Eden... Closed

By George Groves Jr.

Earth's demise may not come from the skies. It most likely will come from within. Not since the infancy of our solar system has Earth undergone such titanic geological upheavals. Rift zones are tearing the world apart, tectonic plates rampage under land masses causing earthquakes of immeasurable magnitude, continents being split into pieces then consumed by half-mile high tsunamis. Earth's lands have ceased to exist except for three insignificant stubs of land; a scant remnant of Montana where vacationing Ross Nielson has joined up with a group of picnicking school children. Another is a 9,000 seamount in the bay of Ecuador housing a team of geologists, and the third an uninhabited dot of Australia. The Montana and Ecuador survivors, a family cruising the Pacific on their yacht, and the remnant crew of a devastated Coast Guard ship bring the Earth's total known population to fifty. Intimate snapshots of an estranged father and son on the verge of a reunion, an airliner's crew, a Hawaiian priest and a revenge-seeking girl sketch the poignancy of their last hours before being claimed by this unprecedented catastrophe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468544732

George Groves Jr.

George Groves, born, raised & life long resident of Hawaii. One of Hawaii's best known radio and TV personalities. I pray he is not psychic.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Thursday

Ross Nielson had one of those rare, trouble-free flights: Straight into LAX on time; a smooth connecting flight north; landing on schedule in Billings with luggage intact and delivered.

Funny how he ended up in Montana. Juggling his options, he thought first of spending the first week of his vacation doing nothing, just traveling up the island chain starting in Kona, over to Maui then end up on Kauai. Or, how about spending the entire time in Aote’aroa? But there was a girl in Pasadena he was still in love with but had not seen in years; he could visit her. Or…

So why couldn’t he make up his mind? Afraid he’d miss out on one thing by going to one place and not the other? He wasn’t sure about that. So then, what was it, really? Was there a deeper, nagging cause to his restlessness? Some thing that was too subtle to understand? A notification of perhaps some urgency sent by Nature to all humans to that part of our brains which could receive but could no longer unscramble such messages?

While still toying with the Pasadena idea a solution unexpectedly presented itself. He saw it on a license plate on a car two lanes over. Just a single green pine tree on a white background. Something clicked. Montana? That hadn’t even been a consideration, but there it was—his answer.

At last he could visualize himself on vacation… in Montana. Big Sky country. Why not? Ross could see unending plains bracketed by forests; of being on horseback making his own trails through those faraway trees. He thought of meadows and mountains never before trod by man; of fragrant air, although he wasn’t sure what that would smell like.

One more call to his folks to tell them of his absolutely, final decision, and to bum his dad’s heavy clothing. Montana, huh? I knew some nice people up there, his dad said. Come by and get what you need and I’ll dig up some extra warm coats. Never can tell…

Okay Pop, see you in awhile. Ross was excited. He wasn’t going to waste his three weeks after all.

Big Sky Country, here I come. He chuckled, all because of a license plate. Perhaps later would he recognize the irony of this mis-identity. The Pine Tree logo on the license represented the State of Oregon, not Montana. And if he had chosen to go to Oregon instead, within 24 hours Ross would be dead, along with everyone else in Oregon.

California began and ended the day with a series of slight tremors. Nothing big, nothing to get excited about. After all, these people were old hands at earthquakes. Some clowned around for the TV crews sent out to cover the early morning quakes, but by the time the evening shakes hit, the search for eyewitness videos had been abandoned, nothing to merit more than a mention on the 11 o’clock news.

Ross landed in California in time for breakfast. The entire west coast was glowing under soft skies. Shafts of sunbolts brushed the outer edges of puffy clouds with such a golden outline they appeared to be painted against the sky. And what a sky! It was not just blue, it was a blue with a quality of depth that one could almost touch.

But there was an unaccountable brittleness in the attitudes of the people, an anxiety. Their smiles forced, their answers curt. Nature had also passed its cryptic message to them, and, like Ross, they too, had failed to decode it. Of course it wouldn’t have mattered if they had, because nothing could alter the outcome of what was to begin tomorrow. Ah, tomorrow, the day the calendar would end.

Just as Ross would be setting out on his sightseeing trip tomorrow, slipping easily into the pace of a relaxed vacationer, massive quakes would be slamming the west coast, swirling the populace into a hellish panic. Refusing to believe that the quakes would not stop, the people had only enough time to voice one, last, collective sigh of regret. Thirteen million would perish within the first ten minutes of this opening act of ultimate terror. Over the next twenty-four hours the temporarily-surviving remainder, some thirty-five million people—and the land upon which they lived would be gone. Earth was revoking the Human experiment.

No television coverage this time.

CHAPTER TWO

Beth was gibbering with excitement. Tomorrow was the day her entire 2nd grade class would be going on their Day in Nature outing, sponsored by the National and State Park systems of Montana.

All the kids knew about the real fun part, when Miss Carver would have the bus stop at the store where they could buy candy or a toy. Then at the next stop, they’d exchange whatever it was they bought with the person behind, with the kids in the last row running to the front of the bus to hand their treasure to those in the front. The teacher started this ritual on her first outing three years ago and it was such a hit she had included it ever since.

Beth’s mom listened affectionately to her daughter, enjoying the little girl’s anticipation of her first field trip. Like the rest of the youngsters she would have a special goody-laden lunch packed away in her cooler with her name stenciled on the rough textured cover. The mother included a note on Beth’s napkin: ‘Hope you’re having a great time. LOVE and KISSES, my big girl. Love Mom.’

Her dad had included a disposable camera… ‘to help you remember all that you see,’ he had said. She promised she’d take pictures of all they did, then put on a picture show for them.

CHAPTER THREE

Doctor, come here and take a look at this, Doctor Filmore said, indicating to Dr. Wain the Stress Point Factoring Dedicator, a fancy third generation seismograph-like machine.

Eh, what’s up Doc? Dr. Wain asked, pouncing on every opportunity to ‘do’ Bugs Bunny. He actually looked the part of a cartoon scientist. Longish hair fringing a balding head, a decently full mustache that showed care and time were spent on keeping it just right, and wire-rimmed bifocals which were usually worn high on his forehead.

He once used a marking pen to draw eyes on his expanding forehead so when he had his glasses on this spot, it looked as though he really did have four eyes.

Scientists are not without humor, but they sometimes lack common sense judgement. He had done the eyes thing as a quick joke on his colleagues, not reckoning with the permanence of the ink, which, despite much scrubbing with various solvents, remained for almost a week. His wife thought it was hilarious but refused to go anywhere with him unless he kept his hat on.

He brought his glasses down and positioned himself next to the other doctor. Without comment they watched the primary monitor as numbers and letters appeared, scrolling up and off the screen. Filmore would hit the pause key, point out some sequence of characters, evaluate the relevance of the information, punch the ‘Prnt Scrn’ button, then release the frozen screen allowing it to continue its ghostly lettering.

The continuous stream of data had them puzzled.

Finally Dr. Filmore broke the silence. Seems like we have a major quake in the making. His associate nodded.

The two of them had been lifelong friends, proving that physical differences played no part in the criteria for friendship. They were complete opposites. Where Dr. Wain was tall and slim, Dr. Filmore was portly and at least a head shorter, that head being full of neatly combed, peppery hair.

Filmore’s one great passion besides his work was cooking and creating new recipes. It was this Dr. Filmore who had developed food products such as hamburgers, hotdogs, chicken, hams and the like, totally free of animal products. His unfortunate family had been the guinea pigs, sampling the awful, tasteless early attempts. But years of experimentation had paid off, making his ‘L’Family’ line one of the best selling products in the world, which in turned funded his work

Together they designed and built the Stress Point Factoring Dedicator system, a side-step from seismology to the new field of plate tectonics and had personally selected each member of their scientific teams to run them.

Where seismology locates and measures the intensity of earthquakes after they have occurred, Stress Point Factoring is the imprecise art of predicting earthquakes and their probable epicenters. The team, known as SPF’s, or Spiffs, had had meager success. The difficulty was with determining where to set up the stress monitors. There was one particularly vexing event that still rankled them; a fully operational monitoring apparatus had remained absolutely mute even as a major quake had struck only a mile away from it. So, although done with great consideration, it was more of a simple guessing game in choosing the most probable pre-quake sites, with 33 being decided upon worldwide, including theirs in Utah. When all facilities were fully staffed with their handpicked scientists, they sat back and waited. In 40 months they had accurately called four. Only four. In that same time period, there were over 200,000 recorded quakes. It was quiet work.

But now, so much information was streaming in they didn’t know which monitor to watch, and when all 32 printers came alive all at once they literally flinched, startled by the cacophony.

Maybe we’re picking up rush hour in Kyushu, laughed Dr. Wain tightly.

Filmore nodded, acknowledging the number of false readings over the years. That was the one problem that had thus far escaped a solution; the false alarms.

But we’d better check it out, just the same. If we’re lucky… . Dr. Filmore thought for a moment and remarked that ‘lucky’ may not have been the appropriate word, then finished his statement about how auspicious it was, they being present as observers if this is indeed the beginning of the Big One.

He walked to the center of the ‘U’ shaped console and flipped an ordinary switch which did an extraordinary thing. It sent a signal to a satellite which in turn activated a most sophisticated sensing, monitoring, receiving and transmitting system. Simultaneously, it sent an alert down the line requiring every SPFD facility to respond manually within 15 minutes, no exceptions!

The replies were immediate even as Dr. Wain was muttering, The damned thing had better work at 110% for all the money and time we’ve put into it. All 32 red lights blinked on as one, indicating their colleagues high level of alarm. This amazing instrument began its task of computing probabilities from all input sources and would transmit the outcome to all facilities. It took less than a minute for the computer to analyze the data and spew out the results. The read-out began smoothly at first, then went to a quirky, start-stop rhythm, as though the computer was pausing to think. Dr. Wain found it irresistible to not edge closer, crowding in over his friend’s shoulder.

Although the full system had never been activated since its one and only test shortly after being installed, it was performing perfectly, to the proud satisfaction of its originators.

After thirty minutes, however, pride ran low, the erect postures became stooped, eyes burned from staring unceasingly at the data pounding on and on. The two men were tired out, dried out, exhausted… and fearful

What do make of it, Doctor? Wain asked.

No question, Doctor, came Dr. Filmore’s weary reply.

First the probabilities, then the assessments followed by the most realistic conclusion as could be determined by this technology.

This was no false alarm, they knew that. But the magnitude of what the impersonal machine was telling them was impossible.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was early afternoon in Montana and Ross’ prearranged 4 wheel drive Trooper rental, the burgundy one, was gassed and brought to the curb next to the baggage claim area at Logan International. He tossed his bags in and just before climbing into the driver’s seat he did a slow 360 intake of fresh air and clear sky. Damn, it’s nice.

He drove a straight line 50 miles north to Roundup, stopping for a snack and restroom break. Then off again, heading north for another empty 50 miles thinking, you just don’t see this much uninhabited land in Hawaii. He slowed as he entered the town of Grassrange. Spotting a vacancy sign at the Grant Motel, he pulled in. The aches from the long journey caught up with him, creeping into his body. Hunching out of the Trooper, he pushed with his knuckles on the small of his back, arched backward and stretched. He felt great! Tired, but great. Here even the touch of the atmosphere was different, kinda flowing and real.

On the west coast, as beautiful a day as it was, it lacked authenticity. That beauty appeared staged, like something for the benefit of tourists.

Ross dragged out only what he needed for the night then stood looking around the motel parking lot. The proprietor, Grant Ballen came out and assured Ross that his car was safe. The tone in his voice carried the message of the town’s pride in law abiding folks.

No need to lock it up, it’ll be okay, Grant said in a slow kind of way. Ross was comfortable with that and after checking in he spent a couple of hours walking through the small town, sightseeing. He was ready for a shower, a meal and a long sleep, in that order. He picked up the key from the small office designed to resemble an Old West hotel lobby. To get to his room—a cabin, really, he had to walk down a weathered wooden walkway, with hitching rails separating the cabins from the parking lot.

Perfect. With the smell of woodsmoke in the still, late afternoon air, his feeling of contentment was complete.

A large dinner of fire-broiled pork chops had him nodding off even as he finished his dessert, nudging him to bed. Drifting into the twilight of sleep he wondered why the owner of the motel chose to use his first name instead of his last in naming the motel. It was like calling the Hilton Hotels the Conrad Hotels. Hmmph, nothing wrong with that, he supposed.

I guess Grant is as good a name as Ballen… Hey, wait a minute! Ballen Motel… ha ha ha! That’s a good one! His friends would ask where he’d stayed and he’d reply at a Ballen Motel. Ha! That would be funny. He chuckled over this then fell into a sound, restful sleep.

His dreams, though, were not. They were terrifying. He dreamt the sky split open and everyone and everything was sucked up into the upside down chasms. Then, as dreams often do, his mutated. He found himself speeding along a beach road trying to find a place to hide from the gashes in the sky. He watched as his friends rocketed skyward, sucked up into the rends. Mighty waves roared into shore, covering the road behind and in front of him. The smell of the hot, swirling water as each wave swept in was nauseating. If he wanted to make it to safety, he’d have to time his dash down the low road in the lull between waves.

"NOW!" He stomped on the gas. The car lurched to a crawl. Halfway across he saw a huge breaker piling up out of the ocean… and THE CAR STOPPED! He watched in horror as the wave rushed toward him, growing larger and larger. Furious with the car he let loose a string of obscenities, commanding it to move, which of course it refused to do. The wave started to curl, feathers of spume reaching high into the sky. It was so enormous! Curling! Curling! It was going to crash over him, burying him under thousands of tons of water… he was screaming at the car! GO GO GO, CODDAM YOU GO! The car resisted, then with snail-like slowness it lurched and stalled, lurched and stalled, seemingly with devilish deliberateness knowing the driver still had more than half way to go to safety.

He bolted awake, eyes wide, not quite sure what had awakened him, but he was glad, whatever it was. His heart was pounding so hard the sheet was actually pulsing in rhythm to its beat. Ross lay awake feeling so nervous and spooked it was an hour before he finally drifted back to a blank sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Friday

Early morning birdcalls are what reached Ross first. He blinked, yawned and gave a mighty stretch. That vague, nagging of something wrong faded, replaced by a good sized hunger. He would follow his dad’s advice concerning breakfast. ‘Eat a good breakfast, have a good day’.

Already a dark night sky was showing the first traces of the illumination that precedes daybreak. It wasn’t quite 5:30 but already the sounds of people beginning a new day sounded mutely.

Resisting the urge to snuggle in for a few more minutes, he got up, showered, packed up and stepped into a bracingly cool morning. He stuffed his overnight bag in the Trooper. Grant was right, no one had bothered the car. He was ready to tour this beautiful land, giving some thought to leaving most of his gear in his motel room but dropped the idea. Too much time would be wasted unpacking, sorting, repacking and storing his things.

He walked into the street fronting Grants, taking in the vista. Far to the west a range of mountains had picked up the flames of the sunrise causing him to catch his breath. To the north, still in the deep purple of a new dawn the dark green of forests framed the paler green of open grasslands (just as he had imagined) that led up out of sight over a ridgeline.

And although daybreak had come and gone, to the east lingered one of the most inspiring dawns he’d ever seen, with the ceiling of the star-speckled blue-black giving way to billowing pastel reds and yellows. The southern sky above the row of trees lining the highway leading into town was still a deep blue velvet. For over an hour he stood in awe watching the changes in the sky before giving in to the demands his stomach was making to be fed.

Breakfast done, he settled his bill, which, including two meals came up to $31. He could get used to this place. And the scenery! The impact of the term ‘Big Sky Country’ was more than just a travel brochure slogan. It was everything the words implied.

The spectacular sunrise had given way to a morning fully arrived and equally as impressive. Standing in the middle of the deserted street, his vacant mind absorbing as much as it could, he was suddenly jarred by a truck horn that spat out at him. Brrraaappp!

He leaped out of the way, stumbling onto the sidewalk fronting the motel as a bus rolled by. It stopped in front of a small store across the street. Ross strolled to the Trooper as a noisy bunch of kids scrambled out of the bus and ran into the store shepherded by an attractive lady, young girl, really.

She and Ross traded bright smiles and ‘good mornings’. With a graceful prance she strode into the store leaving him holding the now-silly looking smile. She was in her mid twenties he figured, easily 5-7 or 8, slim, not skinny. Her pony-tailed hair perfectly fit her jeans and plaid shirt outfit.

Seeing this lovely girl gave him a feeling of delight until his gaze drifted to the bus. His smile drooped. Although the window allowed for only a portion of the driver to be seen, that portion completely filled the window. Ross stared at one of the biggest men he’d ever seen. But he needn’t have worried as a grin broke across the driver’s face.

Sorry about scaring you like that. It was my fault. I wasn’t watching the road as much as I was measuring the open space in front of the store, the man said in a friendly way, and when I saw you I panicked and hit the horn.

No problem. I shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road gawking like a tourist. I’ll just go and change my pants. That brought a bellow of a laugh from the man, and a thumbs up.

As noisy as the kids were going into the store, coming out as total madness. Although boisterous, they were well mannered and kept to their assigned places, herded back toward the bus by their teacher.

Ross leaned against the back of his car. Looks like you have your hands full, he said loudly.

You’ve got that right, she replied in an easy, comfortable voice. Glancing at the rental then back to Ross, she made the obvious connection.

Out sightseeing?

He looked that much like a tourist? Ah, yes. Grant over at the motel says Spotted Horse Lake is pretty enough for a detour off the main highway, so I thought I’d mosey (my God, I’m talking like a cowboy) on up for a look-see (Crap! I didn’t have to say that).

The girl didn’t seem to notice the slip into the frontier idiom. Great! she exclaimed, smiling a smile that opened his eyes a whole lot wider. That’s where our picnic outing is. Bring a lunch and join us.

Y’know, I might just do that. He gave her a Humphrey Bogart salute; one finger to an imaginary hat brim.

Ross took mental inventory of what he had for a picnic. Nothing. Now it was his turn in the store where he picked up a loaf of bread, coldcuts, cheese, lettuce and several packets of pastries—sugar bombs his mother called them. He added a 6-pack of Diet Pepsi and two big plastic bottles of Slice.

On his way back to his car he saw an odd sight; a bunch of dogs pawing the air and whining as though being teased by unseen playmates. Shrugging, he thought this may be mating season in the north country and this is how the dogs warmed up.

The bus was delayed when several of the kids asked to use the restroom, allowing Ross to get out of town ahead of the bus. He made it to the lake in an easy hour and a half. The parking lot was vacant when he pulled in and parked. What struck him was a feeling approaching reverence as he got out and examined a scene straight out of a romantic artist’s imagination. It was so beautiful he wondered how he could describe it adequately to the folks back home.

Thanks for the tip, he said in gratitude for Grant’s suggestion. In no hurry, Ross invested several minutes of just staring, banking in his memory all he saw, then remembering the camera he fumbled around in his bag, found it and slung it over his shoulder.

By the time he had walked a couple of hundred yards along the lake, taking photos, he heard the bus whoozing up the incline and into the parking lot. He and those on the bus were the only people for many miles around. It was glorious.

Ross started back the way he had come. Still some distance from the picnic area he paused, looking back to mark the extent of his walk and was distracted by what must have been a large school of fish very near the lake’s surface. The water, agitated with frothy white caps and nervous little waves, was accompanied by a low, indistinct rumble. Rumble? Fish in a lake rumbling? Whatever the cause, the lake was clearly dissected by this activity, leaving the area behind the demarcation seething and tossing while in front of the line the water remained placid. Mystified, Ross again retraced his steps, heading back to the far side of the lake for a closer look. From his best guess this boiling was approaching from the northeast. Faintly he heard the big bus driver call out this oddity to the kids as they ran to the water’s edge to watch. Ross then noticed something else. Trees, swaying in unison, began toppling over like dominoes.

"Holy Shit!" he screamed. "Earthquake! Get the kids back!" gesturing, pointing to the kids then arching his arm towards the parking lot which was a good 20 feet higher than the lake. Not recognizing any threat, the school group stood unmoving, watching, amused.

Having been raised in Hawaii Ross knew that to be near the ocean during an earthquake could prove fatal due to the potential of tsunamis. Assuming even a small body of inland water held the same extreme danger, he kept shouting at the group.

"Get them back!" and waved frantically. The teacher, confused, still without understanding and more to avoid the weird acting man, reacted by leading all 14 kids back up to the parking area. She turned, frowning at the scary man. The bus driver tensing for a physical confrontation began moving toward Ross.

Ross, so intent on saving the children, ignored his own danger. Too late he realized the peril and began running back to the parking lot. The quake caught up to him too quickly, flinging him violently to the ground. He got up, stumbled and fell several more times as the earth continued its shaking. As it intensified, the entire area shook with unrestrained fury.

Like a gigantic pan, the valley floor tilted, disgorging huge amounts of lake water, flooding everything in its path including Ross. The surge reached Ross, snatching at his thighs. Seconds later a seething five-foot wall of water was crashing over the very spot where the kids were standing a moment ago. Ross was nothing more than a bathtub toy, being pulled under, bobbing up, then down again. He was jerked to the right, spun swiftly back to his left. He tried, God how he tried, but he just could not fight the incredible suction. He fought to regain his footing but that, too, eluded him. Something rammed hard into his left shin, or maybe he rammed it, shooting such pain up his leg he thought it had snapped off. Terror shocked through him and just when Ross was about to give up, the earth ceased its heaving and began to resettle. The pressure of the water subsided, releasing its grip on him, allowing him to find firm footing. That was the good news.

Then the bad news. The valley began tilting back to near its original trim, and all of the millions of gallons of water that had escaped the boundaries of the lake must now return, and everything in its path would be going back, too. Again Ross was included. What was a moment ago complete terror now went beyond, into a realm where few people venture. The flood reversed.

The undertow took hold of him when the deeper water rushed back faster than the surface water, sucking him under as he fought for his life to just keep his head above water. Ahead and to his right a tree came into his blurred view. Impossible to swim or wade to it he could only stretch as far as he was able and pray the current would take him close enough to grab. That did not seem likely as the line of intersect approached. His only thought was, ‘I’m not going to make it!’. He was forced under for several yards, inhaling water before popping back up, gagging. He couldn’t catch his breath… water flooding his air passage… drowning! In preparation for imminent death his nervous system began to shut down… vision narrowed to a black tunnel… no sensation of touch, not even the cold of the water… all noise was shut out except for a droning hum within his head. Then, like a torpedo his body was propelled into a large submerged mound with enough force to ricochet him right into the tree, SMACK! face first. His nose broke on impact although he didn’t know it right then. Instantly his body reacted to this offering of survival and ceased its closing down as his arms instinctively wrapped around the tree and held on.

At last the surge slowed and stopped. Unbelievably all was just as it was before the quake; calm and quiet, the blue, clear sky held just a hint of dust. Only the lake had changed, and it was only slightly off kilter, its water an oily black from sediment churned up by the quake. The drenched vegetation, sparkling with waterdrop-jewels would soon be as dry as before.

A dazed Ross gaped around to make sure there were no rogue waves ready to spring upon him again. He escaped once, and knew he would not do so a second time. With great effort he unlocked his fingers, took a step back from the tree and fainted, falling straight back like a board.

The girl and the bus driver, understanding at last what the man had been trying to warn them of had watched the entire episode in horror, unable to do a thing. The thoroughly frightened kids were screaming and crying but there were no injuries among them.

The girl snapped out of her trance. That man needs help! She ordered the kids to stay put.

Do not move from here! Her commands were forceful but not intimidating. I’ve got to go to him, so help each other, hold each other. She grabbed the bus driver’s arm, C’mon Bill, get the first aid kit, and ran down the still-soaked decline to a flattened Ross.

The quake was the most powerful ever to hit North America since before humans had trod its land, but what was vastly more noteworthy, it had the ominous distinction of serving as a Herald of things to come.

Cathy reached the prone man and gasped. Although blood had stopped gushing from Ross’ nose, it had smeared over most of his face, giving him the appearance of much more serious injury. As Bill caught up with her she heard his ‘Oh my God’.

Ross’ neck muscles were still trying to make complete connections, causing his head to jerk spasmodically. His head twitched and his eyes fluttered opened. Gingerly he shook his aching head, an action that brought on a shock of pain.

For several moments his mind remained blank. He had no idea of what had happened, or where he was, or who these people were. He wasn’t even quite sure of who he was. Blinking several times didn’t stop his vision from dancing, but he did recognize the girl and the bus driver. That gave him a small feeling of comfort.

Hold still so I can see you, Ross joked feebly, attempting to push up on his elbows.

You hold still and lay back down, she shot back at him harshly, still agitated by the terror of the quake. He complied as she wiped the mask of blood from his face. There was very little injury, only a big welt on his nose and a cut lip.

That should heal pretty quickly, and probably no scars, she said, noting a rather nice face, not a particularly strong jawline, a sort of roundy face, quite an average, open face. She liked that. Even as she thought these thoughts Ross’ nose began to swell and discolor, his eyes puffing up.

You feeling okay? I mean other than your busted up face, she managed to quip as her fear was moderating. I was never so scared in my life.

Nodding, Ross took a deep breath expecting his nose to rupture, or his ribs to pop out. But nothing happened. It did cause him to ingest a clot of blood and mucous, which improved his ability to breath. It also made him nauseous.  . . . S’cuse me… he mumbled and turned away just in time to avoid splashing the other two. He took the plastic water bottle offered by the driver and poured water over his face and into his mouth, swishing it around and spit it out.

You’d think I’d never want to touch another drop of water, he groused, taking a deep, cautious breath He’d forgotten about whacking his leg until a stab of pain reminded him. Shakily he rolled his pant leg up. A purple-red knot was growing on his left shin.

Oh, yuck! Cathy blurted. Is it broken? It looks so painful.

I don’t know, it’s too numb, Ross answered more with hope than confidence. I guess I could make it back to the car with a little help, but beyond that, I don’t know. He looked at the big man.

Could I borrow your shoulder, just in case?

Oh, sure, Bill answered and held out his arm. Ross was not a small man, right at 6 feet, slim appearing, weighing about 190, but compared to the other man Ross seemed like a midget. The bus driver stood an impressive 6 foot 7, surpassing 320 pounds. He threaded his right arm under Ross’ left arm, reaching across the smaller man’s entire back, to wrap halfway around his chest. With great gentleness he lifted Ross to his feet without Ross having to expend any effort. Ross flexed his leg with no added pain and indicated he was okay. Then, with careful movements the driver lowered Ross to allow him to stand on the banged-up leg.

Wwoooaaaww! Ross moaned. Aching, throbbing, but apparently intact. There was no shattering of bone, nor did his shin fold in two, nor did it snap. A little more weight, a little more, until finally it held Ross’ full weight

Seems okay, thank God, Ross muttered. But damn, does it hurt! The others nodded, appreciating the pain he must be enduring.

The trio started slowly back up to the parking lot when Cathy suddenly cried out, Oh my God, the kids!

No problem there, Cath, Bill said reassuringly. I asked them to think of how earthquakes happen and to be ready to tell us. They were frightened, but they were pretty calm… Cathy?:

But she was already running to the parking lot. Bill smiled, keeping a firm hold on Ross as the pair made their way back. His gentleness was not uncommon in large people. It’s as though they know the strength within themselves and must take extra precaution when handling smaller beings.

He was by nature a very nice, considerate man, with which size had nothing to do. He could have been the town bully. Town bully? He could have been All-State Bully… Gold medal Bully in the Olympics, but he was not.

All his life he harbored this great attraction to the natural sciences and had earned a degree from the University of Montana, one of the nation’s best schools in that field, and now spent most of his holidays and weekends camping, applying what he had learned, expanding his knowledge to the point where he could have academically improved the textbooks.

He did have one glaring fault, if it could be considered a fault. He loved to sing. Love songs. Off key. Way off key. He worked as an assistant manager at the Big Sky Grill in Grassrange, mostly at night and would sing along with the cocktail lounge piano player. All night long, way off key. But he sure got applause.

At this moment his mind was on Ross and where he put his feet down, avoiding ruts and rocks that could trip them both up. Taking their time, it was slow going.

Cathy had reached the kids, settling them down somewhat, reassuring them that the injured man was okay. Beth, her best helper had already taken charge. The little girl had the other children relaxed and paired up. Each child was adding their own explanations of earthquakes… and keeping an anxious eye on the adults.

Well kids, Cathy called cheerily, was that something? Wheew, let’s not go through that again, what do you say? A loud Nnnoooooo! hooted out.

Now, let’s get things together and have lunch and decide what we’re going to do for the rest of the day. She already knew what they would do. Get back to town as quickly as possible. She wondered how the town fared. In her mind’s eye she could see townsfolk slapping dust from their clothing as they nervously called out to each other. An accurate picture, although she could not begin to imagine what was about to befall them.

By now it was 10:30 Friday morning. They had reached the picnic ground shortly after 10. It couldn’t have been more that five minutes after unloading the kids that the quake hit… making it about 20 minutes since the quake. Seems like hours, Cathy thought. The fluttery feeling had at last abated and the panic was subsiding. It was too beautiful a day for anything—anything else—to go wrong.

Friday morning, a month and a half before school let out for the summer, two more outings to go. Would the kids, would she, get over this one? Of course, she thought firmly. She knew they’d all eventually forget the terror of this day.

Letting the kids talk out their fear and, hearing the silliness and laughing, she was reassured. As she watched the men making their careful way back, her heart exploded into her throat. As one, the kids sat bolt upright, screaming. The trembling of the earth began again. In an instant the laughing turned to crying. She turned and opened her arms to the terrified kids like a brood hen and gathered them all in a big lump on and around her.

In a very tight voice she managed to squeeze out, No need to worry, it’s just an aftershock, kind of like an echo. It’ll end soon. Another second or two and it did stop. Bill and Ross, no less frightened, joined the group. Ross was holding onto the other man tighter than was necessary and wasn’t about to relinquish his grasp. Quickly they sat down with the crying youngsters.

That’s known as an aftershock, Bill said in a voice too controlled to fool them. It’s like an echo, when…

Gary, a usually quiet student had interrupted, saying without moving his lips, Miss Carver already told us that. He looked like a ventriloquist. He also looked terrified.

Okay! Let’s say we head back to town, Bill added, getting Cathy’s enthusiastic, complete approval.

YEAH! came the overwhelming answer.

Bill asked Ross, You want to go back with us on the bus?

Ross delicately communicated what he was thinking. Ah, no. Perhaps it would be a good idea to have two vehicles? You know, just in case.

Bill nodded, seeing what he had meant. You’re right. A smaller transport may be needed. He was weighing the probabilities.