Sedulity 2: Aftershock (Sedulity Saga) (14 page)

 
Phong’s mouth was
agape and tears welled in his eyes.
 
“You
spoke to them? Oh, I wish I could have called my family. My wife and children
were staying with my parents in the fishing village where I grew up. The
mountains are not far away, but I don’t even know if they tried to get there. I
had no way to warn them. I didn’t even know they were in danger until word
spread through the crew that waves were destroying every coast around the
Pacific. And now we want to go look for our families.”

“I’m afraid that’s hopeless,” Armando said. “Even if some of
your loved ones survived, they would have to be far from the coast, maybe in
refugee camps. That’s probably the best possibility, but there would be no way
for you to find them. And even if the captain started dropping crew members off
in the closest countries of Southeast Asia, we would run out of people to run
the ship before it ever reached your home in Taiwan.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Phong said with sadness.

“And what about all the passengers?” Armando pressed. “We are
responsible for their safety and wellbeing. We can’t abandon them. Can we?”

Phong looked down at his shoes and spoke softly. “That is
another thing that bothers the crew. Many refuse to serve the passengers the
way we were trained to. Some say that we won’t get paid anymore, that many of
the passengers have also lost their homes and wealth, and that money might not
even mean anything after half the world is washed away.”

That was something Armando hadn’t thought of. It was a
frightening possibility, but he didn’t see how it really changed the
responsibilities of the crew to the passengers, at least until the ship reached
a safe harbor. “Some of that might be true, Phong. I don’t know how bad things
will be after this disaster. But we are all lucky to be on this ship, the crew
as well as the passengers. Captain Krystos is a great sailor and good leader.
He saved the ship last night and I know he cares about everyone aboard. He even
took time to talk to me and send me down to the med center last night. He will
do the right thing. I know he will. We must follow his orders, now more than
ever.”

“You are wise and brave, Armando. I am full of fear and confusion.
That is why I ask for your advice. I think it is good. I will not take part in
any mutiny, but I will listen to their plans and tell you what I learn. Now I
will let you rest. Get better soon, my friend.”

“Thank you, Phong,” Armando said. Phong retreated from the
cabin and closed the door behind him. Any thoughts of sleep had been driven
from Armando’s mind, first by the pain and now by the burden of knowing that
some his fellow crew, probably good friends of his, were seriously thinking of
conducting a mutiny aboard the
Sedulity.

Chapter 7

The monster wave bore down on the California coast from the
southwest, breaking in a solid line up the coast of Baja. That sparsely
populated coastline was mostly desert and the there wasn’t much for the waves
to destroy until they hit Ensenada, which was not a large city, but on any
other day its destruction would have risen to the level of a catastrophe. On
this day it was simply an appetizer for the main course.

The Coast Guard C-130 that had paced the waves up the coast
of Baja fed continuous video into the Military Command and Control network. Generals,
admirals, and politicians, along with their subordinates, were privy to views
of this wave of destruction barreling up the coastline. They watched, most of
them speechless, as the water along the beaches first drew back rapidly,
exposing half a mile or more of the seabed in places, only to be engulfed by
colossal tsunami waves that wiped out the whole coast. These waves climbed
mountains, or churned many miles inland, depending on topography, destroying
everything in their path.

A few minutes after Ensenada was wiped out the waves
obliterated Lobster Village in Puerto Nuevo and flattened high rise condos
along Rosarito Beach before rolling over the densely populated slums of Tijuana
and hitting the US border.
 
International
boundaries meant nothing to this indiscriminate force of nature. Hundreds of
thousands of people stranded in San Diego had mere seconds to live.

The crew of the C-130 viewed the destruction spread with
growing horror. Crossing over the US border they also discovered that the
airspace was unusually congested. Aircraft of all types and sizes were taking
off from over a dozen airports along the coast. Most of them turned inland
immediately, seeking to put as much distance between themselves and the tsunami
as possible. However, some of the smaller planes and numerous helicopters chose
to circle over the city and coastline as the waves approached. A few of them
were news helicopters, broadcasting the event live, most of the others were
from the military and emergency services, but several were private pilots of
small planes who remained out of morbid curiosity.

One such pilot was Tommy Mack, a medical supply salesman who
had flown his trusty old single engine Cessna 172 down from Las Vegas for a
convention that week. It had taken him hours to extricate himself from the
partially collapsed San Diego Convention Center after the earthquake, and it
took several more painful hours to limp from there to Lindbergh Field, gawking
at all the earthquake damage along the waterfront.
 
He was relieved to find his Cessna intact on
the tarmac where he had tied it down, and happy that the ground crew had
refueled it before disaster struck. Tommy was among the tiny percentage of
people along the coast with a means of escape, but his curiosity got the better
of him. He got the airplane started and, ignoring the line of larger planes
full of refugees lined up for the runway, and with total disregard for air
traffic control procedures, Tommy hit the throttle and took off on the taxiway.
He narrowly missed a helicopter and was airborne, but instead of climbing and
turning inland, as common sense dictated, he turned back towards the ocean,
flying low over the city and across San Diego Bay to survey the damage.

Tommy was so intent on gazing down at the crippled city that
he didn’t even register the approaching wave until it was almost on top of him.
His attention was captured instead by what was happening in the bay. Water
inexplicably rushed out to sea, exposing the floor of the bay and thousands of
fish flopping around in the mud. A moment later, focused on the earthquake
damaged center span of the Coronado Bridge and still flying below 500 feet, he
was suddenly stunned to see a mountain of water roaring up the coastline. It
towered close to a thousand feet higher than his current altitude, and its
speed was at least as fast as his little Cessna could fly. He began a steep
climbing turn inland, but by then it was far too late.

“Holy crap!” exclaimed the copilot of the C-130 flying
overhead. “Did you see that Cessna get smashed by the wave? What was he
thinking?”

The Coast Guard pilot had seen it, but didn’t bother to
respond. The loss of that little plane was trivial compared to the total
destruction of San Diego. They watched helplessly from high above as the city
disappeared beneath the raging waves, knowing that this was only the beginning
of the horrors that would be inflicted along the West Coast of the United
States.

“Oh, shit,” the copilot muttered.

*****

Hank Donner sat spellbound in the ship’s theater, witnessing the
end of the world in vivid HD. The room was silent, aside from scattered
sobbing, sharp intakes of breath, and mumbled prayers. Even the television
commentators were speechless as live feeds from helicopters hovering high above
San Diego shared the final moments before utter destruction. In the minute
before the wave’s arrival the water of San Diego Bay rushed out to sea,
grounding the remaining ships and boats on the muddy bottom. The mouth of the
bay, between Point Loma and Coronado Island, turned into a raging river of
rapids as all the water in the bay tried to escape at once.

Emergency vehicles with flashing lights could be seen
speeding down earthquake damaged streets, but it was far too late for anyone
near the coast to escape by land. Hank could see aircraft still taking off from
the international airport and the Navy base on Coronado. Every life they saved
was a blessing. Half a dozen airliners were still lined up nose to tail at the
end of the runway and taking off with only a few seconds of separation, but he
could see that some would not make it aloft in time. The mammoth waves were
already sweeping across the Silver Strand and into the bay. Nothing could stop
them. The city and anyone still in it had run out of time.

Hank blinked in surprise when a low flying single engine
plane zipped into view of the camera on the news helicopter in what appeared to
be a near-mid-air-collision. The helicopter was retreating and climbing over
the city, but the small plane continued across the bay and was swatted like a
gnat on the face of the wave rolling over Coronado Island. Hank’s mouth fell
open as large ships tied to the docks, or grounded in San Diego Bay, were
lifted aloft and tossed like toothpicks to be carried miles inland by the
rampaging torrent of destruction. He let out his own gasp when the skyscrapers
of downtown San Diego were swallowed whole. The wall of water did not stop
there. It washed away the airport, catching up to and consuming the last
airliner screaming down the runway seconds too late. The water swept up and
over Point Loma, obliterating the Navy submarine base and hillside homes before
crashing into Sunset Cliffs. Ocean Beach, Pacific Beach, Mission Bay, and the
rest of the coastline disappeared within a few seconds. The waves swept away
Old Town, Mission San Diego, and countless homes. The water rushed up into
Balboa Park and overran the San Diego Zoo too, pouring down to fill Mission
Valley and roar inland, engulfing the football stadium in a churning wall that
was more mud and debris than water by that point.
 
The destruction spread up the coast and
pressed inland, through inhabited valleys and canyons, to spill across mesas
covered with suburban sprawl.
 

Hank knew he had been witness to thousands of people dying,
perhaps hundreds of thousands. It was enough to turn even his hardened stomach
and he fought down bile climbing the back of his throat. Others in the theater
had less control of themselves. Hank heard them retching. He looked away from
the scenes unfolding on television long enough to glance at Romy and Fred. She
was cowering in her seat, obviously horrified. Fred hid his face in his hands,
refusing to look at the catastrophe unfolding and mumbling “No, no, no…” to
himself. The ship’s officer, Lieutenant Reiner, stood stock still next to the
stage and stared up at the screen. He gave no sign of his personal reaction to
the destruction. Hank wasn’t sure if that was a sign of strength, or shock and
numbness.

*****

Kevin wanted to close his eyes and turn away from the
television, but found himself glued to the horrific events unfolding so close
to his home across of the ocean. The destruction of San Diego was surreal. He
and Amanda had taken little Emily to Sea World two months ago. Now that
attraction and the city surrounding it had been wiped off the face of the Earth.
He wondered briefly if any of the marine life in Sea World had survived the
waves, then shook his head at the impossibility and inconsequential nature of
the thought. What were the lives of a few fish and marine mammals compared to a
million human inhabitants of San Diego? It’s strange how the human mind tries
to distract itself from the worst tragedies by thinking up lesser aspects of
them.

“God help them,” Professor Farnsworth said from the couch,
and Kevin knew he was focused on the human tragedy they were witnessing, not
the fish. The old man closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer.

“It’s unbelievable,” Captain Krystos muttered. “All those
poor people…” His voice trailed-off into softly spoken Greek and he lowered his
head in prayer.
 

Watching the two older men with him, Kevin wished that he had
a better personal relationship with God. His scientific approach to everything
had separated him from much of a spiritual life. He still went to church on
special occasions and encouraged Amanda to take Emily to Sunday school, but
begged off regular church attendance himself due to his busy schedule. Today he
tried to pray for the lives of everyone in the path of destruction, but knew
that they were doomed. Then, watching the old professor and seasoned sailor
praying in the face of total annihilation, it dawned on Kevin that they were
not praying for millions of lives to be spared. They were praying for millions
of lost souls to be saved. The difference was all at once striking and
profound. It would weigh on Kevin’s thoughts heavily in the coming hours of
catastrophe, shaping his own silent payers accordingly.
 

*****

On television the horror continued to unfold as helicopters
chased the waves up the coastline of San Diego County. La Jolla, Del Mar,
Encinitas, Carlsbad, and Oceanside were all wiped away over the next few
minutes. The GNN affiliated helicopter turned east before crossing into Camp
Pendleton airspace and followed the debris choked water inland as far as San
Marcos and parts of Escondido where the wall of mud swept across I-15,
consuming the traffic jam of vehicles full of people who had tried to escape inland,
only to be stymied by earthquake damage to bridges and overpasses. When the
helicopter turned back south to survey the aftermath of the tsunami impact, GNN
switched to a live feed from Fox Rusher in Los Angeles.

“Fox? Do you have a monitor there?
Did you see what happened in San Diego?”

“Yes. I saw it. Absolutely horrible.
I don’t have words to describe how terrible it was. And it’s headed our way. God
help anyone who’s still close to the coast of Southern California.”

“What can you tell us about the
evacuation in Los Angeles, Fox? Has there been any progress since your last
report?”

“The streets below are still crowded
with people trying to make their way inland. Most of them are on foot. But we’ve
seen a lot of people on motorcycles and bicycles too. We also saw several
bulldozers clearing earthquake debris and abandoned vehicles off roads and
highways. Convoys of trucks and buses followed them inland. I hope they make it
far enough, or high enough into the hills.

“Fires are raging out of control
across the city, but helicopter water drops have kept most of them from spreading
too far into the Hollywood hills. An endless stream of people continue climbing
into these hills, as well as the Santa Monica Mountains west of Los Angeles.
 
I hope that many of them can get high enough
to reach safety, but after what we just saw happen in San Diego? Well, I never
imagined it could be that bad.”

“You spoke of evacuations by
helicopter earlier, Fox. How has that worked out?”

“Military, police, and some civilian
helicopters are doing the best they can, picking people up from rooftops, though
it’s impossible to save even a tiny fraction of the people who were trapped in
the city. However, we’ve seen many more large airplanes arriving and departing in
the past few hours, including large military transports. They’ve been landing
to pick people up at LAX and Santa Monica airport, as well as Long Beach
Airport and John Wayne Airport in Orange County. I’m sad to report that we were
asked not to reveal those operations publicly. The military were afraid that
the airports would be overrun by desperate mobs if the media broadcast that
news.”

“That’s horrible! You agreed to a news
blackout?”

“When they explained it to us, I had
to agree with their logic. People close to those airports figured out what was
happening on their own and showed up in larger numbers than the planes could
handle anyway. Since those airports are all close to the coastline, it would
have been much worse if more people had turned around and headed there, instead
of trying to make their own way inland to higher ground. It’s far too late to
matter now, of course. Anyone at those airports who hasn’t already boarded one
of those planes is doomed. The tsunamis will arrive in a matter of minutes now.”