Ring of Fire Axial: A Disaster Thriller, page 10
Gigi’s jaw tightened, eyes locked on the road. “He should’ve been here for a lot of things.”
They shared the silence for a moment with the diesel engine’s rumble and the hiss of ash blowing across the truck. Then she turned in her seat to face Reid, who’d eased in between the seatbacks again.
“When we get back …” She couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to. The look was enough and so was the brief, impulsive kiss she pressed against his mouth. Warm, quick, tasting of ash and exhaustion.
Suddenly, the GPS pinged again. The road widened, and the descent toward the outskirts of Mexico City began. Relief rippled through the cab, releasing the tension they’d all been holding.
It lasted less than a minute.
They rounded a bend and saw the bridge, or what was left of it. The far span had sheared away into the river gorge, the steel skeleton twisted and half-submerged in churning water. The asphalt at their end crumbled in ragged chunks, one section split in two by a three-foot-wide gash. It was evidence that an earthquake had struck the outskirts of Mexico City, a likely precursor to El Popo’s eruption.
With emergency barriers and flashing lights fast approaching, Miguel braked hard. The EFP skidded, tires grinding against loose asphalt until they stopped barely ten feet from the orange-and-white, A-frame barricades.
Reid leaned forward, staring at the void. Behind them, the volcano’s glow pulsed in the distance through the ash, a reminder of what they’d escaped. His camera came up again, filming the impassable, destroyed bridge ahead. Then he captured another shot of the live volcano behind them.
The road was gone, and El Popo wasn’t slowing down. There was nowhere safe in between.
Gigi whispered what they were all thinking. “End of the road.”
Miguel, with a grim determination, kept his hands on the wheel. He sat a little taller in the driver’s seat. “Not if we can help it.”
Fourteen
April 23
Sunrise
Leilani’s Home
The Saddle
Island of Hawai’i
MORNING SUNLIGHT fought through a shroud of ash, turning the jungle into a watercolor of tarnished gold and smoke-blue shadows.
The isolated cottage stood on concrete pilings. Its sides were clad with salt-worn boards and a metal roof that clicked softly as dew cooled the hot metal. Plumeria rode the humidity in thin, stubborn threads, fighting the sulfur that scratched their throats on every breath.
Sloan shouldered Kane up the steps. His weight sagged without warning, a dead drop that jolted her spine. She hit the doorframe with a shoulder and gasped. She shoved Kane through.
Leilani stood just inside, her face reflecting concern for Kane’s medical condition. She was compact, sure-footed, with a face scored by sun and more than seventy years on the Big Island. “In here,” she said, her voice soft but authoritative. “Now.”
She took Kane’s other arm, and the three of them moved as one awkwardly across woven mats and into a room alive with small but homey domestic sounds. A gas flame ticked under a dented pot. A clock beat seconds into the humid morning. A windchime clinked once before the air settled again. The place smelled of boiled kalo, eucalyptus, and old teak. For Sloan, the scene was surreal considering the carnage wrought by the nearby shield volcanoes.
“Bed,” Leilani said, pointing. Curt, which was her approach to all of her patients. Her bedside manner, in her mind, didn’t include coddling those within her charge. Her job was to save lives. “Shirt off.”
Kane grimaced but didn’t argue. Sloan cut the crusted T-shirt with a pair of trauma shears Leilani pressed into her palm. Bandages peeled back, wet as seaweed. Angry flesh rose around a ragged crater in his shoulder that had grown larger during their escape through the Saddle. The heat from the wound radiated off him.
She turned to Sloan. “You’re helping.”
Sloan offered a nod but dared not speak. She was given a pair of sterile gloves to put on.
Leilani snapped her gloves on with a decisive pop. “Saline.” She handed Sloan a squeeze bottle and a stack of gauze. “Steady pressure. Tell me when it runs clear.”
Kane sucked air through his teeth, fingers crushing the blanket. Sweat tracked pale rivers through the soot on his chest.
“Radiation of pain?” Leilani asked, head tilting to study his color.
“Everywhere,” he said, breath thin. “Mostly side. Ribs too.”
“Let me worry about the ribs after we stop the ash and dirt from poisoning you.”
After she finished cleansing his gunshot wound, without warning, she probed with a blunt-tipped forceps. Kane’s face became distorted from the pain. Leilani slowly withdrew a blackened sliver of metal and dropped it with a sharp clink into a kidney-shaped stainless dish.
“Fragments. More than one. You need a surgeon. Without debridement and broad-spectrum antibiotics, you’ll be septic.” Debridement was a medical procedure that involved removing damaged or infected tissue as well as foreign material from a wound. This was done to promote healing by clearing away obstacles and creating a clean environment for new tissue growth. Kane managed a crooked half-smile. “Are you always this cheerful?”
“Cheerful doesn’t close wounds and save lives.”
Sloan irrigated until the saline ran pink, then pale. Leilani nodded once. “Good. Lidocaine’s gone soft in this heat, so you’ll feel more than you want.”
“I’m already there. Trust me,” Kane murmured.
Leilani threaded a needle with unhurried precision. “Count your breaths. Slow. In through the nose, out like you’re cooling māmai tea.”
Sloan leaned close enough for him to hear her through the roar in his ears. “Breathe with me.”
They matched tempo. Leilani stitched, hand sure, movements small and exact. Each pull tugged a wince across Kane’s face, but he managed to stay still.
Leilani taped a fresh dressing in place, then pressed two fingers at his wrist. “Tachy. Fever is coming. We lower it now.” She turned to Sloan. “We need to lower his pulse. Water basin. Cloth. There.”
The basin water felt lukewarm. Sloan wrung a cloth and laid it across Kane’s forehead. After matching her gaze, he slowly closed his eyes.
“Vitals will swing,” Leilani said, already arranging ampoules and strips in a small plastic box. “I can give him something for pain, and I have a few oral antibiotics. He needs an IV. I don’t have it.”
Then, after a pause, she met Sloan’s eyes. “He needs a hospital.”
“Do you have a car?” Sloan asked.
“No. Only my son. No phone. You must rest and walk seven miles.”
“Leilani, um, trouble is coming,” Sloan said. “Lava flows from both volcanoes. None of us can stay here.”
Leilani showed no response or care for the threat Sloan described. She was indifferent, almost as if she were confirming the latest weather. Then she muttered, “Then we keep him alive long enough for the air to make a path.”
“The air?” Sloan asked.
Leilani lifted a shoulder. “Winds shift. Fire changes its mind. The land breathes in and out. Once you learn her rhythm, you can move when she lets you. Let faith be your guide.”
Sloan bit back the reflex to argue theory. “Leilani, I am a scientist. Mauna Loa’s flank is opening in multiple locations. Mauna Kea’s summit vents are—”
Leilani’s mouth twitched the suggestion of a smile as she politely cut Sloan off. “You brought many science instruments with you?”
“Well, yes. But not here.” Sloan’s voice thinned. She could still feel the Bronco lift, hear glass shattering. “But I know the pattern. This isn’t going away because the volcanoes are connected. We must plan on leaving. If we sit here and—”
Leilani raised both her palms to Sloan. “Faith is what you do with your hands when the plan burns,” she said. “I didn’t say sit.”
She rustled around the kitchen for a moment. The staccato clicking indicated she was turning on a gas burner of her range. Then she moved to a cupboard and came back with a bundle of field dressings, a bottle of betadine, two surgical masks still sealed.
“Tuck those in your pockets. Ash will thicken when the wind turns. You’ll need them.”
Kane watched the exchange through a film of pain. “She’s right about the plumbing,” he said softly when Leilani returned to his side. “This is extraordinary, Leilani. One push and it all erupted together.”
Leilani, without looking up, ignored him. She returned to the modest kitchen. A minute later, she was back.
“Eat,” she insisted. She set a bowl of saimin, a broth and noodle soup, by his hand and a chipped spoon in Sloan’s. “Both of you. Your hands shake.”
Sloan hadn’t noticed, but they did. She lifted the spoon. The broth tasted of salt and ginger and something green that cut through the soot on her tongue. Her tense shoulders eased a fraction. A long, deep breath helped her relax further.
As they shared the bowl of warm saimin, Leilani moved through the room with the efficiency of a nurse who’d done it too many times to count. Check temp and pulse, then place an ear to Kane’s chest. She frowned at a rattle deep under his ribs and set a small bottle on the nightstand. “Doxycycline. I have enough for two days. It’s not the perfect medicine, but it’s what I have.”
Kane swallowed two with effort. “Mahalo,” he whispered.
Leilani’s eyes softened for the first time since their arrival. Then she managed a slight laugh.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to hurt you again.” She pressed along his rib cage until he hissed. “Crack. Maybe two. Splinting will help. I’ll tape you after the fever drops.”
She wandered off again, and Sloan locked eyes with Kane. “I think you’ll live,” she whispered as she fed him a spoonful of broth.
He winced as he allowed it to soak into his throat. “Yeah. Um, listen, there’s so much I need to say to you.”
Sloan shook her head. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now, let’s enjoy a little bit of peace before we gotta hike seven miles to the hospital. Sound good?”
Kane smiled and gently touched her hand. “Sounds good.”
Then, outside, the earth answered Sloan as well with a long, low percussion. It started out distant and layered. Seemingly approaching them at a rapid rate.
The hanging lamp above the table trembled just enough to whisper against its chain. Sloan felt it under her feet. A forceful pulse like a giant jackhammer beating through bedrock.
Fifteen
April 23
Sunrise
Honolulu, Hawai’i
THE CHOPPER SAT UNDER a floodlight, rotors stilled. Its matte black paint with no markings was the machine equivalent of a black-coated jaguar, a powerful predator renowned for its stealth, intelligence, and hunting skills. Beau knew he’d need all of those attributes if he was going to find Sloan and live to talk about it.
“Lieutenant Dan Taylor,” the pilot shouted to introduce himself, his voice carrying over the apron’s white noise. He stepped out from under the rotors, helmet tucked under his arm. He was lean and squared away. The kind of Marine who looked like he’d been born with honor, courage, and commitment. Time will tell, Beau thought.
Beau shook his hand. Firm, quick. “Captain Beau Mercer, Lieutenant. This is a different kind of mission, so you can call me Beau. Let’s roll.”
“We’re cleared on your command, sir. Much to discuss during flight.”
“I’ve heard the term experimental more than once. I assume you know this chopper.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s my bird. There’s only four of us checked out to fly her at this point,” Taylor explained. “UH-60 Black Hawk testbed. ALIAS spine. MATRIX overlay. She’ll do what we tell her until the air starts lying.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’ll take the right seat,” Beau said. “You fly. I talk, watch, and point.”
“Deal.” Taylor rapped the tail boom twice, ear tilted, listening to the metal’s answer. He squinted at the damp grit on the horizontal stab. “You can’t really see it, but the ash is already chewing.”
“Then let’s not give it more time,” said Beau.
They climbed in. The cockpit had that new-car smell. Beau strapped in and felt the harness bite. Taylor ran the preflight by memory, finger skimming switches, lips shaping words he didn’t waste out loud. The turbine cough became a steady rumble. The disk blurred, then became a ceiling.
“Quick brief,” Taylor said, eyes forward, voice flat as a ruler. “I’m told you’re checked out on the Black Hawk UH-60L. There’s not that much difference, but let me cover some basics. Three-axis keeps pitch, roll, yaw in the box. Four-axis gives us collective. You know, your basic vertical on rails. The new shit, MATRIX, gives me a hands-off approach and a nailed hover, even in dirty air. ALIAS is the brain that ties the knot in the whole thing.”
Taylor lifted off, a careful gather of air that pulled them clear of the airport. Rotor wash chased grit in a radial storm as the flood tower fell behind. Honolulu looked like any big island city at first light until the wind shifted and stroked a thin sheet of vog that had found its way across Maui and Molokai onto Oahu.
At first, Taylor flew west momentarily to avoid the airport runway traffic. Then he banked hard to the south and quickly reached a steady cruise speed of one hundred sixty miles per hour.
“Downside?” Beau asked.
“What we’re about to encounter. Static, ash, lightning. Sensors get fooled. The sky says go left when the ground says don’t. We trust, then verify before any landing attempt.”
“Copy.”
“If this thing saves our tails, buy DARPA a beer,” Taylor added, half-grin tucked away.
“DARPA?”
“Yeah, they designed the brains in this bird. Between you, me and the fencepost, I don’t think it’s intended for search and recovery missions. It’s a helluva gunship that is fully autonomous. We can set its course, sit back and enjoy the ride. Well, on any other day. Today, I’m gonna grip this sonofabitch like it’s an awnry bull.”
“I’ll buy you a beer when my sister’s in that seat,” said Beau, pointing to the rear seating area. He then explained why this mission was so personal to him. Taylor fully understood and vowed to do all he could to help.
Taylor’s lighthearted mood faded away as they flew east over the Pacific into the sunrise. He kept them low, eyes darting between the horizon and the little things usually taken for granted when flying the chopper, such as the torque needle’s shiver and engine temp.
“Check your comms,” he said after a long period of silence. Lanai City was barely visible on their right as the sun fought through the vog to reveal the Big Island.
Beau toggled. “Five by five.” Loud and clear.
Taylor became quiet again as he received a report from Hilo tower. He replied and turned toward Beau.
“Total shit-show ahead. We’ll have eyes on the Sisters in a minute.”
“Do you have authority for a different LZ?” asked Beau.
“Hadn’t planned on setting her down. I presumed you were gonna do an aerial search.”
“I can save us a lot of time and potential danger if I can speak with the scientists where my sister works. It’s at the Federal Building in downtown Hilo.”
“Copy. It’s on the far side of the island with the volcanoes between us. They just told me Kilauea’s got a temper. Shear off the summit’s building heat columns. We’ll give ’er a wide berth and come in from the east. Gotta stay low to the deck to avoid the crap spewing out of these beasts.”
“What about the prevailing winds?” asked Beau.
Taylor laughed and shook his head. “So here’s some fun to add to an already thrilling ride. Trade winds come out of the northeast. But the kona winds blow from the south. They converge at Hilo. The volcanic ash and winds will hit us head-on as we come in. The trifecta of a bunch of shit hitting three fans smack-dab in the middle.”
Beau laughed and shook his head. He’d begun to rethink his approach. Just as he was about to change his mind, Taylor continued, “No worries, Captain, um, Beau. That’s what this black beauty is made for. I’ll set you down near downtown. You’ll have to hoof it a few blocks.”
They fell into cockpit silence. The working kind, where words were tools, not company. The UH-60’s vibration settled into Beau until he became comfortable with its operation. He could taste the airframe—oil, rubber, the faint scent of solvent under the panels. He could feel the sulfur fighting its way through the air-filtration system even more. A metallic tang crept along his tongue.
Ahead, the sky wore a hematoma at its hem. The sky pulsed as fires raged and molten lava spread across the earth. Taylor dipped his chin once, the nod of a man watching a thunderhead choose a path.
“First sight,” he said plainly.
The Island of Hawai’i came into view. A dark cloud covered the highest elevations, but its ground features were mostly visible. Near the peaks of the volcanoes, lightning stitched across cloud bellies. It branched and crawled sideways through the eruptive clouds. Between the strikes, an unreal orange shot upward from the craters.
All three Sisters had been revealed in their eruptive glory.
Sixteen
April 23
Sunrise
The Sierra Nevada
Central Mexico
THE EFP IDLED LIKE a cornered animal, engine rumbling low, just yards from where the bridge plunged into nothingness.
Reid leaned forward, squinting through the ash-smeared windshield at the sheared-away span. It was a twisted skeleton of steel half-buried in the churning river gorge below. Ash mixed with tiny lapilli rained down in thick, grayish flakes, pelting the roof like endless gunfire. It was El Popo’s parting gift, refusing to let go.
Miguel kept his hands on the steering wheel, eyes locked on the drop-off as if willing it to change shape. GPS was blinking Route Lost in the dash display. It had become unreliable and, when it was most needed, useless.
