The Yellowstone Event: Book 6: The Aftermath Read online

Scientists estimated it would take at least two full years before the atmosphere was completely free of ash and dust particles.

  In the meantime it would be a dirty gray color. Like Los Angeles smog on steroids.

  Western Europe, though, was still relatively unscathed. Other than the dark sky in the distance, the air was still easy to breathe and no masks were required.

  Wayne felt just a little bit guilty.

  Like a rat deserting a sinking ship.

  Chapter 30

  As they walked back to Kalkturmstrausse Hans asked Wayne to tell him again about the first time he went shopping at the Markt.

  “Why Hans, you old goat. I’ve told you that story so many times you should have my every word memorized by now.”

  “I practically do, my friend. But even after all this time it still brings me such joy and laughter. I just must hear it again.”

  Wayne sighed, but he wasn’t as put off as he appeared to be.

  The fact was, it was a great story which never failed to crack up everyone within earshot.

  “It was the summer of 1985. The Department of Defense sent me here on a temporary duty assignment… what they called a TDY gig, for the U.S. Air Force.

  “They had an air base then in the tiny town of Bitburg. F-15 fighters, as I recall.

  “Anyway, they sheltered their jets in what they called hardened revetments. They were tough as nails, meant to withstand anything short of a direct hit with a tactical nuclear weapon.

  “Back then, you see, the Soviet Union was still a huge threat. The cold war was warming, but Reagan didn’t trust Gorbachev and Gorbachev didn’t trust Reagan.

  “It was kinda like going to the dance with your ex wife and everybody else wondering who was gonna stab the other in the back first.

  “There was some seismic activity going on beneath the base, and it was causing some stress cracks in the revetments.

  “Now, the cracks were barely visible to the human eye, but were actually a pretty big deal. When you have a revetment designed and built to withstand a pressure of eighty tons a square inch, anything that weakens it to the slightest degree could have catastrophic results.

  “There was a hotshot general on the base at the time. A two star. He commanded the 53rd Tactical Fighter Wing, but his name escapes me at the moment.”

  Hans was quick to help.

  “Tomlinson. Major General Larry Tomlinson.”

  “That’s it. You’re right as usual, Hans.

  “Anyway, General Tomlinson was convinced the soviets had developed and deployed some type of new weapon. One that produced sound waves of such magnitude they could actually cause a very sound structure to vibrate until it started to crack.

  “Everyone thought he was Looney tunes, but no one had the balls to tell him so. They just let him rant and rave and tell anyone who’d listen about all his conspiracy theories.

  “Word was getting around that the German Luftwaffe’s High Command was worried he’d go public and accuse Gorbachev of actions tantamount to war. They thought he’d single-handedly start World War III with his loose talk.

  “The High Command met in secret with the Bundestag, which sent a representative to talk to the Chancellor on Christmas morning, of all days.

  “The Chancellor, in turn, waited six hours to call Reagan on the hotline. Just so he’d be disturbed on Christmas morning as well.

  “The Chancellor demanded that Tomlinson be relieved of his duties immediately.

  “Reagan didn’t like the idea, but he relented. Tomlinson was replaced that very day and his deputy commander filled in while the new guy made the move.

  “Tomlinson was back in the states two days later, pitching a fit and threatening to defy his orders and go public. For the good of the nation, he said.

  “You have to remember this was all highly classified. Top secret. He’d have been stripped of his rank and court-martialed, then drummed right out of the military and right into Fort Leavenworth Prison.

  “He had to be shut up or he’d throw away his career.”

  Hans loved the story, as he always had before.

  But Wayne was getting a bit long-winded and he felt the need to rein him back in.

  “You know, Wayne,” one thing I forgot about your story is how long it takes you to tell it.”

  Wayne was unswayed.

  “Hey, you wanted to hear it. Now you have to suffer through it.”

  Hans looked to Julie, who just shrugged. She could no more hurry up her husband than she could raise the Titanic.

  Wayne continued.

  “Anyway, they called me as I was on my way to a New Year’s Eve party. They told me to turn my car around and go directly to the airport. That they’d send an aide by the house to pick up a suitcase from Julie and he’d be on the next flight. But I didn’t have time to wait.

  “I asked where I was going. They said I’d find out when I got there.

  “I asked why. I was told I’d find out when I got there.

  “I almost asked when I’d be coming back, then decided to save my breath.

  “I landed at Rhein Main the following evening.

  “It only took two days for me to determine the vibrations to Bitburg’s revetments were caused by seismic activity and not some advanced weapons system.

  “Gorbachev was off the hook. He was innocent.

  “But they had me stay around another month to test all the other air bases in the area. They wanted to see whether other bases were having the same problem.

  “And they weren’t.

  “A few years later Bitburg closed because their revetments were no longer capable of protecting the jets inside of them. Everyone thought it was just another closure done by the BRAC Commission, but it wasn’t. The story was never made public because they didn’t want to embarrass Gorbachev. By that time he’d torn down the Berlin wall and was being rebranded as one of the good guys.”

  Chapter 31

  “You know,” Hans smiled and whispered to Julie, “I get the impression if I asked Wayne what time it was he’d tell me how to build a clock.”

  “I’m only dragging it out to irritate you,” Wayne countered.

  Elyse said, “I suspected as much.”

  “Anyway, time to wrap it up. While I was investigating the vibrations they billeted me here, thirty kilometers from Bitburg. It seems they had no rooms at the base because they were hosting war games and had a lot of extra aircraft and crews here from the states.

  “They put me up in a very nice hotel, which had a kitchenette and a full sized refrigerator.

  “I knew I’d be working long hours and by the time I got off work each night all the gasthauses would be closed.

  “I decided to stock my refrigerator so I could prepare my own meals at any time of day.

  “So I went to the large markt just off the Centrum, not aware of German customs or that the traditional German shops every day for one day’s worth of food.

  “I made several trips around the store, gathering things up and piling them on the checkout counter and wondering why they didn’t have shopping carts the size of battleships like American supermarkets.

  “All the time that was going on the employees and customers were watching me and chuckling, no doubt wondering why the crazy American was creating such a stir in their markt.

  “Finally, I had this big pile of groceries at the end of the checkout line and the bagger very politely asked me for my bags.

  “It was only then I remembered seeing all the little old ladies carrying one or two canvas bags into the store with them, using the bags to collect the things they were buying, then letting the cashier remove the items, ring them up, and place them back into the same bags.

  “I don’t think I’ve been more embarrassed or felt more foolish in my life.

  “The markt had no bags. I had no bags. The manager had to go back to the rear of the store and empty out several boxes to put my groceries in.

  “I’ve never gone back into that partic
ular markt since. I’m afraid they have a large photograph of me next to the door that says, ‘Don’t let this crazy fool in.’”

  By the time he finished his story Julie and their friends were holding their sides.

  If they lived long enough and remained friends long enough to tell the story a hundred more times it would still be just as funny every single time.

  Part of it was the embarrassment Wayne still felt, all those years later.

  His cheeks and ears still reddened.

  Part of it was in the telling, for Wayne was a storyteller extraordinaire.

  And part of it was because… well, it was indeed a humorous adventure.

  Wayne had added a new word that day: dumkoph, to his German vocabulary.

  It was uttered from the lips of an ancient little woman, standing behind him in line.

  It was a slam, sure, but he’d certainly deserved it for not doing his homework into German culture and inconveniencing her and several others.

  He’d watched for that woman every day after that, right up until the day he headed for the airport and back to America.

  He’d played out in his mind many times exactly what he was going to say by way of an apology. Word by word he’d have crafted that apology in a way which would convey that not all Americans were big dummies like him, That he was just raised in an uneducated environment and he didn’t hug his mother enough when he was growing up.

  He never saw the woman again alive.

  Her twisted face, eighty if it was a day, would forever be burned into his mind.

  He didn’t make it back to Wittlich for two more years and he watched out for her again. He wanted desperately to make amends.

  Then, on a poster column in the Centrum, he finally saw her face again. This time she was much younger, much prettier, much less wrinkled.

  And she was smiling.

  She was much prettier than he’d remembered, but going back in time twenty years in an old photograph seemed to do that to a person.

  The photograph was part of a handbill announcing the old woman’s death, posted there to alert her old friends and neighbors of her passing.

  For a very long time Wayne was haunted by that old woman’s face.

  But he was a man who learned from his mistakes. He never again went into a markt without a couple of canvas bags. And he never again purchased more than those bags could carry.

  Chapter 32

  The highway which crosses western Canada and connects Washington State to Alaska has always had a certain mystique about it.

  Travelers considered it an adventure, for it was 1700 miles of pure hell.

  Much of it wasn’t paved until late in the 20th century. On winter ice it was slicker than owl snot. In the summer there was the constant danger of animal strikes, for travelers could come over a rise or around a curve at any time and find a bear or a moose or a caribou parked right in the middle of the roadway.

  To this day it’s still possible to stop at any one of a hundred souvenir stands and purchase a bumper sticker that says:

  I SURVIVED THE ALCAN HIGHWAY

  Such a sticker, whether placed on a car’s bumper or on the back of an RV, was a badge of honor for seasoned road warriors.

  It was something to be proud of, and anyone who has one loves to tell stories of their great adventures.

  These days it was viewed with much more affection, for it wasn’t totally covered by fallen ash, as pretty much all of the lower forty eight now was.

  And instead of being merely a means of connecting Washington State and Alaska, these days the ALCAN represented much more.

  For volcano refugees it represented a new start.

  Safety.

  A chance to rebuild and go on living, this time in a more rugged land.

  The ALCAN had always tested one’s mettle.

  It still does, although a bit less so now that half of it isn’t dirt or loose gravel.

  These days the whole state of Alaska promises to test one’s mettle as well.

  Alaska’s not for the faint of heart or the weak-kneed. Especially during its very long winters.

  Alaska either breaks men or makes them stronger than they ever thought possible.

  It toughens most and makes them feel invincible.

  Yet when they stand in the shadow of Mount McKinley they quickly come back down to earth. For they realize at that moment how tiny and insignificant they really are.

  Most of the volcano refugees headed up the ALCAN had already signed a contract with the federal government.

  In exchange for forfeiting whatever equity they had in their homes and allowing the federal government to seize their property, the government provided them with several things.

  They got a five acre piece of the Great State of Alaska. A piece that fronted a river or stream or sat next to one of the state’s many lakes.

  The land was arable and relatively flat and could be used to produce crops during Alaska’s short growing season.

  They got an RV to take to Alaska, which would provide them a place to live while their new home was being built.

  They got the materials brought in by heavy-lift helicopters. Everything they’d need to build a cabin of sufficient size to accommodate their family.

  All the materials except for the logs they’d need to build the cabin.

  Bringing in logs by helicopter would have been way too expensive.

  It would have been stupid as well, for every section of land the government doled out was covered with timber.

  Instead of bringing in logs for the cabins the government hired roving bands of loggers, who hop-scotched from one section of land to another as each new owner arrived on property.

  The loggers made short work of cutting down timbers, removing the bark, and stacking them adjacent to the cabin site.

  In addition they cut down two of the tallest pines or firs they could find, cut them into logs, and stacked the logs where they’d be easily accessible.

  The logs were to get the new resident though their first winter.

  It just wouldn’t do for a new family to freeze to death because they underestimated their wood supply.

  Other groups of traveling tradesmen on the government’s payroll were construction workers: log cabin specialists.

  There were forty one such teams, five men on each.

  Their role, once the new family was on site, was to provide their skills to get the family started on construction.

  They weren’t to do it for them, they were quick to explain. There were too many refugees and too few of the teams, to spend all their time on one site.

  Rather, their job was to show the new residents how to do things. And to loan them the tools to do the bulk of the work themselves.

  For example, they’d show the family how to measure the logs. How to determine where to notch them and how to notch them. They’d have the family watch while they notched two or three.

  Then they’d leave for a few days while the family notched several more.

  They might come back five days later to help place the notched logs. That was the hardest part, you see, in building a log cabin. The logs must be notched perfectly or they won’t fit together correctly.

  And they’re incredibly heavy.

  Once the notched logs were placed together and became the beginnings of walls the traveling crew would point out any mistakes the family made; how they could do things better. And how to fix their mistakes.

  And they’d give them an additional task to perform before leaving again.

  They might say, “You did a fair job notching the logs. Do another ten. And also, dig a trench from this point to that point so we can run spring water into the kitchen for you.”

  It was an arrangement which required both dedicated trainers and willing families.

  But it seemed to work quite well for a federal government with a bad reputation for screwing things up.

  Chapter 33

  Gwen and Melvyn and Tony and Hannah w
ere pretty much spent.

  They’d traveled the ALCAN in convoy, one behind the other, with eight other families sharing the adventure with them.

  All had been given their own recreational vehicles, but there was nothing uniform about them.

  In most things it does, the government likes to have everything the same.

  If they’d had their way, every RV it provided to refugees would look exactly the same. That way no one would complain that hey, someone else got something better than they got.

  Many Americans, you see, are whiners.

  If it were up to the government they’d have asked for bids from the RV manufacturers. They’d have accepted the lowest price offered, done up a contract on a thousand sheets of paper, more or less, and bought umpteen thousands of the same model and color.

  In this case they didn’t have a choice.

  Oh, many of the RVs did indeed look the same, for FEMA had been collecting them for years and placing them in underground warehouses in the Nevada desert.

  One of the secret bases not far from Groom Lake wasn’t, as conspiracy theorists had believed for many years, a site which captured and reverse-engineered flying saucers.

  It was instead simply a top-secret storage depot. A place where the government stored supplies, food and drinking water for the day the… stuff hit the fan.

  In addition to the millions of MREs and the millions of bottles of drinking water were four thousand identical recreational vehicles.

  That’s right. Four thousand.

  When the federal government does something it does it big.

  Of course, that was nowhere near enough. Not when hundreds of thousands of families were signing up or inquiring about the Alaskan Land Act program.

  FEMA representatives were dispatched by the hundreds across the nation, with instructions to buy every RV off of every RV lot, regardless of brand or size.

  Like everything else related to the Yellowstone relocation problem, that opened the door to graft and corruption on all levels.