The Year Without Summer: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Read online

  Robert snorted. “Thinking about that is like envisioning a large asteroid hitting the earth. It could happen, but it’s not something you can really plan for or worry about, as the probability of it happening is too low.”

  “So what you’re saying is that nothing that can be done? No means of preparing oneself for this kind of disaster?”

  “It depends. Are we talking about a category 8 with no precursor eruptions? Remember, magma buildup would be detectable for weeks, maybe years preceding a major event.”

  Ted scoffed. “That is if your technology doesn’t fail.”

  “I think it’s pretty reliable, Ted.”

  “It communicates via broadband, does it not?”

  “The broadband seismometer, yes. It uses cable. The deformation relies on GPS and we have other means for checking on gas emissions.”

  “But my point is, even if your technology doesn’t fail, the cable or broadband might. I mean I can’t count the number of times my Internet service has gone down.”

  Robert chuckled. “You really are considering the worst-case scenario.”

  “Better to be safe than sorry.”

  Robert continued. “Okay, let’s say we weren’t able to detect the magma build-up, maybe the readings were wrong, or something got overlooked and it was a full eruption. The force could shoot up ash eighteen miles high before expanding outwards for up to 500 miles. A full eruption would cover most of the West and Midwest. However, that’s not to say that the East would be safe. Ash would rain down on practically everyone in the United States. If you are anywhere within a hundred miles of the caldera, no, you wouldn’t have much time. The eruption itself makes its own wind, which can overcome the prevailing westerly wind. The suddenness and speed of the eruption, and the amount of lava, pumice, gas and ash that would spew, would be fifty times the size of the Krakatoa eruption which killed more than 36,000 people, and 2,500 times more than Mount St. Helens. The scorching hot ash alone would block out sunlight, topple trees, kill crops and wildlife, burn and suffocate humans, collapse roofs, take out the power grid, contaminate water, close airports and continue on through the easterly slipstream for up to 1,000 miles or more very fast. I’m talking about covering six miles in less than three minutes. So if the giant boulders don’t kill you, the scorching hot ash will. Now bear in mind that typically a single massive eruption is not likely to happen, more often than not it’s comprised of a series of smaller eruptions that would essentially unzip the magma chamber. Basically it wouldn’t be pretty. But again as I said, there is always a precursor to these events. We would need to see some impressive earthquakes and swarms.”

  “You hope,” Ted said. “One last thing. Can you provide any insights on rumors about NASA looking to drill down to release heat from the magma chamber?”

  Robert laughed. “You listen to one too many rumors. NASA is not involved in Yellowstone Volcano Observatory and the monitoring at the park. Sure, I work with some NASA scientists but that’s related to other volcanoes in the USA.”

  “Then my sources must be wrong, including National Geographic as several callers reported talking to NASA employees about it. They said it was all being kept on the down low.”

  “You might not want to buy into everything your sources tell you.”

  Ted grumbled as if he didn’t believe him. “Look, thanks for coming on the show. I appreciate it. Let’s just hope it never happens.”

  He continued to rattle on for a few more minutes about basic survival tips, like evacuating if asked and not returning home if your property was in the danger zone; stocking water, food, and medicine; staying inside; covering your nose and mouth; and avoiding geothermal areas and places with ash. Yeah, it wasn’t exactly rocket science but it was something. Catherine switched it off, noticing that Jordan had gone back to listening to his music. As the SUV continued along its path she considered Robert’s words and thought about the conversation she’d had with him prior to planning her trip. It wasn’t that she disagreed with him. For the most part he was right about people being too paranoid, but like many government agencies, there was the information shared with the public, then there was what was discussed behind closed doors, and that was what bothered her. She had seen the expressions on the faces of colleagues as the swarm of earthquakes increased, she’d heard snippets of conversations with those in the field, and she’d done her own research, wading through historical data and looking over video submitted by amateur geyser watchers who tracked the behavior of Yellowstone’s geothermal features.

  She looked over to Jordan.

  While the trip was about him, she’d be lying to say she wasn’t curious to see for herself what was going on. Logging on to a computer website, pouring over website data and sitting in on long teleconference calls could only tell a person so much. If she was honest she missed her job working for the USGS; it had allowed her to get out there, in the field, close up and personal with active locations. It gave her a way to make observations, collect specialized data and save lives.

  She gave Jordan a nudge as they veered into Mammoth Campground. Located in high sagebrush above the Gardiner River, tents and RVs were surrounded by junipers and Douglas fir trees. There was a picnic table, a fire pit with a grate, and a large food storage box, which was for sharing. There were five park entrances in two states, and twelve campgrounds with over 2,000 sites. Due to the sheer size of the park, most people would stay in one area then go north or south and stay in another so they could take in the sights. And going from the north to the south of the park wasn’t an easy journey. It took anywhere from four to seven hours. Jordan gazed out the window and got a sour expression on his face. “This is it? Where are the bathrooms?”

  “They have flush and vault toilets nearby.”

  “Vault?”

  “Yeah, it’s one step up from pit toilets.”

  He snorted. “This place is the pits. And what about showers?”

  She thumbed over her shoulder. “Five miles back in Gardiner, or we…”

  He threw up a hand. “Bathe in the river?”

  She laughed again. “I was about to say we can pay to use the showers in the hotel.”

  “Tell me again, why we aren’t staying there?”

  She chuckled and ran a hand over his head. “You will love it. Give it a chance,” she said pulling into their spot. Although she had her reservations about the week ahead she was glad to finally spend some time with him, even if it would coincide with other plans.

  Chapter 2

  Billy Brennan had never been one for rules. He wasn’t paying to camp in a designated area, neither was he going to ask permission to wingsuit off Mount Washburn, at an elevation of 10,243 feet. This would be the third year in a row he’d given those chumps in brown uniforms a way to earn their paycheck. In his mind he was doing his civic duty, spicing things up and this year wouldn’t be any less than epic.

  Many years ago he’d spent the better part of a week being chased all over the national park because they believed he was responsible for the historic Alum Fire that spread across 7,000 acres. He might have enjoyed winding people up but he wasn’t a pyromaniac. Anyway, being chased was a blast, a real thrill that only made coming here that much sweeter. Forget joining the sheep lining the highways like good Americans, paying in advance and thanking them for their service. The way he saw it, this was God’s country, and no corporate asshole was going to charge him twenty bucks a night for entry. Nope, freedom didn’t ask for permission or rely on how much he had in his pocket. He went where he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted, and quite frankly, who the hell was going to stop him?

  Oh yep, this year he had a few tricks up his sleeve to liven things up.

  Fireworks.

  Wingsuit flying.

  Motocross.

  A little bit of wildlife hunting.

  And of course sleeping under the stars without a care in the world.

  Billy and his pal Wyatt Lehane were standing at the foot of the fire
lookout tower on the summit just waiting for the other eight tourists to take a hike down the hill. The staff inside the building, which was manned from mid-June through to the end of fire season, was up in the tower. It had taken them the better part of an hour and a half to trek up a long, winding eight-foot-wide path to reach the top so they were just taking a moment to catch their breath before moving into action.

  They had their suits in their backpacks and were waiting for the best moment to whip them out and gear up. They had to plan it just right otherwise they’d find themselves hauled away by the powers that be and probably slapped with a hefty fine.

  That was the only challenge with Yellowstone National Park. If it wasn’t the park’s regular rangers they had to contend with, it was the gunslinging ones. Yellowstone had its own law enforcement, a team of rangers often seen patrolling the park. They dealt with everything: crimes, motor vehicle accidents, complaints of misbehavior and damage. Yep, Billy and Wyatt were all too familiar with them. Fortunately they’d managed to stay one step ahead of them each year. This year would be no different.

  “You think he’s going to be a problem?” Wyatt asked wiping sweat from his brow and gazing up nonchalantly at the firefighting staff. They weren’t liable to catch them as it didn’t take long to get ready but they could screw this day up and after that long ass hike, that wasn’t happening.

  Billy surveyed the area and in particular an over-enthusiastic tourist. “Soon as buddy over there shifts his fat ass, and stops snapping shots of every goddamn thing, we’ll head up. Remember, toss the smoke grenade on the far side, it will buy us some time to get our gear on.”

  Wyatt gave a nod.

  They waited for what seemed liked half an hour before the tourist turned and headed back down the path. In the distance they could see more coming up.

  “Right, let’s do this and fast,” Billy said turning towards the entrance of the lookout.

  The fire lookout was a rusted shit tin on top of concrete that had been built back in the 1900s to help protect the surrounding forest from wildfires. The lookouts were each manned by a couple of airheads who spent the better part of their day probably smoking weed and jerking off rather than staring out of binoculars. On the bottom floor was a small visitor center and restroom, on the second was an observation deck and the ranger’s residence was on the top floor.

  Billy squeezed the rusted railing on the observation deck. The warm wind whipped at his shorts and T-shirt. Of course he didn’t plan on jumping from there, they were going to climb up to the roof, but first they needed to get the ranger out. He drew in a long breath and relished the moment. It was as much about the lead-up to the jump as it was gliding through the air high above the hilly terrain. They’d jumped from Observation Peak last year and soared over the dying whitebark pines and burned forests, but today’s plan was to sweep down over the tops of tourists and scare the shit out of them.

  “Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Billy said, taking another toke on the joint before crushing it below his boot. “How’s it looking, Wyatt?”

  “If we’re gonna do this, we should do it now. More tourists are coming up the path.”

  “Go on then,” Billy said.

  Wyatt pulled out an EG18 high output smoke grenade, popped off the top, gave the wire a pull and tossed it several feet away from the tower. It hit the ground and rolled going over the edge. Within seconds a massive plume of black smoke began to fill the air. They didn’t have to alert the ranger inside, he was out of his cubbyhole in no time and hurrying down with a fire extinguisher in hand. Calmly but quickly they yanked their wingsuits out and slipped into them. Billy adjusted the video camera on top of his helmet, making sure it was facing straight. Getting tons of online video views was all part of it. He’d already racked up a nice following with his and Wyatt’s antics. People all over the world couldn’t wait to tune in to see what crazy stunts they’d perform next.

  Billy climbed up the steps, and entered the abandoned post for a quick second to snatch up an uneaten bologna sandwich belonging to the ranger. He took a big chunk out of it and then tossed it before climbing over the metal barrier and vaulting up onto the top of the station. Once both of them were up, they took a quick second to see how buddy was doing down below. They started laughing as they watched him empty an entire extinguisher all over the smoke grenade that was spewing out a large plume.

  “Hey fella!” Wyatt yelled. “That’s some fine firefighting skills you got there.”

  The ranger turned, looked up and flashed an expression of surprise before yelling for them to get down.

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you!” Billy said tapping Wyatt on the arm and preparing to launch. They slapped hands, bonked heads and grinned like adolescents even though they were in their late twenties.

  “Let’s do this.” Wyatt tossed back a Red Bull, crushed the can and threw it off the edge almost hitting the ranger who was on his radio, yelling about needing backup and hurrying up to get them. “Let’s see if this shit really gives you wings,” he said.

  Billy replied with a British impersonation of someone from Downton Abbey. “Tally-ho, old chap!” he said before taking a few steps back and firing towards the edge. His boots smashed the top of the tower like pistons, before he launched himself off.

  Chapter 3

  The road was melting. Logan hadn’t seen anything like it before. They’d had some pretty hot summers over the years, and he’d witnessed several geysers erupt, causing damage to the landscape and trees, but this was new. He’d got the call late that morning from one of the rangers in the Old Faithful District. There were seven districts in the park and those were divided into thirteen subdistricts, each one had its own ranger station and substation. Not long after losing Jenna eight months ago, he’d taken a position in the law enforcement division of the park. There were several reasons why. It was a step up from his previous position as a general park ranger, it offered greater challenges but more than anything it kept his mind busy, and today was no different.

  Leaning back against his white SUV with a green stripe down the side, he jammed a cigarette between his lips, an old habit he’d started again after losing Jenna.

  “You think it was caused by the thermal features?” Dave Myers asked.

  That was his first hunch, especially in light of recent activity at the park, but they had been told not to jump to conclusions. The last thing they wanted was park rangers acting all paranoid. However, there was a strong possibility that’s what had caused it. The park had multiple thermal features: fumaroles that let out steam, hot springs, geysers and mudpots.

  Logan didn’t reply.

  “Well, what do you want us to do?” Myers asked.

  He blew smoke out the corner of his mouth surveying the bubbling oil covering a vast area of US-191.

  “Didn’t they recently lay down new asphalt?” Logan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Alright, just give me a minute. I need to speak with the chief.”

  Logan climbed back into his vehicle and snagged up the radio. It let out a static whine.

  “Come in, chief.”

  As one of two deputy chief rangers operating out of the park’s headquarters in Mammoth, Logan handled field operations and reported to the chief ranger who was the head of the Resource and Visitor Protection Branch. Chief Robert McDonald was getting on in years, and those around him could tell. It wasn’t just the full head of silver hair, the thick glasses he wore or his terrible taste in music — he’d lost the spark that most rangers had when they started the career. The zeal was gone, and now all that remained was a crusty old man who had lost his sense of humor and would breathe down your neck.

  “What is it?” McDonald barked back.

  “I’m out on US-191 near Firehole Lake Drive. The road is melting.”

  He chuckled. “Of course it is. That’s what comes from contracting out the work to the lowest bidder. They must have used some substandard asphalt. Damn idiots. I swear this p
ark isn’t what it used to be. Do you know, when I came on we ran a tight ship. None of this cutting corners shit.”

  He rambled on and Logan tuned him out as he looked back at the road.

  “Did you hear what I said?” McDonald blurted.

  “Yeah, yeah. But it seems a little odd that we haven’t had this occur before.”

  “You mean in all the years you have been working here. We had it before. In fact there was a similar issue with some donated material near Old Faithful that was used to create some of the walkways. It all had to be replaced because it wouldn’t hold its shape.”

  “So you think it’s fine?”

  He heard McDonald groan in the most condescending way. “Of course, Logan.”

  “So I’ll close off this road until they can get a maintenance crew in here,” Logan said.

  “Well, that depends. Can vehicles get by?”

  “Yeah if they go on the hard shoulder but you can’t expect everyone to do that.”

  “Why not?” McDonald asked.

  “Because we’re talking about tourists. They’re too busy looking at the wilderness.”

  “Maybe they should be paying attention to where they’re driving.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. It was like talking to a wall. McDonald assumed that if people didn’t think like him they were all idiots.

  “So?” Logan asked for confirmation.

  “Yeah, close it off. I’ll get on to maintenance and make sure they don’t bring in the same crew again. Geesh! As if I didn’t have enough on my plate.”

  With that he ended the conversation.

  Logan slipped out and went around the back of the SUV and began hauling out the signs. Myers gave him a hand.

  “This is really going to piss off the public,” Myers said.

  “Nothing we can do about it.”

  “Traffic will be a nightmare.”

  “Myers! Deal with it.”