ARkStorm: A Disaster Thriller, page 10
Walking onto the field, you could feel the energy left behind by the great football players who’d battled on the field. The collegiate warriors whose desire to win was fueled by their passion for the game and their school pride. Tyler was a throwback in that he firmly believed the players gave it their all because they wanted to win for USC and their throng of fans. It was not about money, despite certain players cashing in on name, image, and likeness contracts. For Tyler and the players, when the game started, it was about honoring the others who’d worn the cardinal and gold uniforms.
After getting organized in the locker room, Tyler and several assistant coaches made their way onto the field. Their assessment of the conditions was spot-on. This field was beautiful now with its artistic paint and pristine sod. As the rain continued, it would turn to a muddy mess that would make conditions for the players difficult as well as dangerous. They agreed to outfit the players with Nike AntiClog Traction shoes to avoid their wet cleats from clogging with the muddy turf. They were bulkier than some of the players liked. When first introduced, the receiver corps complained the Nikes slowed them down. However, after practicing in them, they learned their ability to make cuts on their routes gave then a distinct advantage over their defenders.
While in the bowels of the stadium prior to the one o’clock kickoff, the rain came down harder, and the winds picked up. The NWS had revised their forecast to show the latest atmospheric river moving across central and southern California throughout the duration. It was expected to grow in intensity by late afternoon into the night.
The coaches had been informed of this development. They were also told that, because no lightning was associated with the storm, the game would be played.
It was time.
Led by Head Coach Lincoln Riley, the Trojans took the field through the end zone portal near the student section. Their fans were boisterously chanting U-S-C, U-S-C, U-S-C. Then the band got into the action and began playing “Fight On!” much to the delight of the sixty-some thousand Trojans fans who braved the weather to cheer for what was essentially a home game for them.
Tyler ran out of the portal to the side of the excited players, but just behind the team’s star quarterback, Malachi Nelson. He studied every stride the young man made. With each plant of his foot on the soggy turf, Tyler looked for a change in his gait.
He’d told Coach Riley several weeks ago that Nelson would be ready to heal, work, and compete in the game. Just before the coach gave his team its final pep talk, he stopped Tyler in the locker room and asked if his quarterback would be one hundred percent. Tyler gave him the good news the coach needed to hear.
Aloud, his response was yes. Inwardly, he withheld a caveat.
Pending weather.
TWENTY-FIVE
Friday
New Year’s Day
Hendrick Residence
La Cañada, California
The game was about to start; however, Sammy’s focus had been on the coming storm. She’d just hustled about the backyard, securing lawn furniture and umbrellas. Despite being in the valley at the base of a ridge, the winds were pummeling their home from the north, forcing her to go outside in the driving rain. She noticed her immediate neighbor to the right was doing the same. They waved to one another as Sammy joked how she’d left Florida to avoid this kind of weather.
She’d changed the large-screen television to display the game on the right half. On the left side, ABC7 carried live, continuous news and weather reports. She covered her mouth and gasped as the reporter stood just half a mile away from their home, discussing the dead and mangled bodies below Devil’s Gate. She kept the volume turned down so the children weren’t distracted, and blocked their view from the closed-captioning scrolling across the screen. This was not something they should be exposed to.
Minutes before kickoff, at the top of the hour, the weather was the lead story. She increased the volume so she could hear the details. The chyron read Intense storm claims first lives.
The meteorologist appeared grim as he spoke. “The term rapid intensification is not something we often use in California when discussing rain events. It is most often associated with warnings issued by the National Hurricane Center when maximum sustained winds of a tropical cyclone increase by thirty-five miles per hour in a twenty-four-hour period.
“Well, we have those types of conditions and then some. For weeks, we have been reporting on the series of atmospheric rivers that have come ashore in the central part of the state. We expected this one to be no different. However, it is.
“As the atmospheric river approached, it has strengthened due to multiple environmental factors, including warmer ocean waters, light winds throughout the vertical layers of the atmosphere, and large amounts of moisture-filled air within the storm itself.
“Typically, especially in the western U.S., these factors don’t always align, which typically slows the strengthening process and makes rapid intensification a rare event. That said, we are experiencing that very thing this morning.”
Sammy would’ve stomped around the room if her knee hadn’t begun swelling again. She thrust her hands on her hips and glared at the meteorologist.
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
“What’s wrong, Sammy?” asked Sophie, who was studying her aunt’s face.
Sammy took a deep breath and rolled her neck on her shoulders to relieve some tension. “I’m sorry, girls. I’m just mad at the weather guy.”
“Because it’s raining?” asked Livvy. “I’m mad at him, too.”
She approached her adorable nieces and gently rubbed the backs of their heads. “Well, you know what? There’s not a whole lot we can do about the weather, is there? Maybe I should ignore this stuff and watch the game.” This was an attempt to convince herself as much as relieve the girls’ apprehension.
She switched the volume back to the game although she continued to focus on the weather being reported. A graphic filled the screen, indicating some of the wind damage along the coast. The station was reporting winds reaching 125 miles per hour. Widespread structural damage had already been reported. The Golden Gate bridge had been closed as soon as the winds hit sixty.
Then they began to show video feeds shared with the network of beach erosion, flooding, and cliff failures. This immediately drew Sammy to the back doors again to study the rain washing down the ridge. She wondered if the cliff far above their house could fall apart, as the news was reporting.
“Not here, right?” she said barely above a whisper.
Her eyes grew wide as videos of homes sliding down the sides of a mountain were shown. This had occurred last week near San Luis Obispo. That’s a long way from here, she thought to herself. It’s a coastal town. We aren’t.
She tried to convince herself this couldn’t happen to her. It wasn’t working.
TWENTY-SIX
Friday
New Year’s Day
Devil’s Gate Dam
La Cañada, California
An hour earlier, a couple running through the rain glanced over the Foothills Parkway Bridge adjacent to the Devil’s Gate Dam. They caught a glimpse of a man holding onto a toppled tree, gripping a branch as the water released through the sluice gates pummeled his body. The sheriff’s department was called, and a massive rescue operation began. Also, investigators were on the scene to question the operations team on duty and the one who worked last night.
While brave fire and rescue personnel rappelled down the rocks above the portal to Hell in an attempt to reach the numerous bodies they’d now discovered, rescue choppers fought the high winds and blowing rain to assist in pulling out any survivors. The entire scene drew crowds onto the top of the bridge despite the inclement weather. Camera crews soon arrived to turn the deadly disaster into a full-blown three-ring circus.
All of this served to distract the dam operators from the task at hand, which was to closely monitor the water levels threatening to overflow Devil’s Gate. Because visibility was limited, they were unable to see all manner of debris flowing toward the dam, driven by a fierce wind rushing through the Crescenta Valley. While they were fielding investigators’ questions or commiserating in tucked-away offices, Devil’s Gate was on the brink.
Finally, a fresh set of eyes in the form of a supervisor for LA County Flood Control arrived on the scene. While most everyone at the dam was consumed with the rescue operation and how it had happened, she studied the reservoir and the data points generated by electronic sensors.
Without consulting those preoccupied by the investigation, she contacted her boss, who in turn reached out to emergency management personnel. It was agreed that the relief tunnels were insufficient to relieve the buildup of water and debris at the dam. They would have to open the spillways to allow large amounts of water to flow over.
This decision, however, would have to be delayed until the mayor approved it and adequate notice was given to the residents and businesses below the dam throughout La Cañada Flintridge all the way down to Pasadena, where the Rose Bowl was being played. LA County Emergency Management had developed a text message warning system to advise local residents of flash flooding, earthquakes, and wildfires. These text messages were rarely sent and were generally adhered to. However, not everyone had subscribed to them.
As the ARkStorm hit, its ferocity increased every hour. As it slowly inched onshore, it gained strength, pulling moisture from the coastal waters.
The warmer rains pummeled the barren ridges of the mountains. Muddy ground became more saturated. The seventy-mile-an-hour winds uprooted the already compromised root systems of trees that had survived the Station Fire II. The fallen trees swept up boulders and millions of cubic yards of silt as the Earth’s gravity won the tug-of-war with the ridges that once held the debris.
Snow-packed areas were treated to the same warm rainfall, causing a rapid melt and corresponding runoff. The creeks and streams overflowed their banks, washing out roads. The water found any way available to head towards the Crescenta Valley.
This massive volume of water made its way toward the Arroyo Seco River basin, which began to form a massive lake. It was relatively shallow at first, maybe ten feet in depth. However, there was more rain to come.
Over sixty inches in the next four hours.
The Flood Control supervisor rudely kicked out everyone who wasn’t employed by her department or the dam. One investigator objected. She angrily dragged him by the arm outside onto an observation platform. She shouted at him and pointed at the reservoir. “More people will die if you don’t let us do our jobs,” she shouted. She shoved him back toward the control room, to several astonished faces.
By the time the investigators left, deep under water at the base of the Devil’s Gate Dam, a stitch in the concrete had developed. A three-inch crack ran fifty feet from the bottom toward the top. Pieces of concrete began to break away, causing the crack to grow wider and longer.
The fallen trees, aided by the high winds, acted like battering rams against the dam. The ARkStorm grew stronger, howling like a demon throughout the valley. The battering rams smelled blood as they continued to pummel Devil’s Gate.
And then the Devil himself burst through the dam designed to hold him in Hell.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Friday
New Year’s Day
Hendrick Residence
La Cañada, California
She stood in front of the television, transfixed on the videos of homes disappearing over cliffs. The game was no longer on the screen after she’d moved the girls into the dining room to eat their lunch. She was astonished by the destruction. Questioned how it was even possible. Yet she knew there were homes above and below the ridge overlooking the lush, green golf course below.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the house, knocking her backwards onto the sofa. She immediately looked at the flower vase to determine if the water inside was rippling like when the tremors started for an earthquake.
The girls shrieked and came running into the family room, tears flowing down their cheeks from the sudden blast. She stood up, forgetting about the pain searing through her knee, and opened her arms to embrace them. She tried to offer them words of comfort, not dissimilar to the ones she’d love to hear from her husband.
“Come here. We’re good. I’m sure there is an explanation for this.”
They held each other for a moment, and when no additional explosions were felt, Sammy thought it was over. “See, girls? It’s just fine.”
Then the power went out. The television screen was blank. No lights were on. The ambient noises generated by the refrigerator and ceiling fans stopped. Even the girls stopped breathing momentarily out of fright.
Sammy’s eyes darted around the room and toward every window. What the hell is happening? She shouted the question inside her brain. She had to gather her composure.
“Girls, please stay right here for a moment. Okay?” She gently nudged them toward the sofa. They were crying now. It broke Sammy’s heart to see their little bottom lips pucker and their beautiful eyes well up with moisture before they opened up the floodgates. Children were so innocent. Pure. Deserving of protection from all threats. Their young minds were unable to discern the dangers resulting from circumstances they were unable to comprehend.
“I’m going to step outside and take a look,” she said in her best motherly voice.
“Nooo, Sammy! Don’t leave us!” begged Livvy.
“Can’t we come with you?” asked Sophie.
Sammy took a deep breath and looked through the windows. Other than the heavy rains and winds obliterating her view beyond a hundred feet of their home, she couldn’t see how the weather could be the cause of the explosion. She was beginning to think that a nearby transformer was the culprit; however, she wanted to make sure.
“Okay, under one condition. Stay just inside the doorway. I promise not to leave your sight.”
The girls jumped off the sofa in unison. “Okay,” said Sophie, the leader of the two, anointed simply by being older.
Sammy led them to the back of the house first. She wanted to get a look at the power pole up the ridge from their home. The streetlight had been a source of annoyance since they moved in, as it shined directly into their bedroom. Above the streetlight was a transformer.
With the girls standing just inside the doors, Sammy walked into the backyard toward the back of their bedroom. Not only did she want to determine if the transformer was intact, but she also wanted to get a better look at the water runoff she’d noticed earlier.
The tiny creeks had expanded to streams, and now muddy water flowing down the hill covered the entire hill behind their house. It was splashing against their wood fence and then being diverted away from the house in a swale built for that purpose when the home was constructed. However, the sheer volume of water was now spilling over the swale and seeping under their fence. Before long, it would threaten to flood their backyard and the patio doors. She suddenly wished their garage were full of sandbags.
The transformer was still in place, and there was no evidence it had been damaged, so Sammy turned her attention to the front of the house. The girls had retrieved a bath towel for her to dry off, earning them both hugs, kisses, and smiles.
The front of the couple’s hacienda-style home featured a portico entry with a rounded header. It jutted out from the house into the yard, blocking their view up and down the street. Sammy made her way outside, and the girls entered the portico. Within seconds of stepping into the yard, Sammy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. She covered her mouth with her hand as she gasped. She couldn’t see the golf course.
Not just because of the wind and rain obscuring a clear view of it. But because it had been turned into a massive river stretching as far as she could see toward Pasadena. Its width measured from the ridge where the 210 Freeway was located all the way to North Arroyo where she lived.
From her viewpoint, she was unable to see the Devil’s Gate Dam. On a sunny day, she could walk directly down the hill in front of her house, past the homes overlooking the golf course, to the cart path in order to catch a glimpse of the massive structure. However, by the volume of water she was seeing, it was clear the dam operators had opened up all their available spillways.
“What was the explosion?” she mumbled under her breath. She cursed herself for not having a better understanding of how the dam worked. But why should she? There was barely any water being held in the reservoir. Well, at least until this December.
“Sammy, what do you see?” asked Sophie.
Her question dragged Sammy out of her musings. She glanced back toward the golf course. She lowered her brow to focus on the waves created by the wind. She wasn’t sure, but she swore to herself that the water had risen in the quick few minutes she’d been observing it.
“Just some flooding, girls. Let’s get back inside so I can try to get a cell signal.”
For the next five minutes, Sammy paced the floor, trying to place a call or send a text to Tyler. She knew it was the middle of the game; however, she was concerned about the volume of water heading toward the Rose Bowl.
After her attempts to call and text, she opened Safari on her iPhone and tried to connect to the internet. It wasn’t allowing her to, so she threw the phone on the sofa out of frustration. “Stupid 5G. It doesn’t work on a good day.” She lamented the highly touted 5G network coverage that seemed to make accessing cell towers more difficult rather than easier.
Sammy began to pace again, alternating between the back windows and those looking toward the front. The girls had calmed down and were now playing Sorry!, although less enthusiastically than in the past several days. With them distracted, she decided to put on her rain gear she wore when running with Tyler. She had to get a closer look at the river that was now flowing across the Brookside Golf Club.
