Chapter Four
Aftermath
When Captain Henderson had gone to sleep he had lived on the
seventh floor of the old Victoria Hotel, only a few blocks from
the ferry terminal. When his alarm went off at five-thirty in the
morning he awoke to find himself living on the first floor. He
could only wonder what had made the building stop collapsing
there, with four floors to go, but he did not think about it too
long, as he became too busy trying to get those still living out
of the rubble.
Cape Glouster had been a good size community. There was little
left.
Someone produced a short wave radio after several hours, but they
could only pick up Vancouver and it was only broadcasting
instructions for all emergency personnel that could get to the
west coast to proceed there immediately. That their situation was
desperate.
If Vancouver was desperate it would be a long time before any
help got to Cape Glouster; so heavy equipment and every able
bodied person that could be found was put to work.
The Captain found people rallying around him and looking to him
for guidance. As no civil authorities seemed to be present he
took charge. Soon, the local police and the mounties were obeying
his instructions. When they asked what to do about looters the
Captain answered, "I would imagine we're under martial law.
You know what that means!"
One of the mounties nodded. "Yes sir," he answered.
"If they refuse to surrender, shoot them!"
The Captain only nodded in reply. From somewhere his helmsman
appeared with several dozen young people, and was soon his second
officer. It was late the next morning when the radio sitting on
the counter half forgotten, began to crackle. Then, a familiar
voice filled the air.
"This is Bobbin' Robin," it announced, "Oh, to
hell with that! This is Johnathan Whitefeather. Everybody knows
I'm broadcasting from what's left of Cape Glouster, so I'm not
going to bother giving my call sign all the time. We're operating
on an emergency generator with a transmitter that overheats and
will only run for about fifteen minutes to a time. SO, on the
hour, EVERY hour, I'll come on the air for fifteen minutes and
give you what information I can.
The first thing I've got to tell you is, in the name of God don't
come into the city unless you're an emergency worker. Everything
here is destroyed. Everything is gone. The few doctors and nurses
that have survived have salvaged what they could and are working
in the hospital's underground garage.
They can't handle what they've got, so don't try to bring anybody
into the city. Find what medical help you can where you are.
There's help coming but it's going to be a long time getting
here.
All the airports, all the roads are destroyed. People are working
as fast as they can to get to us, but the devastation is
unbelievable.
We've got a volcano in our own harbor, blowing ash thousands of
feet into the air, and the wind is carrying it to the east,
hindering those trying to get to us. And it's not the only thing.
Every dormant volcano on the west coast of North America and many
in South America have erupted. It is far worse to the south. We
heard a report this morning that San Francisco, San Diego and Los
Angeles are gone. That The San Andreas fault has shifted north
forty-seven miles! I did not say FEET, I said MILES! There's
nothing left down there. Nothing could have been designed to take
the shock they've suffered.
I'm being signaled. I've got to go off the air. I'll try to give
you more news when we come back on in an hour. God help us...God
help us all!"
All in the room stared in bewilderment. "My God!"
somebody muttered, "The Great Quake of 1901 only shifted the
ground twelve feet......FORTY-SEVEN MILES? He's GOT to be wrong!
Oh, Lord, he's GOT to be WRONG!"
But he wasn't. In the days that followed the figure went back and
forth, but whoever had given the original one was accurate within
inches. The Americans were far too busy to send any help north.
Help came, however, that evening when several planes circled
carefully under the volcanic plume. As everyone watched in
amazement hundreds of parachutes blossomed and came floating to
Earth. Half of them brought down emergency rations and equipment.
The other half brought down people.
In a few minutes an officer was brought to the Captain. He
saluted sharply in the Republic manner and announced,
"Warlock David Young, sir, First Division, Air, Land and
Sea. We brought a field hospital sir; three doctors, six nurses,
and a couple of dozen field medics. Where can we set up,
sir?"
The Captain grabbed a map. "The old fair grounds," he
cried, "here, east of the city."
The Warlock looked at the map. "We practically landed on it,
sir,' he announced. "The rest of my personnel are at your
disposal. How may we serve you?"
"Take over what positions you can," the Captain
requested, "so my people can get some rest."
"Very good, sir," the Warlock answered. "May I
suggest I man this office for a few hours, sir, while you get
some sleep?"
The Captain shook his head. "You don't know the area as well
as I do," he answered, "but I WILL get some rest."
Another day passed of hectic activity. Then early in the
afternoon a ham radio operator brought in a desperate message.
"My God!" he cried, "There's seven-hundred people
still alive at Prince Edward's Point! I got a weak transmission
from a Doctor Morganfield. Their situation is desperate. The gas
from the volcano keeps drifting over them and just about
suffocating them. They're out of food and virtually out of
water."
"Damn!" the Captain cursed, "Everything in the
harbor is gone!"
"The Lady's undamaged," his helmsman announced.
"There's a yacht sunk behind her, but if we could move it
she's perfectly sound...a few scratches from the dock, but
nothing serious."
The Captain had others take over and rushed down to the ferry
terminal. Sure enough, The Lady floated well in the water. The
Captain studied the boat behind her. "Are there any divers
around?" he screamed.
Two men raised their hands.
"Can you get into that ship," the Captain asked,
"and remove those lines, cut off those masts, get rid of
anything that might foul a propellor?"
"Give us two hours," one of the men commented.
The Captain nodded and headed up the street.
"What about the rest of it?" his helmsman asked.
"We'll run over it," the Captain answered., "It's
mostly fiberglass and carbon fiber. The Lady's hull will crush it
like an eggshell. As long as there's nothing to catch her
propellers she'll keep right on going."
The young man swallowed. "Now," the Captain continued,
"the only other thing is fuel. One-hundred gallons a run.
"We've GOT to have fuel!"