Sedulity 2: Aftershock (Sedulity Saga) (11 page)

Romy was fighting back tears. Fred was less accepting of
fate. “You don’t know that,” he said. “The islands could shelter Santa Barbara
completely.”

“Maybe from a direct hit,” Hank commented. “I hope that’s the
case. Still, I bet there’ll be a lot of backwash and reflected waves. The Santa
Barbara coastline faces south and that’s basically the direction these waves
are coming from. But hey, you’re right. I’m no scientist. Santa Barbara might
make it through without a scratch.” He didn’t believe that for a second, but
saw no reason to dash their hopes completely. They’d learn the truth from
watching television over the next few hours.

“Well, now that we know a bit more about each other, and the
ship has stopped rocking as much, what do you say we grab some breakfast?” Hank
said, changing the topic. “It doesn’t look like a waiter will be coming to
serve us, so I’m off to the buffet. I want to get back to the theater before
the president makes his next address to the nation. He said he would do that
before the waves hit California, so it must be coming up soon.” He set his
cowboy hat on the table to reserve it and rose to get in line for chow. The
other two followed him, although the conversation had pretty much ruined their
appetites.

Chapter 6

The president of the United States was close to having a
nervous breakdown. The presidential physician had already given him several
mild sedatives to calm his nerves and insisted he wear a biometric monitor under
his bulletproof vest. The doctor was concerned that the stress of this global
catastrophe could trigger a stroke or heart attack. She couldn’t imagine the
mental strain and anguish the president must be suffering in the hours leading
up to the certain death and destruction of a significant portion of the nation
he was sworn to protect and defend.

The doctor studied the president from across the Oval Office while
his advisors surrounded him and the film crew prepared for his next televised
address. The presidential physician was always close to the president, even in
normal times. Her only job was to keep the president alive and well. She
travelled with him on Air Force One and accompanied him to every function,
public and private. When the president appeared in public she would stay just
outside of any projected kill zone, but close enough to rush to his side in the
event of an assassination attempt. Here, inside the White House, she could get
closer, close enough to see the sweat beading on his forehead before the makeup
artist wiped it away and applied powder. A glance at her handheld monitor
confirmed that his heart rate and blood pressure were elevated and he was
breathing more rapidly than normal.

The doctor walked across the room and signaled for the others
to move back. Even the Secret Service deferred to her authority. “Mr.
President,” she said with a note of concern. “Your vital signs are elevated.
How do you feel, Sir?”

The president took a deep breath and gave her a tired smile.
“I feel like the sky is falling down on top of me. It doesn’t feel good.”

“I understand, Mr. President,” she nodded and smiled back in
sadness. “Though everyone is bordering on shock and despair, the pressure you
feel must be enormous. I need you to do the breathing exercise I taught you
after the last terrorist attack. Slow, deep breaths. Try to relax, starting
with your feet and hands, and then moving slowly up your limbs. Close your eyes
and think about a happy memory. I know it’s hard right now, but we all need you
calm and collected when you address the nation. I can give you another mild
sedative, if necessary, but I think it best if you are clear headed and in full
command of your faculties before you appear on television.”

“I know, Doc. Thanks,” the president said. “What I really
need is a cigarette.”

“We’ve talked about that, Mr. President,” the doctor said.
“Nicotine is a stimulant. It will only further elevate your heart rate and
blood pressure.”

“That’s the least of my worries. I’m President of the United
States. And, damn it, I want a cigarette. Now! Millions of my constituents are
about to die and there is nothing I can do to stop it. The hell with the White
House smoking ban! Don’t try to stop me, Doctor. If I keel over, you get to
earn your pay.”

Normally the doctor would appeal to higher authority by
calling the First Lady, but this was not a normal day. A cigarette might
actually help the president get a hold of himself. The mild stimulant of
nicotine would probably help him more than a sedative right before going on
television. At least it would help to mentally calm his nerves. She nodded and
a Secret Service agent magically produced a Marlboro 100 and a Zippo lighter
embossed with the Presidential Seal.
  

*****

Aboard the
HMAS Bounder
the mood was grim. The rapidly deteriorating weather matched the global
situation and Commander Anders’ mood was almost as foul as the weather, until
he received another sat-phone call from the
Sedulity.
The frigate had already located the cruise ship on radar and knew that it had
turned away from the impact zone. Anders was actually surprised the
Sedulity
had gone as close to the point
of impact as she had. The
Bounder’s
weather radar showed a maelstrom forming near the gigantic column of steam.

“Hello, Captain Krystos, this is Commander Anders,” he said
when a seaman handed him the phone. “I see you’ve turned about. What are the
conditions like there?”

“Gale force winds and ten meter swells heading towards the
impact zone, extremely low pressure and falling the closer we got to it. A
meteorologist aboard thinks it’s sucking in air from every direction to feed
the column of steam,” replied Captain Krystos. “We’ve reversed course and hope
to escape the worst of the weather before turning south towards Darwin. We’ll also
be transmitting the recorded data from our weather station to whoever wants
it.”

“That sounds like the best course of action,” Commander
Anders concurred. “We have requests for that data from all over the world. Have
you been able to restore satellite internet service yet?”

“We’re working on it, Commander.
 
My technicians think we will have it up again
soon. That should also restore internet telephone, email, and Skype service, so
it’s a top priority for many of the passengers and crew. I’m sorry that we
couldn’t get closer to the point of impact for more weather readings, but we
are facing hurricane conditions here.”

“I understand completely, Captain. No worries, mate,” the
Australian Commander replied. “We’ve just been told than an American nuclear
submarine is moving into position on the other side of the impact zone. They
should be able to monitor both surface and sub-surface conditions while
remaining shallowly submerged to avoid the bad weather. There are also Australian
and American maritime patrol aircraft inbound to measure the atmospheric effects.”

“That is good news,” Captain Krystos said. “The
Sedulity
is no hurricane hunter. We’ve
sustained a lot of damage and I have hundreds of seriously injured passengers
and crew that need better medical attention than we can provide aboard ship. I
hope your offer of a safe haven in Darwin is still open.”

“Yes, of course it is, Captain,” the Australian answered.
“We’ll make our own close approach to the impact zone and then come about to
join you. We’re also anxious to secure the samples of ejecta that fell on your
ship. I’ll arrange priority air transport from Darwin for some of your samples
to labs in the USA and Europe.”

“Excellent,” Captain Krystos said. “Is there any chance of
sending some the surviving passengers on those flights? Especially burn victims
who are citizens of those countries?”

“I suppose that depends on what aircraft are available,
Captain. I’ll certainly suggest the possibility to my superiors. Darwin has a
good hospital, though I doubt they are set up to handle as many cases of severe
burns as you have reported aboard your ship. I suspect that Darwin will also be
receiving injured survivors from other parts of the Australian coastline too.
It would probably be best to send some of your casualties to areas less
affected by this disaster, if there’s any space on outgoing flights. I’ll make
some inquiries.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Captain Krystos said. “We’ll keep you
advised of our progress and the weather we encounter. Good luck with your
approach to the impact zone. Anything closer than twenty miles from the steam
column will put you into hurricane conditions.
Sedulity
, out.”

Commander Anders hung up the sat-phone and stared out at the
torrential downpour driven by wave whipping winds that sprang from nowhere. The
weather radar and satellite images on the bridge displays were truly daunting.
Dense clouds spewed out from the impact zone and spun off in every direction,
forming countless storms that grew stronger by the minute.
 
It was much darker than normal for
mid-morning, due to the thick overcast and pounding rain, matching the dark and
unspoken thoughts of his crew.

Word had spread quickly about the catastrophic damage
inflicted on the Australian coastline by the tsunamis. Since the vast majority
of Australians lived within a dozen miles of the ocean, every member of the
crew feared for the lives of friends and loved ones. Everyone aboard the
Bounder
was anxious to turn for home as
soon as possible.

Commander Anders was relieved that an American submarine
would soon take over the job of monitoring conditions near the impact zone. Those
Yanks wouldn’t have to brave the deteriorating weather conditions on the
surface and Anders was glad that his ship would be tasked with escorting the
Sedulity
back towards Australia. He
could only imagine what the people aboard that ship had gone through, so close
to the impact event, and shuddered to think of the suffering and loss of life.
He shook his head grimly with the realization that what transpired on that cruise
ship was mild compared to what was happening to millions of others across the
globe. The loss of a single human life is a tragedy, the loss of a thousand
lives is a catastrophe, but the loss of millions becomes a statistic. The
rational human mind is simply incapable of processing that much emotional pain
without going insane.

*****

“They won’t let us go up to my suite until later today,” Hank
said, returning to the table after conferring with a crewman near the
restaurant entrance. “I want to see the news for a while longer anyway. Now
that I have some food in my belly, I think I’ll go back to the theater to witness
the end of the world. You two coming?”

Romy and Fred exchanged glances and nodded hesitantly. They
rose from the table to follow Hank out of the restaurant. None of them were anxious
to see the coverage of tsunamis destroying major population centers in
California, especially Romy and Fred, but not knowing what happened to their
homes would probably be worse. There was no denying the fascination of watching
a disaster unfold on live television. They all remembered seeing the Twin
Towers fall, as well as the first days of Shock and Awe during the long war in
Iraq. Hank even remembered watching the first air strikes of Desert Storm live
on CNN during the first Gulf War. Those historic moments in television news
history were all eclipsed by the live images of unprecedented destruction being
aired today.

“The president should be making his next speech any time
now,” Hank said, setting a fast pace towards the bow.
 
The ship was pitching and rolling with the
swells, though not half as disturbingly as before. Many passengers were still
lined up to learn if their staterooms were intact. Others were clearly upset
upon learning that theirs were not. Members of the crew were explaining that
new rooming assignments would be made as soon as an accurate tally of survivors
and available berths was completed. Hank was glad that he had gotten to the
front of the line before they decided to toss a bunch of old fogies into his
suite, and hoped that Romy and Fred were the only ones he’d have to share it
with. He wouldn’t mind sharing his bed with Romy, but suspected she would end
up on the foldout with Fred. He certainly didn’t plan on offering his king size
bed to the displaced couple.

Hank took note of the other passengers in the public areas he
walked through. Some were wandering around in a daze. Others had found places
to sit down, a difficult proposition when all of the cushioned chairs and
couches were soaking wet and loose furniture had been swept away or thrown into
tangled piles by the recent floodwaters. There was a palpable sense of
confusion and despair drifting among these people. Nothing in their life
experience had prepared them to face the disaster that had befallen the
Sedulity
, let alone the cataclysm still
sweeping the shorelines of five continents. Hank could understand their shocked
looks of apathy at what appeared to be the end of the world. It reminded him of
the stunned looks on the faces of hostages, right before terrorists cut off
their heads on internet videos.
 

The passengers who had gone into the dining room and those in
line to check on their accommodations were still thinking about the necessities
of life. Those who remained in the theater were still actively engaged in the horrific
news on television. However, the people he saw roaming the lounges and
corridors were listless and forlorn. Many of them wandered alone, and Hank
assumed they were consumed by grief for a loved one lost to fire or drowning.
That was understandable. Others had probably realized that their homes, families,
and friends were already gone, or about to perish beneath devastating tsunamis.
Hank could sympathize with their shocked reactions as well, but couldn’t afford
to share them. He focused on the fact that he was a survivor and would do
whatever he could to stay that way.

*****

Amanda escorted Rachel from the med center to the dining room.
Rachel said she wasn’t hungry and wanted to check on any news of her husband,
as well as the status of their honeymoon suite. However, the line was so long
and the prospect so discouraging that Rachel decided to put that task off for
later. Amanda told her to sit down and stood in line at the table where they
were compiling lists of survivors and missing passengers. It moved much faster
than the line for room assignments. She reached the woman making the lists and
reported Rachel Brewer as a surviving burn victim, as well as Brad Brewer as
missing. A cursory review of the alphabetical list of survivors on the woman’s
laptop showed no sign of Brad. Amanda thanked the woman and returned to Rachel
with the sad news.