The Yellowstone Conundrum (50 page)

Geologic Hazards Science Center

Golden, Colorado

 
Nighttime or early evening had come to the campus of Colorado School of Mines. Nancy O’Brien had returned to the fourth floor just to see if anything looked different.  It didn’t. In fact, it looked worse. The view from the broken wall in the center of the building, like a Cyclopes from the outside, she supposed, was discouraging. The sun’s light from the West was simply being absorbed by the black cloud, as if it didn’t exist. There were sirens outside, but they seemed muffled, distant. Nothing came from the valley below.

 
There was no way they could go east. The shroud in front of her was dense, pitch black.  Nobody underneath could be alive. The shroud was only three miles from her window, which meant the city of Denver, Colorado and all the people of the area were dead or soon to be dead. It was inconceivable. If the USGS building had been downhill, everyone would be dead.

 
Nancy shook her head in despair; nobody was around to see, and then began to cry the tears of helplessness; the tears of why me,
I can’t do this!

 
“Miss Nancy,” a soft voice came from behind her. She turned, tears streaming down her cheeks. “A few of us are going to the service. Would you like to come with us?”  Alma Bevins put her arm around Nancy.  The touch opened the floodgates and Nancy started to cry, huge sobs that came from the bottom of her being; tears that wrenched her body physically, tears so large and so painful they were too large to get out of her body. She nodded yes.

 
Except for two weddings, she hadn’t been to church in thirty years. Her relationship with God was on the “outs”. 

 
Hundreds of people headed toward the old Gothic chapel from all the buildings on campus, streaming toward the old but renovated church; the oldest Episcopal church in Colorado. Inside, the chapel was crowded; virtually every seat taken by students, staff and people in the neighborhood.
Maybe God won’t let us down if we’re in a church. 

 
The service was normal in that it celebrated the Holy Eucharist, the sharing of the body and blood of Christ and the forgiveness of personal sins. The interior of the church was plain, sight drawn to the front, past the pulpit and lectern to a series of lit candles, which represented Christ the light of the world, John 8:12. In the pews were well-worn copies of the Book of Common Prayer. 

 
Nancy, with Alma holding her arm, sat mid-way on the left-side; Alma mistaking Nancy’s body shakes as being faith-based; far from it, Nancy wanted to stand and shout, to rail against the church; to put a hex on the service; like she was in a horror movie instead of a church service on a school campus.

 
While fully awake, she felt like she was being drawn into a maze with a black, ragged cross in front of her. Behind the cross was evil, not goodness; the lectern at the front of the church seemed to throb, the beautiful music seemed like a funeral pyre. The minister, the reverend, started to say something but all Nancy could hear was a raucous
bla-bla-bla
, as if crows had overlaid a soundtrack.

 
Get a grip!

 
Mid-service, Nancy stood up; excused herself from Alma’s care, wiggled her way down the short but very tight pew, and left, noticeably to those assembled, and clip-clopped backwards toward the entrance; she was sobbing.

 
Why am I crying? Why do I feel this way? What’s happening to me?

 
She felt like she’d been abducted by aliens. There was simply no other way to describe how she felt. She’d been dropped into a feel-right scenario that had instead given her the creepy-crawlies. Getting out the church, she breathed non-church air in gulps.

 
She’d led nothing but a normal life of doing what she was capable of doing, making the most of every situation, striving the for the best outcome, never looking to take advantage but to find the win-win wherever she went.

 
“Dr. O’Brien,” a voice called out from behind her. She turned and was pleasantly surprised to see a young man, actually a good-looking young man of 22 or so, wrapped up in a black parka with matching gloves, 5’9” or so, a slim fit into worn jeans and an equally worn pair of Merrill hiking boots, with an old Rockies baseball cap on his head.  “You’re the government lady; the US Geo head.”

 
“OK,” she smiled while dragging the OK out. “I can be a government lady. I’m Nancy O’Brien. And, you are?”

 
“David Freer, senior, last semester,” Nancy had to admit her 42-year old heart went da-dum.  The kid was a runway model without being one.

 
“So, David, why aren’t you inside?”

 
“I came down with friends, but I can’t get into it,” he admitted, face screwed up a bit with memory. “My parents wanted me to; but, you know—they didn’t press. Some of it makes sense, but a lot doesn’t. And I know folks your age,” he stopped in mid-sentence, realizing the woman in front of him was the same age as his mother.

 
“What about my age, David?” she asked.
I’ve turned into a Cougar
.

 
“Sorry, I mean—

  “It’s OK.
I’m sure your Mom and I would enjoy each other’s company. You were saying.”

 
“Yeah; belief—faith—one religion over another; from what I’ve read The Bible, Greek and Roman Mythology, Buddha, Taoism, Islam, Hinduism; all of the major religions in the world started to evolve at about the same time; around 8
th
or 9
th
century B.C. And it wasn’t a co-incidence that the development of the written word occurred about at the same time.” 

 
“So?” Nancy played teacher.

 
“Why should one be better than the other? They all basically teach the same message; love your neighbors as you love yourself. Treat people the way you’d like to be treated.”

 
“So why are you outside the chapel instead of inside?” she asked.

 
“Because I saw you come outside. Because I’ve heard of your reputation as being someone in charge; and because we’re going to need someone in charge, very soon.” Young David’s eyes locked on hers.

 
It was disconcerting, like he could see right into her brain.

 
“What’s happened?” he asked, simply.

 
“The Yellowstone caldera—the—“

 
“I know what it is,” he replied quickly.

“Has erupted,” Nancy looked to the east; darkness had already set. There were no stars to be seen. “Everybody in Denver who didn’t leave this afternoon, didn’t immediately drive east or west, is dead. Power is out everywhere; don’t know about back East. I’ve heard something happened in Seattle, but I have no information. The lines to my world are down.

 
“As today has unfolded, I believe that life as we know it is done,” Nancy said simply  “I’ve—you’ve—done enough studying to understand that Global Warming isn’t something made up by Harvard liberals. It’s real. If the explosions continue at Yellowstone, not only are there going to be a lot of very dead people, but they’re also going to be some shifting of where people live, what people do, where people go. We’re not going to have cities with suburbs and the neighborhood Piggly-Wiggly, and reliable cell phones, television on demand, and fancy cars; or universities.  Nancy turned and looked coldly at the black wall only a few miles away. “A lot of us are going to be picking and planting crops, trading food for gasoline.

 
”And there’s going to be a new concept,” Nancy continued.  “If you didn’t like Global Warming, you sure as hell aren’t going to like Global Freezing.”

 
“So, where do you want to go?” he asked.

 
Where do I want to go? I want to be with my Robert
.

  But her brain kicked in. North was out. East was out.  West?
Unknown; that left south.

 
“New Mexico might be good,” she replied.

 
“I was thinking the same thing. Would you be willing to be the leader?” David asked, without pausing.

 
“Of what?” she answered.

 
“Not sure what to call it, but I totally agree with you on the problem; so do a lot of my friends. I can’t be a leader of adults and kids going to school because they’re parents can (could) afford it. There’s not going to be any more school. Over a half million people could be dead down there, especially if they didn’t heed the warnings. Not just dead, but buried. “I don’t have any credibility. You do. It’s that simple.”

 
“What about your teachers?” she asked. “Or school administrators?”

 
He thought about the questions. “This is a really good school, or was,” he paused for reflection. “I just don’t see individuals who will be willing to leave everything behind.  Mrs. O’Brien,” Nancy wanted to stop him, to suggest the more familiar Nancy or Miss Nancy, but didn’t.  “Sixty-percent of the students commute and never made it to class this morning because of the earthquakes. The airport is either in that cloud or on the other side; it doesn’t matter to us, might as well be on the moon. Our food supply for everyone comes through Denver, which gives the whole area maybe three days before people will be rioting, right here in white bread Colorado.”

 
They could hear the noise inside the church as the stiff wooden pews groaned as the worshippers stood to sing. A piano—not the organ because it required electricity—began to pound out the familiar hymn, lyrics and words written by Martin Luther sometime between 1527 and 1529, originally used by King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden as his forces went into The Thirty Years War between the Protestant States of Europe and the Roman Catholic States and Allies.

A mighty fortress is our God,

             
a bulwark never failing;

             
our helper he amid the flood

             
of mortal ills prevaling. 

             
For still our ancient foe

             
doth seek to work us woe;

             
his craft and power are great,

             
and armed with cruel hate,

             
on earth is not his equal.

  “We can’t be more than three miles from the edge of that cloud; no less than that. I can’t see the interstate!” the young man pointed, now trying to see exactly where the edge was, urging Nancy to assume control of the evacuation. I-70 from Denver came to Golden and took a jig to the south before heading up into the Rockies and the Eisenhower Tunnel some forty miles away. 

 
The church went into the third verse. Inside were students, staff and neighbors of the community.

And though this world, with devils filled,

             
should threaten to undo us,

             
we will not fear, for God hath willed

             
his truth to triumph through us. 

             
The Prince of Darkness grim,

             
we tremble not for him;

             
his rage we can endure,

             
for lo, his doom is sure;

             
one little word shall fell him.

  “I have eight people from my agency who are still here, including myself; I don’t know how may will decide to leave here; perhaps five; I hope, more; but, it’s a tough decision. Are there places to sleep tonight on campus?  I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to bivouac.” 

 
Well, that’s the first time you’ve ever used the word ‘bivouac’ Miss Nancy.

 
“Yes, there are” replied David, his face brightening.  The hymn continued relentlessly in the background.

 
“What about cars?  Gas? I don’t suppose anyone knows how to syphon gasoline from--”

 
“Yes, ma’am, that can be arranged,” smiled David.

 
“How many of you are there?” she asked.

 
“I’m not looking to save the world, ma’am. Probably thirty, maybe more,” he estimated.

 
“That’s a lot,” she shook her head.

 
“Yeah, but, they’re all good,” he added.

 
“I’m not trying to save the town of Golden,” she asserted.

 
“No, ma’am; just us,” he smiled broadly.

 
There was no pretending she was a Messiah; there was only one and he died on a cross. No cross for me.