Макс Брукс - Devolution - A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

I felt it too, my back and jaw relaxing. Is that how he does it? Calming fears, stoking excitement? Is that the secret to his success? Making you want to believe? I did. His energy, his passion. It’s infectious. I was right on board by the time he said, “So we’ll have to unplug for a little while. And isn’t that what we all should be doing anyway? Limit our screen time to enjoy the world?” He gestured out the door behind us. “Isn’t that why we moved here?” Nods and affirmative mmm s followed. “And yes”—he put his hands up with a slightly mischievous smile—“I know how some of you will have to wait a little longer for the sequel series of Downton Abbey to drop.” His eyes flicked to me. I felt myself blush; was he guessing or did I mention it to him at dinner?

Tony added, “I feel your pain.” We all laughed, except one.

“And what if it’s not ‘a little while’?” When Mostar spoke up, my jaw re-clenched. “What if it’s weeks? Months?” I felt Dan stiffen next to me. “I agree with you, Tony, about staying put, but not because it’s a false alarm. What if the roads aren’t just jammed? What if they’re gone? We might not just get caught in traffic, we might get killed out there.”

For a second, Tony thought she’d finished agreeing with him, and opened his mouth to speak.

“But,” Mostar continued, “staying put and staying safe isn’t enough. We could be cut off, physically unable to get out, and if Alex is right about the eruption affecting all those other towns, we could also be forgotten.”

I suddenly felt dizzy.

Forgotten?

“And winter’s on its way, remember? When the weather turns, when the snow starts piling up…” Mostar gestured to Tony. “We might have electricity, water, heat, but what about food?”

Carmen looked ready to say something, and Mostar, reading her mind, continued, “This week’s groceries won’t last till spring!” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bobbi check her phone. Was she trying the FreshDirect app? “What else do we have?” Mostar asked. “A few fruit trees? Your herb garden?” That was to Bobbi, who hid her phone like a busted teenager.

“We need to pool our resources.” Mostar went back to scanning the room. “Compile a central list of everyone’s supplies, and work out how to make those supplies last as long as they can.”

Reinhardt huffed. “Well, that’s a bit of an invasion of privacy.”

Mostar turned on him. “You want to try going for help, Alex?” She gestured toward the volcano. “One road. That’s it. And if anyone is thinking about walking…” She threw her arms out dramatically in opposite directions. “A volcano on one side and mountains on the other.” She turned to the Cascades. “Anyone know how far it is to the next town, the next cabin? We don’t know our neighbors, or even if we have any. We don’t know anything about this land past the end of the hiking trail. Do you want to try stumbling around out there without a working GPS?”

“But can’t our phones…” That was Carmen, her eyes bouncing between Mostar and her phone. “I had these friends who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail and they’d downloaded this map or app…”

“Do you have it already?” Mostar swung her eyes around the room. “Do any of you? Because it’s too late to get them now.” I noticed nobody checking their phones. “Do any of you have a paper map, or a compass, or any emergency supplies?” No one answered. “If you don’t like my idea, then come up with a better one.”

Tony tried to say, “Look, Mostar—” but she interrupted with, “You must have one, Tony. Supplies? A plan? You built this place. You talked us into coming here.”

“You’re scaring her.” Effie’s voice was so soft, I barely heard it. I peeked over to her holding Palomino, who honestly didn’t look that scared. I was. At that point, I was the most terrified I’d been all night, and not just because of what Mostar said. Her tone, it was softer with Tony than with Reinhardt. Less challenge. More question.

“You must have at least thought about what might go wrong.” I watched her face change when he didn’t answer, those saggy eyelids raising, the full lips rounding. “Didn’t you? Right now, all I’m hearing is ‘don’t worry, it’s not as bad as you think.’ But what if it is? What if it’s worse?”

“You’re scaring her!” That was Carmen, sitting straight up with a clear, commanding voice. Mostar paused at that, and it gave Tony the moment to jump in.

“Mosty, we… we all hear what you’re saying, and we respect your legitimate concerns.” Mostar opened her mouth to say something but Tony held out a hand. “And, yes, I’ve thought about it, but more important”—a nod to the window—“they’ve thought about it.”

“They?” Mostar cut in. “Who’s they?”

“They,” Tony repeated with just the barest hesitance, “the experts, the… emergency services. Those in charge. They’ve thought about Rainier, and planned and trained for this exact moment.”

“They better for the taxes we pay,” said Reinhardt, and it got a laugh from the room. Tony joined in with, “Exactly, they get paid to think about these situations so we don’t have to.” He was starting to relax, we all were, but dammit, she just wouldn’t shut up.

“But what if ‘they’ can’t handle this? What if it’s too big and they don’t find us before—”

“Mostar, enough!” Carmen again, followed by an “I know, please!” from Bobbi and a groaning “Mosty…” from Reinhardt.

“No, it’s okay.” Tony raised his arms gently. “Mosty’s got a right to feel what she feels, and she’s right about us all needing to take care of each other. That’s the”—he paused, licked his lips—“that’s the unspoken social contract,” he emphasized the last three words, “that every community agrees to. People helping people when times are tough because it’s the right thing to do. Right?”

If he was expecting support or maybe gratitude from Mostar, he didn’t get it. Mostar just glared at him before examining the rest of us. Her face was placid, her head nodded almost imperceptibly. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it kind of reminded me of our first session, when you just listened with this expression like you were getting the lay of the land. That’s how I felt with Mostar, like she was thinking, So this is how it’s going to be, this is what I’m dealing with.

She was still silently sizing us up when Yvette spoke. Standing next to her husband and taking his hand, she said, “Tony just made such a good point about being free to feel the way we feel.” She smiled at him lovingly. “I don’t want to speak for anyone else, but, right now, I can feel the stress hormones flooding my body because I’m just so worried about all the people I know will worry about me.”

Nods from Bobbi, Effie, Carmen. Reinhardt gave a long contemplative “Mmmm…”

“Family, friends, people out of state and even in other countries who are going to wake up tomorrow to this terrible news. Maybe some are already awake and trying to reach us.” Her voice, the concern, the empathy. “And some are probably calling the authorities right now, making sure we’re not forgotten.”

From my interview with Frank McCray, Jr.

“Please stay on the line, your call will be answered as soon as possible.” And I did. With FEMA, the USGS, the federal and state park services, the governor’s office, state and county cops. I don’t even want to think about how many hours I spent in that goddamn Chinese hotel room, forgetting to shower, or eat, or sleep as I texted and Skyped and email blasted anyone I could think of who might know anything about what might be happening to Greenloop, all with CNN in the background, the newsfeed on my laptop constantly updating, and my phone remaining “on the line” for a human voice that never came.