In the Shadow of Extinction: A Kaiju Epic -- The Complete Omnibus (Parts 1-3)

By Kelly Warner

The Complete Omnibus tells the epic story of In the Shadow of Extinction in one big book. Readers who buy Parts 1, 2, and 3 already have the full story and will find no new content in the Omnibus edition.

The end of the world begins with sudden volcanic eruptions along the Ring of Fire, killing thousands and displacing millions. These tragedies serve only as the precursor to the epic eruption of the Yellowstone supervolcano, which annihilates all life for hundreds of miles around. Ash spreads across the United States, choking the population, smothering the crops, and grinding the country to a halt.

Then the beasts begin to emerge from the new fissures in the earth.

An armored bipedal burrower crawls out of Mt. Fuji and reduces Tokyo to dust and rubble. Eel-like sea monsters terrorize ships in the busy Pacific shipping lanes. Swarms of insectoid creatures lay their eggs in a flooded California and quickly overrun the entire state. And somewhere in the dark, ashen landscape walks a predatory behemoth with a hunger that only other giants can hope to satisfy.

Weakened by both the volcanic activity and the monsters, humanity turns to the nuclear solution as a means of fighting back. Cities are destroyed beneath mushroom clouds all around the world in an attempt to kill the monsters. But this mass destruction is in vain. Mankind's final war lasts only weeks.

Governments are disbanded. Entire countries are decimated. Our once great cities are deemed potential danger zones. But there are survivors. . .

Word is spoken of a great city capable of holding off any monster's attacks. Pilgrims from around the world make their way over the burnt landscape, walking in the shadows of great monsters, hopeful to find this safe haven in the west... They call it New Detroit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Warner
• Release date: Jun 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463908761

Kelly Warner

Kelly Warner is the author of In the Shadow of Extinction: A Kaiju Epic, Rakasa, and other forthcoming works of dark genre fiction. Kelly is the editor at Scriptophobic, where she also co-hosts the Japanese horror film podcast One Missed Pod with writer Zack Long. Kelly imagines that she'd survive a kaiju attack because she'd be the first to recognize the signs that we're all doomed and that our giant reptilian overlords have come to reclaim the planet. She lives in Illinois. You can connect with her on Twitter at @OhHellKell

Book preview

PART I

THE RING OF FIRE

Kazan-ryu art by Gabe-TKE.

Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new beasts…

Heinrich Heine

MILLIONAIRE

Los Angeles, California

The evening was unseasonably cool and the gun had caught a chill.

Wesley McFarland was on his knees in a dark alleyway while two goons debated who was to blame for leaving the silencer behind. They taunted him, saying his death was going to be loud and messy, but McFarland wouldn’t have it any other way. A quiet death was never part of the plan.

Ahead of him on the hill was the Hollywood sign lit up like a lure designed to draw in the stupid and the damned. Like the gullible starlet looking for stardom, the glow of Hollywood had drawn young McFarland out of his shadows many years ago. He’d not come here to discover fame, but rather to seek out an opportunity to prey on the rich and powerful so that their riches might one day become his own.

For much of his thirty years on this planet, Wesley McFarland had lived and operated on the fringes of the criminal underworld, only rarely dipping his toes into the deep end where the big sharks reigned. He knew who the important players were but had learned to keep his distance. Perhaps, he wondered now as the gun moved through his hair like a lover’s gentle hand, the gangsters and the bosses had always been dimly aware of McFarland as well.

One day they gave him a job taking care of some high rollers in town for the yearly underground poker tournament. It was to be a weekend full of drugs, alcohol, violence, fortunes gained, and fortunes lost. McFarland was meant to taxi around some rich boys from out of town, show them the sights, and make sure they made it to the game on time. These out-of-towners were not gangsters themselves, but they knew people. McFarland didn’t know who they were connected to, but didn’t think it really mattered. What mattered was the duffle bag full of money they put into the trunk of his car.

After some broken bones and menacing threats, McFarland dropped the tourists off in the wrong part of town and hit the road with their cash in the passenger seat.

He knew they’d find him eventually. The stolen four million dollars insured that his life of luxury would be forever spent looking over his shoulder. He’d escape to Mexico or Costa Rica. He’d buy a beachfront villa and drink himself stupid every night. McFarland expected they’d find him drunk and sunburnt on the sand two or three years later.

They found him a day later.

The one thing keeping him alive was that McFarland did not have the money with him when he was captured. It was safely stashed away in a bus stop locker near the coast. Of course the goons asked him where the money was but McFarland wouldn’t tell them. He’d taken it, knowing full well that he’d die for his transgression. That money was his now and he would die before letting it go.

So, this was their idea of getting him to cooperate. They took him to the foulest alley in LA, shoved him to his knees, and drew out his execution to the point of monotony. Most men would’ve come to the realization that money was not worth dying for and spilled their secrets to the executioners.

McFarland had no such moment of truth. He just watched the Hollywood sign, thought about that upcoming summer movie he wouldn’t get to see, and waited for the gun’s touch to warm to his skin.

He wondered if he’d feel the muzzle flash before the bullet cut through his brain. For the briefest moment in time, the fire might warm him and he wouldn’t need to die shivering and miserable. It’d be like touching the sun.

The ground rumbled with what sounded like distant thunder. The lights on the Hollywood sign flickered. McFarland frowned.

I’m done being nice, said the bigger of the two gunmen. Tell us where you stashed the cash or I’m gonna break your skull on the pavement.

Not telling, McFarland said.

Is this how you want to go? On your knees? Weeping like a bitch?

I’m not weepy, McFarland said.

The other goon, thinner and lankier than his buddy, put a comforting hand on McFarland’s shoulder. The boss said we don’t have to kill you. Said he liked you, kinda. Was willing to look past this, if you only return what you stole.

McFarland said, Not gonna happen.

The man backhanded McFarland across the face, drawing tears despite his attempt to keep pain and emotions under control.

Stupid bastard, said the big brute. Money is wasted on a dead man, don’t you get it?

What was your plan, exactly? asked the thin man. Buy a house in Beverly Hills, spend the rest on cocaine and women, and just hope we didn’t notice?

I was going to build something, said McFarland. A better future for myself.

Not anymore, looks like, said the thin man.

Looks like. McFarland nodded. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

The brute said, All right, enough of this. The boy’s suicidal or stupid and I’m getting cold. Should we just do him here?

It’ll be loud, his partner reminded him.

So, it’ll be loud. Can’t be helped. Not unless you want to head back, grab the silencer like you should’ve done and—

Yeah, yeah, all right. Just do it already.

The brute pulled back the hammer on the pistol. McFarland’s body went rigid. The hairs on his arm stood at high alert.

This was it.

The ground beneath him shook and a deafening rumble assaulted his eardrums.

For a second, McFarland thought it was the sound of the gun and the effects of the bullet crashing through his memories, destroying his world. When the screams echoed over the streets, he understood that this moment was not about him.

The world was falling apart.

The pavement rocked in all directions. The buildings on either side of the alley groaned like monsters woken from a deep sleep.

Glass exploded outwards from the windows, raining down on the street. The gunmen shouted in alarm and moved to hide in a locked doorway.

McFarland didn’t think. He bolted to his feet and ran, glass and sparks falling all around him.

The gun went off. The bullet zipped past McFarland’s head, taking a chunk out of the building to his left. He rounded the corner before the brute could get another shot off.

A woman collided with McFarland as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He lost his balance and fell over backward. More people ran past, nearly trampling him underfoot.

McFarland used a storm drain to help himself up. He stared past the fleeing civilians, saw the skyscraper down the street teetering as gravity and unstable earth threatened to drop it on the people below.

He was just about to join the crowd and start running when two big mitts took him by the collar. The brute spun McFarland around to face him.

Where do you think you’re going? said the thin gangster, who was standing beside his big buddy. He made sure that McFarland saw his gun.

There was a strange tearing sound but it was quickly drowned out by a chorus of screams. The street shifted, broke in a dozen places, and cracks opened up. The pieces moved in opposite directions, displacing sidewalks and tearing storefronts in half.

The pavement was splitting open, swallowing people and vehicles into the dark pit beneath the street.

An old man reached out to McFarland as the ground opened up. The old man’s fingers slipped from McFarland’s arm and he screamed. McFarland could only watch as the man lost his balance and disappeared into the dark hole.

Shaken by being so close to the widening hole, the gunmen did not notice the skyscraper’s shadow as it started its descent.

McFarland pushed the distracted men off him and ran for the hole in the street. Rebar was jutting out from the cement like spears. He slid through the gravel and dust, dropped into the hole, and grabbed the rebar to prevent him from falling into the death pit. His momentum caused him to swing on the bar. He hit his left knee on a line of piping in the torn up sewer system and yelped at the unexpected pain.

The gunmen chased after him but only made it a few steps before the building fell from the sky, crushing them beneath its weight.

Cinders and glass fell all around McFarland. The shockwave alone was nearly enough to tear him away from the rebar and drop him into the dark chasm below.

McFarland held on tight, though, even as burnt bodies tumbled out of the building and fell past him.

Beneath him was only darkness. Above him was an inferno that used to be a high-rise hotel.

He chose to climb up.

McFarland pulled himself through a burning bathroom. The shower curtain was melting and colorful toothbrushes littered the sideways room. He took a quick glance into the hotel room outside the bathroom door but saw no signs of life.

The bathroom had a window, offering him a quick escape from the building.

He pushed himself through the window, dragging his left leg behind him all the way, and tumbled out onto the street.

People were crowding the street once more, awestruck and frozen by the tragedy of it all. The earthquake was over, but the damage had already been done. Fires were burning everywhere and the property destruction was unlike anything McFarland had ever seen before.

McFarland hobbled away from the burning hotel just as the squad cars rolled up.

He made it onto the next street. A family was quickly packing their minivan, desperate to get out of the city before things got worse. They’d left their keys in the ignition while they ran back into their home for more of their belongings.

It didn’t make him feel good, but McFarland needed a ride and he doubted the taxis were in service right now. He got behind the steering wheel, locked the door, and peeled out of there before the family ever saw him.

McFarland had an injured knee, a stash of millions at a crowded bus station, and the promise of more hitmen to come. He had no time to worry about the welfare of strangers.

All throughout his drive he saw visions of the world gone wrong. Bodies in the street. Homes torn in two. Businesses in flames. Ugly madness. He would shut his eyes if he could drive blind.

He hadn’t been looking forward to leaving Los Angeles behind. He loved his adopted city. But this wasn’t the same LA glow that he’d fallen in love with.

Tonight the City of Angels was burning.

McFarland reached his destination, a clean and unassuming bus station a few miles from the coast. A moment of panic hit him as he wondered if he’d lost his locker key in the chaos of the earthquake, but he found it on his keychain right where he’d left it.

The station was packed with people watching the tragedy unfold on TV. He figured watching it on TV made it easier to look—this was the land of make-believe, after all.

He found his locker, turned the key, and pulled the duffel bag of money out. It didn’t come willingly, forced as it was to fit into a space too small, but it was back in his possession at last.

McFarland looked back and forth, just making sure that no gangsters had been waiting to ambush him there. But no, he was just being paranoid. They didn’t know where he’d stashed it. And whatever killers might await him outside those doors had worse things to worry about now than a few million dollars going missing.

Hushed screams echoed throughout the station.

McFarland limped through the crowd to get a look at the TVs.

Shot from a helicopter, one news station replayed an image of a fireman helping a woman from a pile of rubble. The fireman nearly had her free when a wave of water came from out of nowhere, crashing through the street and taking everything with it.

The crowd was asking questions like, Where is this? What street? and Is the wave related to the earthquake? but McFarland’s focus was on something else entirely.

He walked through the crowd and stared out the windows.

Three blocks down the lights had gone out.

Two blocks down the lights sparked and went dark.

One block down he saw the wave of water.

McFarland turned and ran, dragging his injured leg behind him, heading deeper into the bus station before the first screams alerted the crowd to the coming danger.

He threw open the doors and went to the closest bus, climbed its rear bumper and hauled himself up the ladder to the roof.

The wave of water hit the bus station, crashing through glass and pushing the people out the back.

Their bodies were at the front of the wave when it collided with McFarland’s bus.

RUBBLE

San Diego, California

The earthquake intensified, shattering the hospital room’s window. The room was invaded by the sounds of distant screams and sirens as the city descended into anarchy. There was a pounding sound, like the building was losing its structure beneath them. Young Dr. Joel Tanner imagined a man with an axe chopping down a tree in the forest, shouting, "Timber!" Panic gripped Joel and he reached into his pockets for his bottle of anxiety medication. There was something slapstick and silly about trying to pour a single pill into the palm of his hand while the world jumped and rattled. Joel stuck a finger into the bottle, retrieved a pill, and swallowed it down.

Nurse Gemma shouted, Doctor, look out!

Joel capped the pill bottle a second before one of the lights in the ceiling came crashing down. It swung from a wire like a pendulum and struck Joel in the face. He lost his footing and staggered backward into the wall, while glass and sparks fell all around him.

Gemma went to his side to make sure he was all right.

Joel shook the stars out of his eyes. He pointed at the hospital bed. See to them!

There was a little boy in the bed. He’d broken his wrist while learning how to ride a bike. The boy screamed and clutched at his mother. The mother sat on the edge of the boy’s bed, putting her son’s head against her chest. She hummed a lullaby that was barely audible over the sound of the earth splitting apart.

Joel sat on the floor, dazed. The world continued to shake. There were screams echoing through the halls from other parts of the hospital. As lifelong residents of California, Joel and his wife Kate had survived many earthquakes. But he’d never been present for a quake such as this. It seemed to grow in intensity with each passing moment.

There was an explosion outside the shattered windows.

The little boy was crying, Make it stop!

The restaurant across the street shot up in a fireball. There were fires breaking out all over San Diego. Black smoke choked the sky.

The rumbling quieted. The shaking lessened. The earthquake was dying away.

Joel and the others remained silent, not trusting the calm. When it became clear that they were momentarily safe, Joel rose to his feet.

We need to get somewhere safe before the aftershocks hit, Joel said. He put a hand on the little boy’s shoulder. Are you two all right?

The mother and her son nodded.

Gemma? Joel asked.

Nurse Gemma said, I’m not hurt.

Good. Take our patient and his mom outside, Joel said. Use the stairs. Tell people not to push, not to panic, but to calmly head for the exits. I’m going to see if anyone else needs help.

Joel hurried out into the hall. Nurses were pushing patients on gurneys while doctors tended to the wounded. The lights were flickering and something was smoking by the nurse’s station.

Joel spotted Dr. Scott seated in a chair outside a hospital room. Dr. Scott was Joel’s mentor and the hospital’s oldest attending physician. As Joel came around to face Dr. Scott directly, he saw the other side of the old man’s coat was splattered with blood. Scott’s hand was still clutching a wound on his neck, though blood no longer flowed there.

Setting aside grief for another day, Joel shut Dr. Scott’s eyes. He said a silent farewell and moved on.

A message played over the speakers, This is an emergency evacuation. Medical personnel must assist in the evacuation of all patients. Meet with law enforcement officers once clear of the building. Repeat: this is an emergency evacuation…

Gemma led the mother and son down the hall. Joel watched them go, glad they were getting a head start but also knowing that they were still far from safety.

Joel checked in on every room, always finding empty beds or patients who were otherwise being cared for. Finally, he stepped into a hospital room where old widow Tawanda Freeman was currently staying. She was a frequent resident at the hospital, often times faking an illness or an injury just to receive some attention from the staff. Other doctors considered her a nuisance and routinely skipped her room. Joel could understand their thinking, but not on a day like this. Had they really just left the old woman to fend for herself?

Mrs. Freeman sat up from her bed and extended shaky hands to Joel. Oh, Dr. Tanner, she said, her voice cracking. Help me. My cane fell over and I’m not feeling steady.

Let’s take a wheelchair instead, huh? Joel said. He pushed a wheelchair up to Mrs. Freeman’s bed. He helped the elderly woman into the chair and started wheeling her to the door.

My cane! Mrs. Freeman shouted.

Oh yes, of course. Joel retrieved the old lady’s cane and set it on her lap. Anything else?

No, nothing. Let’s get out of here, Dr. Tanner. There was an earthquake, don’t you know?

I might’ve felt it, yes.

Joel and Mrs. Freeman joined the crowd of patients and doctors heading for the stairs. Yellow emergency lights blipped overhead. A young security guard was ushering everyone through the door, encouraging people not to push and shove.

Keep moving, the security guard said. Don’t run, don’t stop. Keep an orderly line heading down the stairs and then to your nearest exit.

Mrs. Freeman asked Joel, Will you be able to push the wheelchair down the stairs?

Joel frowned. To his left, the elevator doors opened with a ding. A second security guard made sure that those who could walk took the stairs, while doctors pushed gurneys onto the elevator.

Joel pushed Mrs. Freeman out of line and took her over to the waiting elevator. It was crowded but the doctors made room for her.

These people will take care of you, Joel said. I’ll meet you downstairs.

Please, Mrs. Freeman said. She reached out and snatched Joel’s hands, preventing the doors from closing. Come with me. Please, Dr. Tanner.

Joel hesitated. He didn’t want to get on the elevator. Not one bit. He’d much rather take the stairs, regardless of how crowded they were.

The security guard said, Hurry up, pal. They’re waiting on you.

Mrs. Freeman smiled.

Joel took a deep breath and stepped onto the elevator. The door closed behind him and he squeezed into the corner beside Mrs. Freeman.

There were two gurneys on the elevator. Both patients were heavily sedated, largely oblivious to the terror shared by the others around them. The patients were cared for by a male nurse and a female doctor. Joel didn’t know their names. They were either new or from another wing of the hospital.

The elevator descended and they quickly reached the bottom. There was a ding and the doors parted, revealing the crowded ground floor of the hospital.

The rumbling started again. The lights flickered, the walls cracked, and dust clouded the air.

Someone shouted, Aftershock! and everyone screamed as they trampled over each other on their way to the exits.

Joel quickly wheeled Mrs. Freeman off the elevator. The doctor followed, pushing her patient in front of her. The nurse pushed his gurney out, then the elevator groaned.

The nurse stumbled and fell onto his back inside the elevator. Joel ran to assist him but he was too late. Metal screeched, the nurse screamed, and the elevator plunged down into the dark shaft. There was a loud boom when the elevator reached the basement. Smoke shot up from below. Joel stepped back, allowing the doors to close a second before the smoke reached him.

Mrs. Freeman was crying and clutching her hands to her chest. Joel took control of her wheelchair and rushed them towards the exit while dust and debris fell all around them.

They made it to the parking lot just as the hospital groaned its last and started to collapse in on itself. Still far from safety, Joel ran while pushing the wheelchair in front of him, old Mrs. Freeman screaming like a siren the entire time.

The earthquake stopped but the destruction continued. Cars crashed, buildings fell, and fires grew out of control in every direction. Only when he was across the street and in the relative safety of a sturdy stone monument did Joel slow down to turn to face the destroyed hospital.

He couldn’t see much more than bent steel and broken cement behind the veil of dust. A sudden breeze cut through the dust, revealing the destruction for one horrifying instant. The hospital was unrecognizable from its former self. It looked like the bombed out buildings of war-torn countries.

Not everybody had made it out in time. Not by a long shot. The destruction here and across the city would’ve killed hundreds of people. Thousands, probably.

All in ten minutes or less.

Swarms of people came rushing in to help the wounded. They moved through the dazed survivors like ghosts, asking questions without much need for answers.

A policeman wheeled Mrs. Freeman away. Joel just stood there, shock robbing him from the moment, leaving him like a statue.

Someone shook him. Joel tried his best to turn his head but his internal gears were malfunctioning and didn’t respond. The person slapped him hard across the face.

Joel blinked and came back to the world. Gemma was standing in front of him, her nurse’s uniform torn and dirty.

The boy and his mother, Joel said. His voice was small. He cleared his throat. Did you get them out?

They’re fine, Gemma said. She pointed to the boy and his mother as they boarded an idling school bus. They’re working on evacuating everyone, taking them to a refugee center. It’s being put together fast but sloppy. She looked like she might cry. I overheard a cop’s radio. This might not be over yet.

Joel’s mind drifted to his wife, Kate. Where was she? Home? No, not home. He felt lost, had to think. She’d deployed over a week ago. She’s overseas in Korea now with the rest of her unit. He was thankful she was far from here at this moment, though a selfish part of him would’ve felt much better if she was here at his side. Kate had a calming influence over Joel and he could’ve used that sense of calm right about now.

I need to talk to Kate, Joel mumbled. I need to make sure she’s okay. He didn’t really think it was likely that the earthquake had extended so far that it would affect South Korea, but what if? What if?

Joel retrieved his cellphone from his pocket, dialed Kate’s number, and whimpered when he only got static.

Doctor? Gemma said. She stepped closer, put a hand on Joel’s arm. Joel, are you okay?

Joel put the phone away. Where are they taking the patients? he asked.

Outside of the city, Gemma said. I don’t know where yet, it’s all coming together piece by piece. We need to get out now before another tremor strikes and we’re stuck here.

I’ll catch up with you, Joel said.

He turned and started walking to the parking lot. Half the cars were crushed under debris from the collapsed hospital. Hopefully his car would be among the few survivors.

Where are you going? Gemma called after him.

I have to go home first, Joel said. He waved to her. Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up!

Joel’s Toyota had miraculously survived the quake. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, carefully navigating around debris and the wounded that were still hovering around the hospital’s rubble.

The streets were crowded with people. They walked in the opposite direction, heading for the edge of the city. Joel’s car moved through their numbers and they slowly parted for him.

Looters stole what they wanted and the police looked the other way. The injured were carried on the backs of the healthy and the dead were left where they’d fallen.

Cracks were etched into the sides of every building, grooves carved into every street. The windows were broken, their shards stomped into little pieces by the parade of survivors.

Somewhere a dog was howling.

When he’d passed enough familiar sights now reduced to rubble, Joel finally found himself on his street.

Three of his neighbor’s houses were on fire. There was nobody around and no fire trucks were coming to fight the flames. Though Joel’s house was still standing, the fires would claim it soon enough.

Joel and Kate hadn’t been married long. They were young and they didn’t have much—he was a doctor just out of medical school and she was a specialist in the Army with plans of becoming an engineer of some kind when her enlistment was up. Purchasing this little house was their second biggest commitment to one another, coming in just behind their wedding vows.

They’d bought the place just over a year ago. It was old but it was some kind of beautiful. It had been Kate’s idea to paint it yellow. Joel remembered thinking it was a strange choice back then, though now he couldn’t imagine it in any other color.

What little they did have—what few memories they’d built together before she shipped off—it was all housed in this little yellow home.

Soon it would all be ash.

He had to act fast.

Joel parked the car in the driveway and entered his house. He went in search of memories, mementos, heirlooms, and artifacts, but his mind was drawing a blank. Those were the things best remembered during quiet moments, not in a panic.

He forced himself to calm down. It was too early for another pill and irresponsible to turn to alcohol. He needed to do this with a clear head.

Joel found his gym bag in their bedroom. He put their necessary papers into the bag, then went for his medical kit and extra pills.

Just in case, he said to no one.

His favorite photo of Kate resided in a picture frame on his side of the bed. She was smiling and beautiful. Her love for him was so clear in that moment, like a cosmic force captured on film. The photo was something perfect and he treasured it.

Unwilling to risk broken glass in the bag, Joel removed the photo from the frame. He looked for something safe to put it in. He settled for the beat-up paperback copy of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, his favorite book.

Joel put Kate’s photo at the center of the book and placed the book into the gym bag. He then grabbed one of Kate’s family photo albums and threw that in on top.

Lastly, Joel threw in a few sets of clothes. He didn’t know what kind of hardships were over the horizon, but it was wise to be prepared.

Joel zipped the bag and walked back to the front door. He wiped away a tear and gave the family room one last look. He tried not to imagine Kate on the couch but it was a futile effort. A memory or an imagining of her smiled up at him and waved goodbye.

Goodbye, house, Joel said.

He stepped outside just as the roof caught fire. He decided not to stay to watch the rest.

Joel drove his car through the deathly quiet city of San Diego, intent on meeting up with the others from the hospital.

He tried his phone again, still no signal. The cellphone towers were likely destroyed with everything else. If he was to contact Kate, it’d have to be some other way.

Joel only stopped once on his way out of San Diego.

There was an elephant in the road.

The elephant was a big bull with long tusks. It flapped its ears against its body and swayed its trunk back and forth.

The massive animal was standing off to the side of the intersection, so Joel could pass it with little difficulty. He didn’t, though. Not yet. He halted his progress to stare at the elephant while the elephant stared right back at him.

The creature stood against a backdrop of destruction. Down the block a ways was the San Diego Zoo. Black smoke rose from the zoo’s center. Colorful birds took flight, rising from the zoo, circling the ruined cityscape once and then flying towards the horizon.

The elephant just stood there, lost and alone like Joel, in a place that neither of them fully recognized anymore.

More elephants appeared, coming from the San Diego Zoo’s parking lot. They joined the big male, made grumbling sounds and started off in the opposite direction.

The big male lingered there for a moment, keeping its eyes on Joel. When finally the rest of the small herd had moved far enough away, the elephant bobbed its head and stomped off to join them.

Joel drove on, leaving his home behind. He hoped that it wouldn’t be long before he could return to rebuild. However, something in his heart told him that he would probably never be coming back.

The city of San Diego was now a ghost town left to nature and the dead.

YELLOWSTONE

Wyoming

Mt. St. Helens was erupting and many of Dr. Samuel Wooten’s colleagues were in route to study the volcano. Because the universe had apparently decided that Wooten was not allowed to be happy, his superiors had sent him elsewhere.

He begrudgingly accepted the call to come out to Yellowstone and check on the resident seismologist’s latest readings.

The world was going a little crazy because of the earthquakes and tsunamis that had struck the Ring of Fire, but Dr. Wooten wasn’t buying into the madness that suggested this was the beginning of the end.

The Ring of Fire was what scientists called the circular area that lined the west coast of the Americas, then spread across the Pacific Ocean to Japan, the Philippines, and down to New Zealand. It was a hotspot for volcanic activity and severe earthquakes, caused by the constant shifting of tectonic plates beneath the earth’s surface.

In the past few days, the Ring of Fire had come to life like never before.

Horrible earthquakes and flooding had devastated California.

Mt. St. Helens had its first major eruption since 1980. A dozen deaths had been reported so far but that number was expected to rise significantly.

Across the Pacific, New Zealand was reporting earthquakes that registered 7.5 on the Richter scale, while Mount Matutum in the Philippines had started spewing smoke from its top.

It was all very interesting and Wooten knew that it would lead to lives lost and millions of dollars in property damage, but why people seemed to think that the whole world was now primed to explode was beyond him.

Wooten had been one of the first black students to enroll at the University of Georgia during the 1960’s. He had developed a thick skin during those years in school, which helped when he stepped out into the world of science and discovered that basically everything was political in one way or the other.

It used to be that Wooten wasn’t respected because of the color of his skin. Now Wooten found himself in a field of youngsters who failed to respect him because he was old.

It seemed to Samuel Wooten that he never really had a proper place in this world. It didn’t help matters much that he spent more time with rocks than he did with people. But anyway, the rocks were more interesting.

Fellow volcanologist Dr. Renae Moorland was there to greet him when his helicopter touched down in Wyoming’s Yellowstone National Park. It was Dr. Moorland’s job to keep an eye on the seismic activity in Yellowstone—a frightfully boring job most days, made somewhat more exciting now because of the media attention in the area.

Moorland led Wooten away from the helicopter pad and into a waiting Jeep. The driver took them down a bumpy road past flashing cameras and reporters with outstretched microphones.

How’s it feel to be a celebrity? Wooten asked.

They’re telling me not to talk to reporters, Moorland said as she fixed her windswept hair.

They actually said that?

Moorland frowned at him. How much do you know?

"I know I’d rather be in Portland watching Helen do her thing than here, where we know it’s safe despite what the internet tells people."

I think it’s actually happening, Dr. Wooten, Moorland said.

He stared at her as the Jeep bounced back and forth over the rocky terrain. When the common time for a jokester to reveal their trick had expired, he leaned in closer.

You’re telling me—

I’ve checked and double-checked all my readings and they all say the same thing, Moorland said. Yellowstone is going to erupt.

Wooten said, That’s impossible.

I know.

The Yellowstone Caldera, otherwise known as the Yellowstone Supervolcano, had last erupted 640,000 years ago. Yellowstone was believed to be potentially the most dangerous volcano on the planet and was closely monitored both for seismic activity and for ground uplift which would suggest growing magma reserves beneath the surface.

Wooten and many others had always viewed Yellowstone as a curiosity, but few ever expected it to become life threatening while man still ruled over the planet.

If Yellowstone followed the example of volcanoes around the world and decided to blow its top, the level of destruction would be unlike anything man had ever seen before. The blast would obliterate everything for fifty to one hundred miles in every direction.

Beyond the initial eruption and shockwave, the supervolcano could put a dark shadow of ash over much of the country. Though the blast would kill human, plant, and animal life in an instant, the ash would bring a slow death to those worst impacted by the disaster. Ash would kill food reserves, poison water supplies, and in some cases cause rooftops to collapse under its extreme weight. If Yellowstone were to erupt, entire states would need to be evacuated. Only the southern and easternmost states would likely go untouched by the disaster.

Wooten never believed such a thing could happen. But here was Renae Moorland, a scientist whose work he respected, and she was telling him that they were working with a ticking clock scenario.

Moorland said, Typical measurements show ground uplift of about three inches every year in this area. It’s risen five feet this week alone.

My God. I can’t believe it, Wooten said.

Some of the readings are difficult to decipher. She handed him papers and seismic graphs. But it’s clear that something big is happening beneath the surface.

The Jeep stopped and Wooten quickly stepped out. They had parked close to an active geothermal area in the park, with geysers and a hot steam bed bubbling with life.

Other scientists were in the area, checking readings and studying the water.

Wooten and Moorland went to the very edge of safe distance and watched the boiling water shoot up into the air.

When was your last quake? Wooten asked.

We recorded a 6.4 just after sunrise today, Moorland said. We had a 7.7 two days ago.

He shook his head. Who have you notified?

Everyone that needs to know, does.

"‘Needs to know?’ Everyone needs to know. Dr. Moorland, if this is truly set to erupt, an evacuation plan has to be created and put into action."

Dr. Moorland stared at him and said, I was told that’s why you’re here.

TOUGH CHOICES

Washington D.C.

President Alan Green didn’t know what to do but he wasn’t surprised that everyone else in his cabinet had all the answers for him. Since being elected into office two years ago, he’d felt less like the leader of the free world and more like the most elaborate puppet ever put on stage.

It was exhausting.

The one good thing about being president was the power of the word, ‘No.’ People had grown accustomed to him remaining quiet and shrugging whenever asked the important questions, so when he told them ‘no’ it always came as a shock and often won him the argument.

Green would let his opponents talk themselves to death and then come back with an eloquently stated knockout punch. He had learned this tactic back in college when he was a promising young boxer. Let the other guy exhaust himself. Let him swing haymakers or shout about government spending until he’s red in the face—it made little difference where the bout took place, in the ring or in a debate—Green just had to shut him up and put him down quickly. Surprise the bastard, don’t give him time to think of a reply. Say, No, you’re wrong, and, as briefly as possible, tell him why. While he’s still sputtering for a reply, drop the mic walk the fuck out of the room. Match won. Argument over. Presidency locked-in.

Today, however, he didn’t know what to say. An answer was required. Yes… no… either option could cost millions of lives.

Scientific advisors were in the Oval Office with graphs and charts, talking about ‘what could happen’ versus ‘what probably will happen’ while the politicians tried to settle somewhere in the middle of those two scenarios.

Dr. Wooten had kicked the hornet’s nest and the hive was a-buzzin’.

President Green thought it was going to be a bad day when he was awoken before sunrise to the news of the California quakes, the Mt. St. Helen’s eruption, and more volcanic activity up and down the Pacific. Now they were telling him that Yellowstone National Park was primed to erupt, too.

This could be the week that defined his presidency.

Seated nearest to him was Secretary of State Marla Jensen. Despite most of the questions being directed towards him, Jensen was the one who stepped up to answer them. She’d been doing that a lot lately, inspiring some to jokingly dub her the Second Lady.

President Green knew the way that people thought. First it would be a joke and then somebody would treat it more seriously. Rumors would fester and grow. In a month’s time, they would be whispering about a secret affair and he couldn’t have that.

Not that Marla Jensen wasn’t beautiful. She was. But some things in politics were frowned upon and presidents getting involved in an affair was one of them. Besides that, he loved his wife Gwen just enough not to betray her. Indeed, it was believed that his approval ratings got a boost whenever Gwen was seen at his side. If he wanted to get reelected, he needed his wife. He could not allow any eye candy in the office to ruin things for him.

Next time that Marla Jensen spoke for him, he was going to cut her off, let her and everyone else know that she didn’t speak directly for the President of the United States—only God and his wife had that right.

He drank his coffee and tried his best to understand what the scientists were telling him about Yellowstone. Occasionally he asked questions like, Isn’t there any way we can stop it? Like… a coolant perhaps? They all shook their heads really slow, as if the question itself had killed brain cells. And when he crossed his arms and asked, How long? nobody could come up with a definite answer.

The lead scientific advisor was a balding man named Dr. Guthrie. He used big words. President Green didn’t like him much.

The irritating Dr. Guthrie said, Wooten and Moorland think it will be soon, Mr. President.

What can we do? President Green asked.

Dr. Guthrie said, Evacuate Wyoming, for starters. Utah, Montana, Idaho, and maybe Nebraska, too.

That’s impossible. We couldn’t possibly—

If they’re not evacuated, many people are likely to perish in the resulting eruption.

President Green couldn’t get his head around it. "Entire states?"

Dr. Guthrie said, I’m not sure you understand the graphs, Mr. President.

Marla Jensen stepped in between them saying, Watch your words, doctor.

Let him speak his science, President Green said, frowning at her.

Jensen looked hurt but she composed herself quickly.

Dr. Guthrie paid them no mind and pointed at the graphs. If the Yellowstone caldera erupts, it will take with it massive portions of land mass. What isn’t engulfed by fire will be hit by a shockwave worse than any nuclear bomb. And the states who only feel the faintest reverberations of the blast will still see heavy amounts of ash fall from the sky, killing off food supplies, tainting water with sulfuric acid, and bringing a winter freeze. Guthrie wiped his sweaty bald head with a handkerchief. He said, Communications will also be disrupted, making it difficult for us to help those most in need. Please understand that the ash will undoubtedly kill more people than the blast itself. The states that get the worst of the ash cloud will be rendered unlivable for years.

Another scientist whose name the president had already forgotten spoke up, Make no mistake, Mr. President, this is the greatest natural disaster to occur in our time.

Jensen said, But it still might not happen.

You want to risk those people’s lives on a maybe? Dr. Guthrie asked.

"It’ll cost us billions of dollars to evacuate those people, Secretary Jensen said. Even ignoring the financial issue, I just don’t see how it can be done. It’s still nothing more than a theory."

Dr. Guthrie shook his head. Mr. President, please. Failure to act now will lead to the deaths of millions.

The states didn’t need his approval on any evacuations. But any evacuation of such magnitude would likely require federal aid in order to be successful. If he gave the evacuations a thumbs up, that meant sending in the National Guard and FEMA, as well as presumably the Secretary of Homeland Security who was already pissed off at him for cutting her budget in half.

The scumbag governor of Nebraska, who was no fan of Green’s, wasn’t waiting for any approval. The governor had seen the same graphs and was already working on his own evacuation plan, regardless of whether or not they received federal assistance.

But Wyoming, Utah, Idaho, and Montana were governed by political allies of Green’s and they were waiting on his leadership to guide them. Do they wait and risk danger or move and risk financial ruin on a maybe? They didn’t need his word but they were depending on it just the same, because they understood that the party was in this one together.

The president put down his coffee mug and said, We’ll give it another couple of days.

Dr. Guthrie looked as if he’d just been stabbed in the heart.

President Green said, The people are already panicked over the west coast tragedies, I can’t add more to their fears, especially when we don’t know for sure.

"People will die, Mr. President, Dr. Guthrie said in slow, practiced words so that he could not be misunderstood. If you won’t listen to the science, at least listen to reason."

President Green nodded. I’ll continue following the situation. Update me when you learn more, doctor. But I can’t do anything with this, not yet. Now please, I have other urgent matters to attend to.

The Secret Service opened the door.

Dr. Guthrie sighed. He and the other scientists collected their charts and headed for the door.

After they left, Secretary of Defense Howard Barnes and a trio of military men entered.

What have you got for me today, Howard? President Green asked.

Barnes said, We’ve received word from the Korean DMZ that all North Korean troops have pulled back.

Jensen asked, Some kind of military drill, perhaps? Are they experiencing earthquakes, too?

Barnes said, The North Koreans never abandon their side of the border. Due to this unexplained behavior, we believe there is reasonable cause for concern.

What does China say? President Green asked. China was North Korea’s closest ally, though their relationship was known to be a strained one.

China is worried, too, Mr. President, said Barnes. They’re not being shy about saying so, either. They want us to know that they are pulling back all their assets, for fear of what comes next.

President Green rubbed the back of his neck. This day just keeps getting better.

FAR FROM HOME

South Korea

Kate Tanner waited in the internet cafe for her husband Joel to email a reply or sign on to chat. Any moment now her time would be up and the next person in line would take her spot, then she’d be at the back of the line again, chewing her fingernails and watching the clock.

It had been almost two days since California was decimated by earthquakes and she still had not heard a single word from her husband. She felt utterly helpless watching it all on television from half a world away and could take no comfort in the fact that she was surrounded by others who shared similar concerns.

Specialist Kate Tanner was a soldier in the US Army stationed at Camp Casey, about forty miles north of Seoul, South Korea. She had enrolled in the military with the intention of paying off her student loans. The plan was that after about five years in the Army she’d have a good job in computers to come home to, with no worries about money.

The plan changed a little bit when Joel proposed to her just months before her first deployment.

Joel was a great guy. She loved him dearly. But when he said he’d be waiting for her when she got back, Kate thought he was just trying to say the right things. Apparently, the ring was meant to suggest otherwise.

They had a little wedding, bought a little house, and enjoyed a few good months as husband and wife before she had to go on her way.

Kate wanted so badly to get home to him, now more than ever.

She didn’t know if Joel was alive or dead, if their house was still standing, or the fate of their close friends.

Yesterday she was able to contact her parents and sister, who lived in Arizona. They had also tried repeatedly to contact Joel, but many cell phone towers were down, and other systems were crashing due to the number of calls attempting to go through all at once.

Kate checked her watch. It was almost time to log off and move aside for the next soldier in line.

She quickly wrote another email, asking for Joel to reply soon.

South Korea hadn’t suffered the same level of earthquakes as either America or New Zealand, but the people were understandably uneasy.

Twenty-foot waves pounded the beaches and all import and export trade ships had been put on hold, threatening the economy and the demand for food. Minor quakes had ruptured sewer lines, polluting water supplies in certain metropolitan areas.

Civil unrest was nearing the breaking point.

Many of the US troops stationed in South Korea were on hand to help unload helicopters of supplies to give to the citizens, but Kate’s battalion had other orders.

On the border shared with North Korea was a DMZ where soldiers from either side stood on a line staring back at one another, waiting to relay orders to the opposite side. In the time since the Korean War in the 1950’s, no peace treaty had ever been signed and the two countries remained in a tense state of conflict. Kate and American soldiers like her were here to help their South Korean allies maintain peace along the border with the antagonistic North.

Today word had come down that the North Koreans were nowhere to be found on their side of the border. It was a first. And it had some people worried. Then China made it clear to everyone that they were pulling back from their strenuous relationship with the North Koreans. Publicly the reason for China’s new stance on North Korea had something to do with taking care of the Chinese impacted by the wave of earthquakes in Asia. Privately, the Chinese were reportedly worried about the North Korean response to the international unrest and China did not wish to look complicit by keeping close relations with the North.

The UN had attempted to communicate with North Korea to no avail. No news was absolutely seen as bad news and the higher-ups quickly drew up an action plan.

In three hours, Kate’s battalion would move to the border to support the soldiers there, should their northern neighbors be up to anything unsavory.

When they moved out, Kate’s chances of contacting Joel would go from small to non-existent. If she was going to talk to him, it had to be now.

A soldier behind Kate said, Oh my God, and the others in the internet café gasped in unison.

On the TV that hung in the corner of the café, the news showed a seventy-foot tall tidal wave approaching the beaches of LA. People standing in the sand had no chance of escape as the wall of water rushed over them.

In the streets of the already ravaged city, rescue workers were doing what they could to save the injured from piles of ruin and dust. They never even heard the wave coming.

On her computer screen, Joel’s face appeared, beaten and bruised.

His first words were, Are you okay?

Kate tore her eyes away from the TV screen to look at the computer. She started crying but quickly wiped away the tears.

Joel said, Hi, honey.

I was so afraid I’d lost you, Kate said. We’ve kept trying and trying to reach you but you were never there.

I know, Joel said. The phones are down right now.

Where are you? Kate asked. She couldn’t see much behind Joel’s head but the sun in the sky.

We lost the house, Joel said.

You’re okay. I don’t care.

I’m sorry.

Kate laughed and said, I don’t care, stupid. You’re fine, that’s all that matters.

Joel moved his head to the side, allowing Kate to see past him. He was surrounded by other beaten Californians in a tent-like structure.

I’m with a refugee group for now, Joel said. They needed a helping hand, so I’m doing what I can. He shrugged. And they have a cot for me to sleep in, so it’s all good. I mean, it’s not good at all. It’s awful. But we’re trying.

I wish I could be there, Kate said.

You don’t want to be here.

Yes, I do.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She looked back, saw a soldier motioning to his watch and nodding impatiently.

Joel must have noticed. He said, I have to be going, too, actually. There’s a bus from LA coming in. Supposedly they’ve seen some horrific stuff.

Kate nodded. Be safe. I’m going to be out of contact for a while, but I hope to talk to you again soon.

Joel heard someone say something off-screen. He nodded and said to Kate, Love you, girl. Then he cut off the internet connection and the screen went black.

Kate’s throat clenched and she felt dizzy. She got out of the chair and the next soldier swooped in to take it.

She left the internet café, eager to get away from the news from back home. She went to her barracks and started packing for her trip to the border.

REFUGEE

California

Wesley McFarland was sitting on a packed bus next to Hollywood screen legend Heather Leigh. He wanted to introduce himself, tell her about the script he was meaning to write, and let her know how much he liked her nude scenes in that movie about alcoholics. But he kept quiet. She was all tears and smeared makeup and didn’t look like she would be receptive to fan admiration at a time like this.

He had to wonder just why she was here. It made sense for McFarland and all the other displaced losers of Hollywood to ride the bus, but Oscar winner Heather Leigh, star of Fame Rusts Gold and ex-wife of celebrated director Ellison Grant? It made no sense.

Curiosity got the better of him. His mouth started talking.

Why do you ride the bus, Ms. Leigh? McFarland asked.

Heather Leigh wiped away her tears and looked at him like he had spoken in another language. She said, Huh?

Never mind, McFarland said. He reached forward, reaffirming for the twenty-second time that his duffel bag of money still rested between his feet.

My house fell down, Heather Leigh said.

McFarland frowned. Her speech was slurred. Her eyes were fucked up. She was high as a kite in spring. It was possible that she did not know where she was or even who she was. McFarland regretted not grabbing his camera to take a picture of this moment so that he may remember it forever—and potentially make a profit off it, too.

Heather Leigh said, All my things were ruined.

But you saved your stash, I guess, McFarland said.

Well, yeah.

Of course. McFarland nodded.

Of course, Heather Leigh said and smiled dirty teeth. Do I know you?

Yes. McFarland looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Luckily, everyone was dealing with their own tragedies and had no interest in him or the junkie actress. He said, Do you know anybody who can get me out of California?

Why? On the run? she asked.

Err, nothing quite so sinister.

All my people are dead, Heather Leigh said and stared out the bus window with a bit of melodramatic flair. "My agent fell in a crack. I told him, you know, ‘Watch out for that crack,’ and then down he went. My manager died in a car fire. She was a horrid bitch, though. We will not cry for her. My dealer Sly, on the other hand, will be missed. She frowned and thought for a moment. I couldn’t find my cleaning lady Carla anywhere. I hope she’s all right. I hope she watched out for the cracks."

"So, that’s a no on the whole getting out of town thing?" McFarland asked.

All my people are dead or missing, Heather Leigh said. All the rest are cardboard cutouts, poster representations of the people they used to be. Empty and useless. She stared at McFarland with bloodshot eyes. "I’m the only real one left. Just me."

Out the front window, McFarland could see the refugee camp in the distance. It looked a shade better than Hell, with a fence set up around a bunch of tents, dumpsters, and lots of makeshift bedding. With a backdrop of California hills, it should’ve looked better. McFarland wasn’t complaining, though. The chances he would run into a mobster looking for the cash he’d stolen seemed remote in a place like this. All the same, he hoped his stay here would be a brief one.

When he looked back at Heather Leigh she was snorting coke off the back of her hand. Her eyes flitted backward in her skull, showing off the red veins that held them in place, as her mouth twitched to the side.

McFarland had spent enough time around the hopeless and the depraved to know that she was overdosing or had taken a whiff of some bad shit. When her head hit the glass and she started shaking, he did his best to make sure nobody noticed.

Heather Leigh went still. He checked her pulse and she was only barely there.

McFarland went through her purse until he found the bag of coke and stuffed it into his pocket. It seemed likely that the rest of it was bad, too, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sell it.

The bus came to a stop outside the camp.

McFarland had an icepack strapped to his knee and it was feeling better already. Without any further need for it, he stripped the icepack from his knee and stood up with all the others, eager to disembark.

He followed the centipede of lost souls off the bus to the camp’s outer gates. National Guard soldiers and doctors were waiting for all new arrivals to sign in. McFarland quietly moved to the back of the line and fell in with a group of trash collectors and a garbage truck.

The garbage men were saying, So sad, so sad, repeatedly like it was their mantra. McFarland nodded along, agreeing that yes indeed, it really was quite