back to the US.”

 
Three of the trapped workers returned to their respective cars and began to wiggle forward toward the kiosk. “If mine gets wrecked, you’re with me!” one worker shouted to another. Andy was at the tail end of the mass of cars.  Assured of a ride out of there, the man in the lead car—a Ford 150 truck—began to inch his way around the left side of the gate, on the side of the kiosk—until his bumper was touching the little building. Another car followed behind him. 
 
 

 
“Extensive property damage has been reported—from Denver to Rapid City to Vancouver, British Columbia, south to Portland, Reno and Salt Lake City, all of which have sustained significant damage; infrastructure—bridges, highways, railroads, telephone lines, cell phone towers, all damaged.”

 
The guard turned and shouldered his rifle.

  “You can’t shoot us. We’re like you!
We’re trapped.  You’re trapped. You’re going to die if you don’t get the hell out of here!” the crowd behind the lead trio of cars shouted. The cars inched closer and began to bump against the kiosk. Several drivers in the two rows behind the front three got out of their cars and started advancing toward the guard.

 
“Back off!  Back off, now!” the guard shouted.

  “Get him!” someone shouted.
The lead car slammed into the kiosk, hard, accelerator down.

 
The guard pulled the trigger, sending a quick burst of three 5.56 shells directly into the Ford-150, virtually blowing the driver’s head off his body, instantly spraying blood, bone and guts across what was left of the windshield, shattered glass everywhere.

 
The driver of the second car ducked as the second pulse of bullets shattered his windshield; the car lurched forward and smashed the kiosk door. The guard couldn’t pull his finger off the trigger.
Blaaapp—blaaapp—blaapp
. Eight workers were downed in less than five seconds; three cars were no longer had feet pressing on brakes, accelerators instead. The cars lurched forward, the second truck smashed through the barrier gate and onto the desert floor, then staggered toward state highway 240, out of control.

 
“In Montana the Fort Peck dam has breeched.  The Missouri River is flowing eastward unabated.  South of Yellowstone the Jackson Dam has collapsed and water is flooding the Snake River basin.

 
“A significant portion of the electricity generated in the United States comes from hydroelectric facilities in the Northwest.  As a result, power is out in all sectors of the country as electric companies try to re-build their local power grids.

 
“In the next days and weeks it is highly probable that there will be flooding along the Missouri and Snake rivers that will be Biblical in proportion; from Montana to New Orleans, from Idaho Falls to Portland.

 
“How long will the power be out?  We don’t know. 

 
“How long will the volcano continue to erupt?  We don’t know.”

 
Andy lay prone on the macadam, bullets spraying all around him. The guard had flipped; glass, bodies, cars, bodies everywhere. Two men tried to run into the desert but the guard took careful aim and easily gunned them down.

 
The only sounds came from the loudspeakers.               

 
“And, my fellow Americans, there is no Plan A or Plan B for a catastrophe of this magnitude. As of thirty minutes ago I have directed the Joint Chiefs of Staff to coordinate with Secretaries of the Army, Navy and Air Force to explore any and all possible solutions, to divert all possible military manpower and equipment to assist the various states in maintaining the safety of our citizens.

 
“State liaisons have been established at the White House to make sure communications is open and that information flows quickly.

 
“On January 20, 1961 John F. Kennedy stated in his inaugural address ‘ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.’ No truer words have been spoken. One of the lessons we learned from Katrina was that in times of adversity, when people and governments are overwhelmed; responsibility shifts back to the individual.

 
“Don’t wait for the power to come back on. Join with your neighbors to solve local problems at the local level. You and your neighbors need to do what is right. We are still a nation of law-abiding citizens. Given the magnitude of this event, it is unreasonable for you to expect government will solve your problems. Each of you must be involved.”

 
There was a pause before he spoke again.

 
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation—under God—with liberty and justice for all.”  He ended with a soft “Amen.” 

 
Another pause.

 
“
I will be back to you in six hours with an update.”

 
The President’s announcement concluded with the playing of Kate Smith’s version of God Bless America.

 
“God bless America

 
Land that I love

 
Stand beside her, and guide her

 
Through the night with a light from above

 
A single pulse of three shells ripped through the guard’s head as he realized what he’d done; the muzzle of his M16 fell to the floor of the kiosk as the bullets ripped his head off, spraying brain matter through the ceiling.

 
From the mountains, to the prairies

 
To the oceans white with foam

 
God bless America, my home sweet home!

 
God bless America, my home…sweet…home!

             
                           
Words and music by Irving Berlin, 1938

  The beautiful, iconic voice trailed off; replaced with static.

 
Andy Everett stood up and looked around. The static from the loudspeakers stopped. Death and destruction was everywhere. Behind him to the north the red clouds had started to spread death into central Washington State. In order to go south, he’d have to return to Richland; no way would he be there. The city had been destroyed by the earthquake and was now in full panic mode as the radioactive debris from the 200-West and 200-East tank farms spewed death into the air.

 
Andy hopped into his Jeep and carefully drove around bodies and wrecked vehicles out onto state highway 240.  West was the only option.

 
God bless America, land that I love. That was the President of the United States. What he said.

BOOK 2--AFTERNOON

chinka, chinka, chinka

Cody, Wyoming

  “Daddy, are you OK?  Talk to me, please. (girl’s voice) Oh, God—please make it stop…Daddy!.  (sound of destruction)…
             

 
It turned out that Anne Hastings, Director of FEMA and David Jackson, Secretary of the Department of Interior were wrong. The NOAA station in Cody, Wyoming was manned.

 
The little girl was named Laurie. She was six years old and thrilled to “go to work” with her daddy that morning.   Her father, Jason Rivers, 37, was on contract to NOAA to monitor the automated equipment at the Cody weather station, located 4 miles south of the center of Cody proper and a mile south of Yellowstone Regional Airport on state route 120 at an elevation of 5,396 feet. The station was approximately ninety miles due east of the epicenter of the 11.2 magnitude earthquake.

 
The airport at Cody along with all of the hotels and eateries had been flattened then shaken and stirred at 7:20. Laurie’s daddy had been killed instantly when the roof of the NOAA structure collapsed; Laurie being saved by her father’s intuition to tuck her close to her in the seconds before the structure had collapsed. 

 
“Daddy, are you OK?  Talk to me, please. Oh, God! Please make it stop, Daddy!” little Laurie had shouted. In an instant the building had collapsed; Laurie buried under her father, but safe for the moment; but cold. The weather in Cody was a dangerous minus 4 degrees F.

 
Laurie stood up and was slapped by a cold wind, her curly blond hair, uncut since birth, whipped around her. To the north, smoke rose from broken gas lines in Cody; beyond rose 8,000 foot-tall Heart Mountain, visible across a nearly treeless expanse. Tears streaming, Laurie poked at her daddy but intuitively understood that he was dead.

 
To the west the smoke monster gobbled the sky, the blue of the morning light stained ominously black. By 8:30, Laurie felt the first
chinka-chinka-chinka
of volcanic ash begin to drop everywhere. Breathing became more difficult.  Slowly, the smoke monster wrapped Cody and environs into its arms; to the east the sun was shining in Greybull and Thermopolis, but not for long.

 
The jet stream was about 125 miles wide and roaring along at 150 miles per hour. Nature was dealing the cards this morning; go north or go south, pick your poison, but you’d better hurry. 

 
By 9:00 Cody was covered with a blanket of black ash.  Directly downwind from the eruption it would be only a matter of days before it would be buried as deeply as Pompeii by Vesuvius. Little Laurie Rivers lay tucked in her dead daddy’s arms until it was her turn.