Excerpts
Book Excerpts
Ch. 48, p. 184
Mariah had gone to bed. Elmer emerged from a drowsy lull to catch what was now called the “Evening Icecap Report.”
On Antarctica, the command structure at research stations has tightened dramatically following the one-foot rise in sea level. The U.S. military has been placed in charge of all press. The structure is the familiar model used during full scale war activities, prototyped in the 2003 attack on Iraq. All official press information is now disseminated in “war room” briefing sessions…
The private radio operators also allege a massive cover-up is underway.
… Labels aside, one ham radio operator claims to now be transmitting clandestinely because the equipment of a colleague was confiscated.
Elmer turned the TV off, retrieved his journal from the nightstand, and wrote, “Have to be careful now what news to believe about sea level.”
Ch. 58, p. 217-8
After supper and book time, their mother’s songs carried Finn and Tierney to the Land of Nod. She was exhausted, her self-discipline in tatters, her self-deception riding high. She felt confident she could judge the truth of information herself, regardless of the source. She turned on both the radio and the TV.
Everyone was carrying the tsunami story. Its effect on people was hardly surprising. As the news commentator said, between the tabloids and the White House, it wasn’t even a contest. Schools were closing, absentee rates were shutting down companies, phone service was slipping, electricity blackouts were being reported, gun and ammunition stores, grocery stores, drugstores and others were seeing runs on their stocks.
Darcy looked in vain for news of what might be occurring in Germany.
Ch. 23, p. 84-5
The sky threatened rain. Eli and Brother Timothy had been following three army trucks and a jeep for twelve miles from Longvale, single file because stranded vehicles occasionally blocked the right lane of Highway 101’s two-lane sections. There were hitch-hikers along the road, in spite of the prohibition on travel, mostly headed north. Now, close to Willits, the monastery truck waited while the military vehicles passed through a checkpoint gate. Brother Timothy received a salute from a rifle-toting soldier, then pushed Sister Arlene’s letter through the window.
“This is from Sister Arlene, the abbess at Our Lady of Peace Monastery at Whitethorn,” he said. “She tried to call to get us permission to travel, but she couldn’t get through on the phone.”
“Where are you going?” asked the soldier, without looking at the envelope. He wore fatigues and a camouflage-patterned cap.
“Actually we’re returning to Saint Mary’s Monastery in Los Molinos. That’s up by Corning.”
The soldier continued to look at the two men in the truck as his hands fished in the envelope for the document inside. Eli and Timothy wore white robes with cowls resting on their shoulders. He read the letter, then looked up.
“Brother Timothy and Brother Elias,” he said. He handed the envelope back to Brother Timothy, stepped back and saluted. Eli realized he had not been breathing. He exhaled softly as Brother Timothy eased through the checkpoint gate.
Whatever they’re concerned about, Eli thought, they’re probably not looking for escaped convicts here. He wondered if Ransom was still free.
Ch. 60, p. 220
A news crew had their truck in a Safeway parking lot, telephoto lenses trained on the locked front door. Inside, a man in a white uniform—probably the store manager—stood, hands on his hips. A mob, Darcy judged about a hundred people, milled around, two-thirds men, mostly youths. Then, right in front of the news crews, a great hulk of a man swung a sledge hammer at the front door. It shattered in a shower of glass. The towering thug stepped forward and swung the sledge hammer at the head of the man in white. The man toppled. The camera couldn’t shoot what happened to his head. The mob poured into the store, like ants over honey.
Most of the mob. Some in the crowd stalked toward the news truck. The reporter’s voice lost its objective manner. “It looks like we better get out of here. No law-enforcement personnel are anywhere on the scene, and this mob is looking ugly.”
The scene on the TV screen became smaller, jerking with the lurching of the news truck over potholes and curbs.
Darcy felt nauseous. But she numbly kept watching.
Back in the studio, co-anchors chattered about freeway congestion and abandoned vehicles even on arteries within the cities. Interviews featured frightened drivers stuck in traffic jams, some without plans or destinations—they just wanted to leave the area.
Ch. 63, p. 245-6
“The military’s forcing people to work in the projects to build ocean barriers around utilities, airports, power plants, port facilities, trying to maintain commerce, food supplies, basic services. They’ve thrown up road blocks to discourage migration.
“Even with the roadblocks, seems a lot of pretty strange people have blown into town the last couple of days. The motels are full, and the people don’t even know what they’re doing here. The sheriff’s been running them out of the campgrounds every night. We’re not used to this. We never have traffic like this in the winter.
“Flat River’s tightening up,” he continued. “The city fathers feel, with state and federal governments focused on the sea coast, Modoc County’s going to be on its own for a while. They’ve empowered an Executive Committee to deal with the emergency. You know, like rationing food, medicine and other critical stuff if truck and railroad shipping doesn’t start up again soon. The phones are mostly down. Everyone’s pretty nervous about what’s happening.“
“Me too, Ray.”
Ch. 28, p. 107
Calm descended on Travis Air Base’s Medical Center. Charles Royer continued working at the hospital, supervising interns, performing surgery. Many patients were MPs or soldiers hurt in skirmishes with rioting civilians. They began speaking of the Bay Area as "the front"—"I’ll be going back to the front…"
There was no shortage of food in the dining room. Charles and Alan found an empty table and parked their trays. Soon they were joined by a couple in scrub clothes. They introduced themselves as Lou and Bette D'Angelo, from Berkeley. He was a physician, she a nurse, both affiliated with Berkeley’s Alta Bates Hospital. Their family had been moved to Travis by the military.
“The gangs are taking over in Berkeley, Oakland, Richmond, The City, San Jose.” Dr. D'Angelo was a prominent plastic surgeon, accustomed to limelight for his work with celebrity patients and high-profile pro bono work. He had not been prepared for a gun barrel poked into his ribs, for being forced to drive his car from the hospital parking lot to a home in the Berkeley hills. There he removed a bullet from the shoulder of a wealthy and vicious gang leader, assisted by an OR nurse kidnapped from Oakland’s Highland Hospital. Three scowling men looked on, and ordered two teenage boys to boil water or fetch whatever the doctor needed.
Charles asked why they had kidnapped a plastic surgeon.
“I don’t know,” answered D'Angelo. “They probably would have preferred someone from ER. I asked them where they got the surgical supplies. They just said, ‘Get to work.’ One of them told me, ‘If he look like he ain’t gonna make it, you ain’t gonna be feelin’ too good yourself.’”
“Did they have everything you needed?” asked Alan.
“Yes,” said Dr. D'Angelo. “Especially drugs,” he added wryly. “They kept us there until the next morning. They asked if the patient might be moved. I said yes, and they just carried him out to a car and drove away. It wasn’t their house, it had been commandeered for the occasion from a number of houses up there that had been recently vacated.
“The nurse and I walked down the hill. Neither of us had a cell phone, and the phone in the house didn’t work. We finally came to a military roadblock on Ashby Avenue.”
Ch. 34, p. 137
“Energy grid… California…” Words penetrated Kim’s consciousness. She blinked her eyes. The voices came nearer. They were at the door of Thad Parker’s inner office. “There’s no choice about this, Parker,” a gravelly voice said.
“You’re talking about millions of people, General Austin,” Thad Parker’s voice rasped.
“Tens of millions, maybe,” said the gravelly voice. Kim was quite awake now. How long had she been out? She lay still. “It’s a goddam shame,” the voice continued, “but it might come to that. Just be ready to implement the plan. We’ll help as many as we can, but there’s no way to save the California Aqueduct. Without it we just can’t feed the population inland and on the West Coast both. Diablo Canyon and all the other coastal power plants will be disabled for years, too. The resources don’t exist, Thad, to float the whole ship. We’ll probably be diverting power inland too, from Washington, Oregon and California, except for the south.”
“You can’t do that,” Parker said. “Without power, they’ll be without water—they’ll die like flies. Of course the aqueduct provided most of California’s drinking water anyway, so…”
“No use fighting it. The plan’s done. Be ready. Now let’s get going.”
Ch. 77, p. 280
Reinhold went out on the company’s private rooftop veranda. The streets below were packed. Klieg lights cast garish shadows down every street. He could see all the way to Wall Street, and up to Central Park. Jammed people all the way as far as the eye could see. Like pilgrims in Mecca for the Hajj.
Troy opened the conference room door. “Susie, bring in the emergency radio.” She set it on the table and turned it on. “Forget the government channels,” Troy ordered. “They’re nothing but autopilot propaganda. Find something else.”
In a minute she said, “Here it is, sir. The underground broadcast I listen to at home. They broadcast from a different place every night to hide from the radio police.”
The announcer’s voice was shaking. “All over the city people are trying to get from the streets onto rooftops. There appears to be no easy way out of the city. Traffic is gridlocked. The subways are down. We have reports of people leaping turnstiles and stampeding the platforms. The military must have orders not to shoot. Their visibility is low profile. The few security guards left are being overwhelmed by crowds. I have reports that people are stampeding up emergency stairways to the roofs.”
All five faces turned simultaneously to the foyer.
Ch. 35, p. 141-2
“They say the President and much of the government were evacuated to Texas. Rose just turned the radio on a few minutes ago, so I don’t really know…”
Peter was interrupted by urgent honking from the front drive. Jason and Peter stepped out to meet Ray and Paisley Overcroft. “My God,” Ray sputtered, “you can’t believe what’s happening. I don’t know where to start.” Paisley looked ashen. They all went inside. Catherine dragged two more chairs from the kitchen.
Paisley described a mob scene at the Hotel Niles in Flat River.
Ray interrupted. “People were standing around the street outside the hotel, because inside, the town muckety-mucks had some kind of radio gear they were getting police broadcasts on. Every now and again, one of them would appear at the second-story balcony with a battery megaphone and tell everybody what word was coming in.
“They all kept talking about Mt. Jackson this, Mt. Jackson that. Seems Mt. Jackson’s a big volcano down on Antarctica. They said it blew up last night. They said half the mountain fell into the ocean and started a tidal wave.”
Ch. 86, p. 349
“The tranquility you saw in the valley?” said Agnes. “It’s like the stillness of a full water pot in subzero weather—perfect and sound until, without the slightest warning, the ice inside reaches critical pressure and explodes the perfection into a thousand shards.”
He was quiet. She scrutinized his face, then went on. “The valley’s armed to the teeth. Don’t be deceived. Strangers die on sight to anonymous gunfire. Sheriffs from Flat River come into the valley and take what they want. Mostly food, and gas from peoples’ cars, but I’ve heard of some losing their medical supplies, and there are rumors that teenage girls have been stolen from their families.”
Ray nodded. It was too consistent with Chet’s stories to doubt. He described where he was going, and Agnes offered her map. She knew of the Maxwell property. But Ray knew the way from Buckberry Valley and didn’t need the map. It was only twelve miles.
![[random image]](images/slides/volcano.jpg)