Gene paused for a moment.
“There are factors that play into this. Weather. Wind patterns. Fortunately, we are tapped into monitoring stations. I have an expert in this right next to me. The methane clouds will dissipate and weaken. But the eruptions will continue until all pressure is relieved. When that will be, I cannot with certainty say. Right now, it is deadly on the ground. This is why you are still flying. This is why you cannot land. Not at this time. I am working to find a place. Good luck. I’ll be in touch.”
Then there was silence.
Tom guessed it was because Gene had no more to say. He knew his friend and knew by his serious tone, things were bad and prospects looked bleak.
He expected an eruption of questions and emotional talk, but those on the plane remained quiet and solemn.
There was a sadness that lingered in the air.
Tom saw it on his sons’ faces, they knew, like everyone else aboard the plane, more than likely, things were hopeless.
If all Tom had was three hours of life remaining, he was damned if he was going to spend it moping, being sad, or thinking of what could have been or what he should have done.
Every minute he had remaining from that moment on was a gift. One those on the ground did not get.
Tom wasn’t going to waste it.
He was going to absorb every moment he had left with his sons.
SEVEN – WATCHING
Naval Operations Support Center – Billings, MT
Gene threw his phone, not hard, not much, but enough for it to do a little spin on the counter.
“Hey, now,” Wiley Stevens said jokingly, rolling his chair over toward Gene. Like Gene, he wore a full-face oxygen mask. His station was behind Gene’s, Wiley watched the weather and satellites. “You still have calls to make,” he told Gene. “Lots.”
Gene groaned out exhausted like. “I want nothing more right now than to rub my eyes.” He looked down to the gauge of the oxygen tank. “We have more of these, right?”
“We do. You really think when the levels fall, another eruption will happen?”
“Yes, without a doubt.” Gene pointed up. “Look at these levels from our hot spots. They were lower three hours ago and now they’re rising again. They build, we have the eruptions, they go down and then back up. Almost like these four spots in the arctic are controlling it all.”
“Not a bad thing,” Wiley said.
“How can you say that?”
“Well, when they lower and stay lower, it’s over and things will become normalized.”
Gene chuckled. “Will it ever be normal again?”
“There’s not enough oxygen tanks for it not to be.”
“True.” Gene sighed out. “I just wish we knew where the eruptions were. Well, all of them.”
“You know, I think we’ve done some pretty good detective work, figuring out a bunch of them.”
“We had the monitoring station up last night. We just don’t know everywhere, I mean … for all we know, Cleveland could be fine.”
“They’re not. I called Papa John’s, there was no answer. Gainesville Florida is great, and we’re lucky, the university is helping.”
“They are.” Gene knew if it wasn’t for a bunch of college kids, their professor and their cell phones, they wouldn’t have any clue what was happening outside of the western United States.
On the west he was able to truly get a grip of where things happened, but the farther east, it was harder.
The students in Gainesville were calling local police stations and business in towns and communities across the state and country and scanning social media. It was a process of elimination.
Together, they all had a good idea of how widespread it was.
The entire country was affected.
Wiley was looking at satellite images from the International Space station to find the eruption holes, but it was hard, like finding a needle in a haystack.
Gene liked Wiley. A young man with a lot of energy. He had just met him hours beforehand, right before things went south. There were others that were working in labs on base, but Gene wasn’t in contact with them. Whether they got their oxygen on remained to be seen.
He’d find out.
Right then and there he was focused on the levels and the planes he had made contact with.
Color coded levels.
Green was normal, white was high and red was deadly.
Red methane levels readings flashed in various spots across his map of the united states.
They were spots he knew levels for sure. No guess work.
“Back to work,” Gene said. “We need to find landing spots.”
“They are circling right?” Wiley asked.
“All except two-twenty-nine to Houston. I move then closer to Little Rock because we’re monitoring Little Rocks levels. When they drop, they can land.”
“Hardin dropped in four,” Wiley said. “There’s hope.”
“I’m certain the levels will drop enough for them to refuel, can they get there before running out is the question.”
“What about Flight Seventy-five fifty to Reston?” Wiley asked.
Gene lifted the phone. “Calling her now.”
He hooked up his small speaker close to the phone and dialed.
Susan answered right away. “Give me good news,” she said.
“Gainesville is still clear,” Gene replied. “Are you able to land there?”
“He thinks we have enough fuel to land there. How is Reston?”
“Levels are still high. Then again, they just started spiking two hours ago, so we still have two hours. Have you spoken to Bill and the kids?”
“They arrived at the tank in enough time.”
Gene exhaled. “Oh, good. Good.”
“I’m feeling guilty though,” Susan spoke soft. “So many people on this plane have family on
