The Volcano had a secret
It started long ago
Her sisters were the Morros
All lined up in a row

She had a sacred purpose
Protection from our doom
A nuclear catastrophe
The elephant in the room

Volcano had a secret
She kept it in her womb
She had a sacred purpose
Protection from our doom

An intruder called Diablo
With horns sprung from its head
Sat upon the ring of fire
Filled the land with dread

Come read the story and know the Volcano’s secret.

A book by Joseph John Racano

Forward by Captain Paul Watson

---

Line in the Sand
‘If man won’t save nature maybe nature will save man’
by Joseph J. Racano


1. Fig Street
2. The Front Porch
3. Randomness
4. Mystery at Play
5. Who Dungeness
6. Friend of the Shaman
7. History of Diablo Canyon
8. Special Delivery
9. Dead End
10. Peace and Quiet

11. All Jim’s Fault
12. Crumberries
13. Secret Crabs
14. Quorum
15. The Sucker Fish
16. The Temblor
17. Level 7 Emergency
18. The Ascent
19. Flight of the Bumble Bee
20. Rendezvous on the Rock

21. Nuclear Conflagration
22. The Golden Egg
23. Mission Launch
24. Rock and a Hard Place
25. A Deal with the Devil
26. The Great Escape
27. Fallout
28. Go with the Flow
29. The Future’s Seed
30. Ruby Sky

31. Cheyenne Mountain
32. Island O’Ryan
33. Anomaly in Orbit

Line in the Sand
The Cast
Main Characters:
Doctor Shelley Carver…………Scientist at Research Laboratory, DCNPP
Ron Strom…………………..……….Scientist at Research Laboratory, DCNPP
Howard Brollins…………....…....Homeowner on Fig Street, Former Mayor
David Whimble…Detective, San Luis Obispo District Attorney’s Office
Eric Enderson…………...……......…….Chief, Morro Bay Harbor Department
Jeremiah O’Ryan………….President, Morro Bay Fisherman’s Association
Lloyd Sneed……………... Environment Reporter, San Luis Obispo Tribune
Smoking Stone…………………….......…………………..Native American Shaman
Crystal of the Universe………………....…………………………Medicine Woman
Richard Rodgersen…….…..Chair, California Fish & Wildlife Commission
Sandra Durry……………………...Executive Editor, San Luis Obispo Tribune
Joseph Randall…………...………....………..Captain, U.S. Army, Camp Roberts
Janet Mora……………………..….....……………Lieutenant, U.S. National Guard
Commander Blivitz……………....………..National Guard at Morro Bay Rock
Ralph Jackson…………..………….Famous Radio Mogul, Sports team owner
Supporting Cast, Walk-ons & Extras:
Tow Truck Driver
Chopper Pilot
Door Guard #1, Sacramento
Door Guard #2, Sacramento
Uniformed Guard, Sacramento
Fisherboy in Yellow Slicker
Drummers and Laughing children
Entemologist at rock, National Guard
Base Commanding Officer, Camp Roberts
Base Executive Officer, Camp Roberts

For Britta

Thank-you Joey Racano for the opportunity to write the forward to your new book Line in the Sand. -Paul Watso

Forward by Paul Watson:

On April 18th, 1906, my grandmother Doris Phoebe Clark lost an older brother she never met. Her brother John died at the age of six in the most devastating quake to ever have hit California in modern times.
My grandmother’s family fled to Canada, where she was born six years later in 1912.
I suppose that if it were not for that terrible tragedy, I would never have been born and thus strangely, I owe my very existence to an Earthquake in Northern California. Life is like that.
Random occurrences change the course of human lives. Unpredictable upheavals, death, tragedy, rebirth, actions, and consequences. Everything we do has consequences -some of which should have been predictable, and some completely unpredictable.
In light of the human hell that was the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake, one thing that should have been predictable is that California would have more Earthquakes, the magnitude of which could not be predicted but the possibility of a quake even more devastating than 1906 was a sure thing.
It would happen, the only question is when would it happen.
That in itself should have been the most significant factor in any decision to build a nuclear reactor close to two fault lines.
Corporations are arrogant beasts however and Pacific Gas & Electric decided to build their reactor in an especially unpredictable area with the fitting name of Diablo Canyon.
I remember marching against the construction in 1981 for all the good it did.
Corporations do not let scientists, engineers, and politicians stand in the way of their plans so they certainly would never have allowed protesters to stay their hands. Of course, the scientists and politicians can be bought off and with the former in their pocket they had the pseudo-science, that is the lies, to justify their ambitions and with the paid-off politicians in hand they had the police to take care of the protesters.
All very neat and predictably controllable.
And so Diablo Canyon stands. It dangles over the fault like Lucifer’s key to hell, swaying in time, waiting for the day which will one day come. It’s a key fabricated by the hand of man and placed in such a way as to best demonstrate the arrogance of humanity, the primate that likes to play God.
The day will come when the Earth will open her mouth to swallow the key and on that day she will unleash the wrath deeply embedded in her heart.
Joey Racano’s book reads like a dream where the actions cannot be controlled and humanity is revealed to be helpless and shocked at consequences they blissfully chose to never imagine.
A Line in the Sand is apocalyptic, there is no doubt about that, but it is also a story about having faith in the power of nature to address humanity’s insanity.
Nature always will have the last word and it will spit that word into the face of humanity without emotion, without contempt and without regard for our very existence.
The laws of ecology dictate that actions will have reactions. These laws will blindly be enforced and our mindless actions tossed away like we would flick away a mosquito that lands upon our arm.
Joey’s story reveals how different people predictably will deal with nature’s enforcement of her laws. Fishermen, politicians, journalists, scientists, the military, they all do what is expected of them, the reactions predictable to a fault.
The Chumash also are predictable with the difference being that they understand the nature of what is happening and accept the consequences and in acceptance they find their salvation.
We must also accept the consequences of our actions with the full knowledge that if we ignore the laws of ecology there will indeed be consequences and the end result will be what the laws dictate, and not what we want or wish for.
I see joey’s ‘ant lions’ as the anthropocentric attitudes that we use to dig our own graves.
Diablo Canyon is a gateway to hell and nature’s door will be opened when the key stops dangling and drops and on that day we will look into the face of our own folly.
Captain Paul Watson
[email protected]
Founder of the
Sea Shepherd Conservation Society
President of the Board of Directors (USA)
Executive Director Sea Shepherd (USA)
Established (1977)
Sail forth! Steer for the deep waters only!
Reckless, O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me;
For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,
And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.
-Walt Whitman (Passage to India)

Line in the Sand
Chapter One, Fig Street

Morro Bay was always beautiful this time of year. Famous for its estuary and abundant fishing fleet, the evening air was a crisp slap on the cheek, even in July. Knowing the fireworks were about to begin, Richard was careful to avoid the heavy traffic of the Embarcadero, choosing instead to park just up the hill and over a fence. There was always a parking spot on the back streets, which were unknown to tourists. He jerked the BMW hard right onto Fig Street, shut off the engine and coasted quietly into a sand lot at the dead end.
Down at the Tidelands Park, traffic poured in on the Embarcadero, most of it from Fresno and Bakersfield, all coming to town for the biggest fireworks show west of the Mississippi. Dark was settling on the estuary like a woolen cloak on the shoulders of a fisherman. The band was wrapping up wires and hauling off gear, having finished the last set of the afternoon. The stage became a staging area for Morrison and Sons, who loaded gunpowder filled rocket after rocket onto the stage for final check and inspection, then onto a cart headed toward a barge moored at the estuary bank.
Back on Fig Street, Richard and wife Marcy stepped out of the beamer, making last second preparations. Richard pressed the electronic lock which sounded off like a fire alarm, as Marcy fumbled with her shoes. She stumbled about for several minutes before crying out, “Richard!”
Her husband made his way around the car, and noted he was sinking deeper into the sand with each step. “Richard, I’m stuck in the sand!” she shouted with annoyance. By the time he reached her, they were both knee deep in what appeared to be some sort of liquefaction zone, and he popped open the doors, jumped across to the driver’s seat and pulled her in after him.
“What the hell did they do over here?” Richard yelled at the top of his lungs. He fired up the BMW and let the powerful motor roar. Jamming the transmission into reverse, he put pedal to medal and managed only to sink deeper. He began rocking the car forward and back but to no avail- the entire car was now up to its doors in sand. Marcy opened her window to scream to the gathering crowd just a few feet away over the fence, but her voice was silenced by the first explosions from what Morrison and Sons called the best fireworks show west of the Mississippi. By the time the first set of aerial bombs took pause, the hardtop roof of the BMW was no longer visible. Muffled cries were soon overtaken by the loud applause of the large Fourth of July crowd.

Line in the Sand Chapter 2

The Front Porch

Once upon a time he was a man of some repute; soldier, loving husband and the mayor of San Luis Obispo in the late 1940’s. Now reduced to a crumpled old salt in a wheelchair, he was living out his post-golden years in a house where he had raised a family at the end of a dead end called Fig Street just a stone’s throw from the estuary in Morro Bay.
The air was sweet with the scent of onshore breezes and the area was cradled from above by the swaying branches of towering eucalyptus trees, where a cacophony of nesting egrets, herons and cormorants could be heard during early to mid summer. Right around 4th of July, the former mayor always felt a twinge of guilt, knowing the next morning the ground would be littered with the jackets of spent fireworks along with the bodies of dead and dying fledgling birds scared out of their wits and then out of their nests.
It was such local policies that caused Mr. Brollins to finally step down from his job as mayor, and settle down to a study of what he loved most in life- nature. Mainly interested in entomology, Howard Brollins was fascinated with insects, and the area was loaded with a diverse compliment of them. He fought through the fog of a brain injury sustained in the early days of the Korean War (he hated the term police action) to become quite knowledgeable about the areas fauna, especially arachnids and things most people would prefer squished, sprayed or pickled. His injury left him unable to communicate fully, but he did manage to get his points across. He spent many breezy afternoons in his wheeler on the front porch, and that is exactly where he was when a shiny new Lexus cruised in and parked in the sandy lot across the street.
He hadn’t the strength to call out, but he did wave his arms weakly, like the baby birds in their nests above. It was only a moment before the Lexus was stuck, and a well dressed young woman popped out of her door, cussing into a cell phone. Within minutes, came the flashing lights of a tow truck, driven by a 1950 greaser type, speeding to the rescue, his hair slicked back, and a pack of cigarettes rolled in the sleeve of a badly stained t-shirt. The woman kept jabbering on the phone, barely looking at the young man; a quick tilt of her head toward the Lexus was all she offered. “Ma’am, can you unlock the door and make sure it’s in neutral please?” asked the driver politely.
With a sigh and a huff, she looked up from the phone, re-entered her vehicle and sat in the drivers’ seat. As she fiddled with both phone and dashboard controls, the car began shaking violently. “Be careful with this car!” she shouted out the window. “Hey driver!” she said again, but the driver was nowhere in sight. She jumped out of her car, looked across the street toward the old man and shouted for help. The old man made a great effort to shout to the irate woman, saying to her, “Line in the sand!”
“What?” she asked.
She jumped back in her car, threw it in reverse and rocked the Lexus back and forth the way northerners do when they free a car from a snow drift. But the car only continued to sink, deeper and deeper, until there was nothing left at the end of Fig Street but a tow truck with its lights flashing round and round. By now the old man had retreated back into the house, his caregiver making sure to give him his afternoon meds.

Line in the Sand Chapter 3

Randomness

Shelley Carver always hated the way the vibrating floors at work made her feet fall asleep. She sometimes nearly fell down when getting up too fast. Working at a nuclear facility was exciting, but it had quirks as well. One of the biggest was the effect radiation had on living things, and how, coupled with its invisibility, it was deceptively hard to manage. Shelley was a San Luis Obispo resident and a graduate of Cal Poly University there. She was hired at the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant the week it opened, and watched with great dismay as thousands of anti-nuke demonstrators were dragged away, packed into police vans and driven off to jail.
It served to make her more resolute in her job, which was the study of stochastic effects of radiation on nature. This discipline involves how the effects of radioactivity might be predicted, which is extremely difficult because of randomness and other outlying possibilities. In this case, she and a colleague, Ron Strom, were going through old and unsubstantiated news reports of unusual events in the general area of the nuclear plant. One of them had caught Shelley’s eye, a faded newspaper clipping that included a snapshot of a large flying insect of some kind sitting on a backyard fence.
She sat looking at it a long while, sipping coffee and trying to pick out details using a magnifying glass. Studying the wings of an insect can tell you a lot. Many flying insects are in fact named for their wing types. Using the magnifying glass, she also recognized the estuary in the background. It seemed to her it was a photo taken by some hoaxter with time on his hands. Then the door opened and in popped the head of Ron, who said, “Shelley, we just got a call from a Morro Bay Harbor office. Seems a fisherman has something unusual and they think you might be interested.”
“Really- is that all I get?” she quipped.
“Something weird I guess, they didn’t elaborate” he answered, “Could be anything.”
Of course, that was enough for the inquisitive mind of a scientist and she was certainly interested. Morro Bay was just a few miles north and the scenery was always nice, especially after being holed up in the artificial lighting of a laboratory 12 hours a day and, too often, late into the night.
She dropped everything, traded in her white lab smock for a rugged jean jacket and out the door they went. “I’ll drive” Ron said. His job at Diablo Canyon was a lucrative one and he drove a Tesla Model S. He knew the bosses didn’t like it, but after all, what could they say? It was all electric. Good for business!
Shelley strapped herself in and said “Nice.”
“Let’s go see what creepy-crawlies they have for us” said Ron, turning on the radio. They sped up San Luis Bay Drive as silently as a panther- except for the AC/DC song ‘Hell’s Bells’ blaring from the stereo.

Line in the Sand chapter four

Mystery at Play

The noise level was louder than normal at the District Attorney’s office at Government Center. It was busy for a Tuesday, and the terrible acoustics ensured you heard everything several times. And the windows, so many windows; none open, all overdue for a cleaning, many adorned with bird residuals.
Detective Dave Whimble did lunch at his desk as he went through a pile of backlogged messages, cases and e mails. He came across one the seemed puzzling. A tow truck from a reputable local company abandoned in the middle of a cul de sac, lights flashing and no driver to be found. He decided to take a ride to the location and snoop about.
His cell phone rang and rang as Detective Dave drove along the bayside, ignoring messages the way all good drivers should. With a rolled fist, he pounded lightly on his left chest, eliciting burps of salami, pastrami and swiss cheese, all of them together on pumpernickel, like a cold cut slumber party. He arrived at Fig Street just after noon and, upon parking, was surprised how steep the incline was.
The bright yellow tow truck sat on a slant with the business end angled toward a small patch of open sand, surrounded by beach flora. There was not a soul around and only a couple of decent possible vantage points overlooking the scene. He started making some notes when heard the door across the street creak open. There stood a middle-aged woman pushing a sleepy older gentleman in a wheelchair. She finally settled him facing directly toward the tow truck. Detective Whimble asked if they knew who the driver was, where he might be now and what may have become of him. The woman scowled, turned around and went back into the home, leaving the wheelchair-bound man to do the talking.
“Line in the sand” mumbled the old gent, “Line in the…”
“Line in the sand?” asked the detective, “is that right?”
The old man shook his head as if on a swivel and repeated, “Line in the sand.”
Whimble walked up to the man and placed a business card in between his tightly clenched fingers. “Call me if you see or hear anything, doesn’t matter how early of late.”
After that, the detective walked to the top of the hill, turned around toward the dead end and snapped a photograph. Two days later, that photograph was on page three of the San Luis Obispo Telegraph Tribune, with the headline, ‘Mystery at play in Morro Bay.’

Line in the Sand Chapter 5

Who Dungeness

Ron gunned the Tesla out onto Highway 101 and headed north for Morro Bay, hard rock from AC/DC blaring from the stereo. Shelley poked her elbow out the window for what she called ‘260 air conditioning’- two windows open at 60 miles per hour. The sun shone abundantly down as they sped through rolling hills the color of gold. Here, it was easy to imagine yourself back in the time of native peoples and buffalo. The sky packed a blue wallop, as brisk winds played badminton with white puffy cumulus clouds. Cows gazed knowingly down from the hilltops, each one in agreement with Shelley that this was indeed a beautiful place to live.
Upon arrival in Morro Bay, Ron detoured through a drive-up window where the pair made short work of a chocolate and strawberry shake, respectively. Ron hit the temperature button and the dash read 86 degrees. The giant volcanic plug known as Morro Rock was already visible to them when they reached Embarcadero, and the sea breeze was merciful. Morro Bay Estuary opened up to them like a flasher, offering an astonishing panoramic view of wildlife, fishing boats, and crashing waves. They breathed it all in for a moment, then pulled into a small parking area behind the Harbor Patrol building.
Two men walked up to greet them, one in a khaki uniform, and the other in a state of dishevelment, wearing yesterdays clothes still wreaking of fish.
“Eric Enderson” said the tall man in uniform, extending a huge hand to Ron and a curt nod to Shelley. “This here’s Jeremiah O’Ryan, President of..”
“President of the Fisherman’s Association” the smelly man interrupted. “I have a few problems with you people and your fishing limits and quotas. You get outa’ high school, go to your fancy colleges and think you can come in here…”
“That’s enough, Jerry” said the Harbor Chief sternly. “Dammit man, these folks are here to help, ain’t that right?” he glanced over at them.
“You called us down here for what? Asked Ron, obviously annoyed, and tired of taking flak for doing his job.
“Show ‘em what you caught” said Enderson.
“This way” the fisherman said, leading them down to the dock.
The dock seemed to go on forever, stretching as far as the eye could see. On the other shore, perhaps a mile away, the docks, poles, masts and restaurants of the Embarcadero were mirrored by unblemished nature, stunning in its beauty, throwing proverbial shade on what men had done across the way. There were sea lions, elephant and harbor seals, you name it. Flocks of shorebirds were feeding and receding from the lapping water, then repeating the process. Long avian beaks probed the sand as small delicate feet moved in unison, like an Olympic gold medal synchronized swimming team. Shelley pulled her eyes away as a courtesy.
“It’s right here” said Jeremiah, tugging a heavy dark tarp off what appeared to be the body of an animal the size of a large male sea lion. But it wasn’t a sea lion at all.
Shelley’s eyes opened wide as saucers at the sight of an ordinary Dungeness Crab- ordinary, that is, if you failed to take into account its 8 foot length and probably 400 pound weight.
“Three hundred and forty seven pounds,” said the fisherman, “never seen anythin’ like it before. Tell me, just what are you people doin’ down there at that nuclear plant?”
Ron and Shelley were still too shocked to hear a word the man was saying. It took a moment for Ron to run back to the car and grab a geiger counter. Shelley pulled Mr. Enderson aside and asked for a private word.
Ron appeared on the dock, kneeled down next to the enormous and pungent crab, and in a few seconds, the Geiger counter was ticking like a pinwheel at a carnival game.
“Jeremiah, just wrap the tarp back up and let these people be on their way” said Enderson.
Before the fisherman could voice his opposition, the Harbor Chief handed something to him. O’Ryan looked down and gasped at a large roll of bills being pressed into his palm. He did a quick about face and said, “He’s all yours.”

Line in the Sand, Chapter Six

Friend of the Shaman

Old lady Corr finished up her chores and left that house in a hurry. It always gave her the creeps when Smoking Stone came to visit the old man. They would sit in the living room talking for hours, telling one tall tale after another, back and forth. She long ago gave up listening in on the nonsense. It was all some sort of fantasy, like Native American lore; things she knew to be ignorant and considered un-christian-like.
She left the door ajar behind her to let the smoke out of the house. She didn’t want to join in on whatever trip they fancied themselves to be taking. Former Mayor Brollins could barely form words anymore, and yet the Shaman seemed to have no trouble understanding him at all. As he brought the pipe to his lips, he admired the workmanship that had obviously gone into it. It was made mainly of a deer horn, and adorned with a plethora of assorted feathers of many types, designs and color patterns. He drew in deeply of the blend, savoring the tobacco and marijuana. Smoking Stone himself drew off the deer horn, and put it down on the coffee table. He stood up and began half walking, half dancing around the old man’s wheelchair, all the while sprinkling small amounts of sacred corn meal in a barely perceptible circle.

He and the old man chanted together:
Rock of fire, our protector
Spring to life and stop the vector
Now we ask as humble children
Spare us when entrails you spill them
Spread your mercy far and wide
Shield the faithful at your side
Wake the Lion, we won’t tell
Send them to their place in hell
“Soon, a both terrible and just sentry will take wing, restoring an overdue balance to the land. With this smoky medicine, you shall be protected from harm by our ancestors. May you survive the horror to walk in beauty,” said the shaman.

“Line in the sand,” the old man murmured. “Won’t tell.”

As the rising moon brought on dusk, the light of their medicine pipe glowed in the growing dark. Lights flashed outside from another visitor parking on the wrong side of the street. The faraway shouting of unlucky occupants was barely audible as those lights, too, disappeared beneath a roiling sand.

Line in the Sand, Chapter Seven

Mass Arrests

Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant, located seaside in Avila Beach, California is owned by Pacific Gas & Electric Corporation. The plant was almost built in Bodega Bay, North of San Francisco, but the project was halted days before construction was set to begin, when a local activist discovered the site was within 100 feet of the earthquake fault that destroyed San Francisco in 1906. With the Sierra Club’s outspoken anti-nuke leader David Brower out of the country, PG&E approached the wife of another asking her to voice support for the unpopular project. PG&E arranged a tour for the couple, who were flown in a jet -owned by Frank Sinatra- over the new proposed site, the then-pristine Diablo Canyon. Pacific Gas & Electric, like fictitious mogul John Hammond of Jurassic Park fame, apparently ‘spared no expense’, and had the Sierra Club husband and wife team entertained on board the flight by Danny Kay. By the time David Brower was back in the country, the deal was done, and the wife was on the PG&E Board of Directors. This led to Brower resigning from the organization he founded. The hole still exists in Bodega Bay and in the Sierra Club.
Two hundred years before, members of the Chumash tribe lived and thrived in the area. They were continually hounded, however, by Christian explorers and missionaries who insisted on saving them from being heathens. The Chumash mightily resisted, and one day, when the missionaries were at their worst, an earthquake struck. The missionaries left, never to return and the area was known forever afterward as ‘Diablo Canyon’, canyon of the devil. We now know the nuclear plant sits on and around some 14 earthquake faults, one of which, the Diablo Cove Fault, runs directly below Unit 1 reactor. Simply put, the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Plant, built on earthquake faults, in a tsunami zone and on the Pacific Ring of Fire, is a time bomb waiting to explode.

Line in the Sand, Chapter Eight

Special Delivery

“What did it read?” asked Shelley as soon as they got the Tesla on the road.
“Not too high, but definitely not good. That crab needs to be tested for isotopes back at the lab, first thing” answered Ron, his eyes like b-b’s on the road ahead. “That’s just too big,” he continued.
“What are the chances this is a normal mutation, rather than a radioactive anomaly?” she asked.
“Just too big,” he repeated and they drove the rest of the way back to Avila in silence.
Back at the Harbor office in Morro Bay, Chief Enderson stood at the parking lot entrance trying to disperse a growing crowd, all gathered around an enormous PG&E heavy duty vehicle that was almost military in design. Lights on every side of the truck were flashing in bright colors and a loudspeaker on top of the cab was emitting loud noises, as though it were on full blast but not yet being used.
“Get this thing the fuck out of here,” he shouted at the drivers, “and do it now.”
The Harbor Chief pulled out his cell phone and got Shelley Carver on the line. “Ma’am, this goddam truck is drawing too much attention. I thought you wanted to keep it on the down low?”
“You’re absolutely right Eric” she replied. “I’m calling them back to the plant right now.” Eric heard the phone inside the truck ring immediately. “Can you hire a local to deliver it to us? We’ll meet him at the front gate. Pay him and we will reimburse you -and then some” she added.
“Roger that” said the Chief, “Over and out.” The huge vehicle shut its’ flashing lights and left the area. Fortuitously, a fisherman in a primer gray pickup pulled into the parking lot, and Eric pulled him aside.
“Absolutely” the pickup driver was heard to say, and was guided to the dock for pickup and delivery.
Back at the laboratory, Ron stood behind Shelley, massaging her shoulders as she pored over old news clippings. She was still looking at the old photo of a large winged insect perched on a fence, convinced it was tabloid rubbish when she noticed a detail that made her spill coffee. The old photo lay atop today’s paper, the front page of which carried a photograph of an abandoned tow truck. She shook her head in disbelief. Upon closer examination with her magnifying glass, she confirmed the background in both photos was exactly the same. She called the police department, and asked to speak with Detective David Whimble.

Line in the Sand, Chapter Nine

Dead End

The sweet smell of the ocean wafted over San Luis Bay Drive as the primer gray pickup pulled up to the gates of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant. Local time was four in the morning and the only souls for miles were the driver himself, a guard in a booth and a fisherman standing on a large rock a long ways down the beach. Before the pickup driver could approach the guard booth, he was met by the flashing lights of a large PG&E vehicle, barreling down the dirt road from the bowels of the plant.
Many doors opened simultaneously and out jumped half a dozen men in dark uniforms. Wordlessly, they cut the straps on the tarp, and made the transfer to their own vehicle. They took the pickup driver’s wallet, made copies of his private identification and sent him on his way. They knew who he was, he had been paid an amazing amount of money, and silent he would remain.
The phone at the San Luis Obispo Government Center sat ringing for a long time before somebody finally picked it up, saying “District Attorney’s office, can you please hold?”
It apparently was not a question and science researcher Shelley Carver endured several minutes of garbled big band music as she cradled a rapidly cooling cup of French roast coffee. The voice suddenly popped back on the line asking, “D.A.’s office, how may I direct your call?”
“”I’d like to speak with Detective David Whimble please, is he available?”
“Who may I tell him is calling?” asked the switchboard receptionist.
“Doctor Shelley Carver, Head of research for Pacific Gas and Electric at Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant” she answered, “It’s about the tow truck story in today’s paper.”
After a short background conversation muffled by the palm of someone’s hand, a gravelly voice appeared on the line. “This is Detective Whimble” he started, “To whom am I speaking please?”
Shelley repeated her last statement and asked if the detective might be free to meet her for lunch in Avila. “I have something puzzling to show you pertaining to both your work and mine. Can we meet right away? I know a great place on the beach.”
“How does noon sound?” offered the detective.
“That’ll work just fine. I’ll be the brunette with long hair, my associate is a ginger,” she said.
“See you then, thank you Ms. Carver” said Whimble. Thank goodness for a break, he thought. What a dead end this one had turned out to be so far. But he also had come across at least five other cases in the region, all recent, all sudden, inexplicable disappearances, all without a trace. He looked at his watch, gathered up some background paperwork and a tape recorder, and headed downstairs to take an unmarked. “If anybody needs me I’m lunching in Avila with a brunette” he snarked to the rest of the office. He got a cruel but good-natured bon voyage from many directions.

Line in the Sand, Chapter Ten

Peace and Quiet

The call came in as restricted on his cell phone, and Lloyd Sneedon was used to that. It came with the territory as a snoopy investigative reporter for the only paper around. His actual job description was environmental reporter, but San Luis Obispo is a county run by ranchers, oil and gas, and other extraction industries like mining, fishing and agriculture- mainly wine. The health of the environment was way down on the list of local concerns.
That translated into having to keep his mouth shut about enviro-catastrophes like the nuke plant, seismic testing, overfishing and oil spills. Whenever Lloyd wrote stories about those things, they never got into the paper and he didn’t get paid for them. But this call was intriguing, coming late at night from the docks. He could hear the foghorn over the breathy voice on the message.
“There’s somethin’ goin’ on ‘tween Diablo and the fishermen” the voice breathed. “PG&E sent a big-ass truck to pick something’ up at the docks and got shooed away by the harbor Master right quickly like” it continued. “That was half an hour ago. It was under a big tarp, a dead body or somethin’- by the way, loved the tow truck story; a real mystery, that one. Driver is probably on his way to Bakersfield with a high school girlfriend and a pocket full of drug money. G’night.”
Lloyd thought he’d head to Morro Bay and have a look around. No use putting a call in to PG&E, they never answered.
Already in Morro Bay in his own living room, former Mayor Howard Brollins saw a shaky bright light at the top of the hill as it turned down Fig Street. One of those noisy dirt bike riders again, he thought. He watched as another and then another turned down Fig Street, every one of them parking in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, unbeknownst to them, any hope they had for survival was lost when one of them turned ‘doughnuts’ in the sand at the end of the road. He and his bike disappeared so quickly the other bikes never saw it happen. They called out to the silver lupine bush where, they were sure, he was taking a piss. And then they lost their footing in the sugar sand, almost sucked in by their ankles. “What the…” said one of them, who had been polishing off one last beer. Then came silence and darkness.
Sweet jesus, thought Brollins in his wheelchair, peace and quiet at last.

Line in the Sand, Chapter Eleven

All Jim’s Fault

Whether or not you believe man has the right to ignite fires that can’t be put out for hundreds of thousands of years, it still is common sense that you don’t build nuclear power plants atop earthquake faults. From Silkwood to Three Mile Island to Chernobyl, Fukushima and others, the leaking, spilling, crumbling, cracking, boiling and other dangers associated with the nuclear business are all too real. There are many theories, conspiratorial or otherwise- surrounding the dirtiest energy in the world. To hear the nukies say it, nuclear power saves us from dirty coal, oil, gas and other fossil fuels known to cause climate change. But even a cursory look at nuclear power, its’ history and operation, reveals a very different story. Studies show areas near Diablo have a higher cancer rate than those elsewhere in the nation, greater incidence of still births and miscarriage. And yet PG&E publicly poo-poos these studies, while refusing to do any study of their own. There has also been talk that nuke waste should be packed into sarcophagi and lowered deep into underwater crevasses, an idea called the ‘poison arrow’ by this author.
There is even a rumor that nuke plants are purposefully built on the edges of earthquake faults by their designers for the simple reason they know these plants fail and may go, well, go nuclear as it were. Close proximity to an earthquake fault allows the ‘deep six’ option, which means let the hot stuff burn its way to hell, for all the plant owners and risk assessment folks care. Just keep the super-excited waste product (the industry wants you to call it ‘spent fuel’) away from contact with the Earth’s atmosphere. But for all the insane theories and public relations sloganeering the industry wants you to believe, they spend big dollars fighting in the public relations arena as well as in the background, against solid theories and scholarly scientific ideas that are likely to be true.
Such an idea was brought forth in the 1980’s by a brilliant seismologist we will call Jim Rule. Jim had heard all the nuke industry rhetoric from PG&E scientists (known to activists as ‘biostitutes’) about how there were no active faults near Diablo. And there were other such empty claims, that faults nearby weren’t large enough to overcome the magnitudes Diablo had been built to withstand. They even dispelled the theory that separate local and regional faults could act together to cause a temblor larger than Diablo could stand. But along came the brilliant Jim Rule, and his theory of En-echelon earthquake faults.
En-echelon faults are faults that run parallel to each other, and many such faults do exist near Diablo Canyon. Before reportedly being run out of town by PG&E to save his own career, -and perhaps his personal safety, Jim explained En-echelon faults thus; If you are standing on the beach watching the waves roll in and draw back out, you will often see an incoming wave meet an outgoing one head on. The result is they both shoot water straight up in the air. Personally, I have seen this a thousand times. That is how the Jim Rule theory of En-echelon faults works. So we say this: En-echelon faults can give vertical acceleration to seismic energy. Don’t say it too loud of course, or you too, may be forced out of state like Jim was. Now at a prestigious seismological lab in Reno, Nevada, Jim was awarded the medal of the Seismological Society of America, SSA. 1997.

Line in the Sand, Chapter Twelve

Crumberries

It wasn’t hard to pick out the detective when he walked into Crumberries in Avila Beach. A number of particulars gave him away; he was right on time, for one thing. He also wore the tell-tale suspenders of a guy working out of the D.A.’s office. The detective scanned the busy eatery and saw an attractive couple at a window table, the woman’s delicate hand waving above her head, key’s a-jingling.
Whimble pointed toward the counter, but Shelley shook her head and gestured toward a tall pot of coffee already on the table. The detective smiled and came right over. Ron stood up and did the introductions and the three got right to business. Shelley knew a picture told a thousand words and rather than speaking at all, she let two pictures speak twice that many. Detective Whimble was immediately intrigued but still had no idea how a large flying bug might be connected to an abandoned tow rig, location notwithstanding.
Doctor Shelley Carver got right to the point. “Detective, we do sensitive work for a power utility company. Our job there is very specific; we, like you, are detectives of a sort. We investigate claims of damage purportedly inflicted by our parent company during due course of business. In this case, we just have what appears to be a couple of unusual events occurring together. We hope there’s no connection, but we aren’t yet willing to make that claim.”
“What are your unusual events, would you mind describing them for me?” asked Whimble, fumbling for his small recorder. Ron used his hand to lower the detective’s, and shook his head saying, “Please don’t record this yet. Not until there’s more to go on.” Whimble agreed and pretended to shut the recorder off. Carver wasn’t fooled. She placed a hand under the table and rested it on the detective’s thigh. In his shock, she snatched the recorder and slipped it into her own pocket.
“Detective, please,” she said. “Two nights ago we received a call from Morro Bay docks about an anomaly. It turned out to be a large Dungeness crab, a world record many times over. We have the carcass in the laboratory freezer and are about to run a battery of tests. So far, we’re not ruling out radioactivity as a cause for the mutation. The other unusual event is this old news clipping and your new news clipping –both photographs have the same background, so both were taken on Fig Street in Morro Bay.”
“And you think there may be a connection?” asked the detective. “Could be” replied Shelley. “In any case it’s our job to find out. Do you have anything to tell us?” The detective pulled a small notebook from his trench coat pocket and began reading off case after case of disappearances having occurred in the county over the last year, and all without a trace. “Not a single one of these disappearances makes any sense at all” he remarked. “That in itself is commonality. Can I see the crab?”
Shelley and Ron looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and in unison said, “Why not?”

Line in the Sand, Chapter 13

Secret Crabs

Lloyd Sneedon was supposed to write about nature and the environment, but rarely got a chance to do so. Now, a strange turn of events was about to allow him to do just that, and more. This afternoon’s cryptic phone call from a restricted number got his investigative juices flowing, and he packed his camera gear and headed to Morro Bay docks. He was met there by a young fisherman dressed in a yellow slicker wearing dirty jeans underneath. They stood talking in a light rain next to a now defunct pay telephone just off the main dock. With mouths moving and their breath visible in the cold evening air, the two played out what could have been a scene from an old detective flick in the 1940’s.
The man in the slicker held his arms far apart, like a fisherman explaining the one that got away. Lloyd nodded enthusiastically, handed over some cash and left the scene.
The evening took on a more sinister note as the weather turned more severe. Lightning followed the occasional thunderclap and strong winds blew the reporters small SUV all over the 101 highway. Windshield wipers on high allowed him to see his exit at the last possible moment and he turned off onto San Luis Bay Drive. He grabbed his cell phone but it rejected him, saying ‘no service’. By the time he reached the gates of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Plant, the rain had reduced to a steady drizzle. Lloyd elected to just cruise on by, and then circle back. He found a small bare spot in the vegetation on the side of the road and used it as a pullout. It took an hour to climb through heavy mud and reach the perimeter fence on the hillside. Rather than try to scale it, he decided to follow the fence around and look for a chink in its’ armor. He found a near invisible service opening just inside a wooded area, and climbed through.
A long poorly lit road wound along the inside of the fence and as luck would have it, the Tesla had already driven by and was driving slowly up ahead of him. The fisherman at the dock had mentioned two doctors in a sports car and this must be it, he thought. Even Lloyd was amazed that, for all the heady bluster about safety, actual security at Diablo Canyon had more holes than Swiss cheese. After walking in a sometimes heavy rain for fifteen minutes, he saw the oncoming lights of a security enforcement cart heading his way, and he took a dive into the brush. Lloyd was afraid the occupants might hear the blood pounding in his temples as it passed by. When it was out of sight, he stood back up and broke into a trot.
He finally came to a building with a large window and he knelt down to peer inside. To his amazement, two scientists were inside, hovering above a metal examination table. Upon that table lay the biggest sand crab the reporter had ever seen or even heard of, with a quarter sitting next to it for size comparison. But that was nothing compared to the gigantic Dungeness crab next to it. “For the love of Frankenstein” said Lloyd as he snapped a photo, turned away and ran off into the gathering gloom.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 14

The Claw

A light rain began to sprinkle on the windshield as Ron maneuvered the Tesla around the winding back roads of Shell Beach. Hot coffee steamed on the console between him and Shelley, partially illuminated by the headlights coming from a car behind them. They waited at the gate for Detective Whimble to arrive lest he never be allowed entry. Eventually, they gave up and asked the guard to let him through when he did arrive. “Of course Dr. Carver” he smiled. Shelley had a certain charm.
The sky opened up and let the rain pour down in fits and starts. It was dark, windy, rainy and Ron was glad the ride was done. He thought for a moment he saw somebody running beside the roadway behind them as they climbed the steep drive ever higher, but decided it was just a rain devil, a trick of the water glass and light. Shelley pulled a device from her purse and a seemingly solid wall suddenly parted like the Red Sea for Moses. Ron drew the Tesla inside, parked it and plugged it in.
They entered their lab to find it empty of people but full of mystery. In moments, coffee was poured and test results on the crab were pending. “I’ll tell you right now the old gal is hotter than hell” said Ron. Shelley unconsciously furrowed her brows in concern. Suddenly she thought she saw a light flash from outside the rain-cloaked window, and apparently Ron saw it as well. “I’ll check it out” he said, and then stopped and sat back down as a security cart rolled by.
By the time Detective Whimble arrived, the preliminary results were complete, and Shelley buzzed him inside. “Nice of you to drop by” she smiled, “you’re just in time.” Ron sat at the mainframe computer, flashing colors reflecting off the concern on his face. Detective Whimble had no idea how many different sounds a computer could make, but he was sure this one was making them all. As each fine-tuned result showed up on its’ own particular screen, that monitor would shut down with a comical sound like a kazoo.
“Goodness” commented Shelley. “That Dungeness crab is off the charts.” The computer below the monitor began spitting a readout on paper that went, ‘chit-chit-chit-chit’ and so on. When it was finished with one isotope a bell would ring and the computer would switch to another. When all was said and done, the crab was astoundingly high in contaminants thorium, cesiums 134 and 137, respectively, and tritium as well as plutonium. The monitors all sprang back to life with a ‘going, going, going’, causing Ron to violently yank a speaker cord, restoring silence to a very serious situation.
Shelley picked up her cell phone and called her friends on the Fish & Wildlife Commission staff. “Melissa?” she confirmed. “Can you call a special steering committee meeting of the Fish & Wildlife Commission? And make sure there’s a quorum.”

Line in the Sand, Chapter 15

The Sucker Fish

San Luis Obispo Tribune Environmental reporter Lloyd Sneedon headed straight back to Morro Bay docks. He burst through the front door of the Fisherman’s Association and brought lots of mud and rain in with him. “Where’s Jeremiah O’Ryan?” he demanded.
Jeremiah called from his back office, which actually amounted to little more than a converted walk-in closet, “Can’t talk to you, Lloyd” he said.
Lloyd wasn’t taking no for an answer and confronted the fisherman. “There’s something going on here that’s bigger than you know!” shouted the reporter.
“Ha ha, nothing’s bigger than that crab I found, no sir!” laughed O’Ryan.
“Well you’re just gonna laugh yourself right into the poor house Jeremiah, because Monterey Bay Aquarium’s paying near a half million for a crab like that one. How much did the scientists pay for your silence, a few hundred?” Just then, the old bell on the front door clanged and in barged a youngster wearing soak and wet slickers.
“Jeremiah, come see this!”
The two of them followed the boy to where a rusty old trawler was temporarily moored just in time to watch a fifty foot giant pacific octopus slither off a hook and drop over the port side into the ocean! Both men stood with jaws agape, and looked at each other incredulously. Sneedon jumped up on the boat, leaned way over the port side and snapped photos of the writhing beast, still quite visible in the clear moving water.
“I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!” Jeremiah was finally able to say. “It’s that goddam nuclear plant, ain’t it; this is coming from Diablo Canyon- right?” he asked the reporter.
“That’s what I intend to find out” answered Lloyd.
“How much do ya think Monterey Bay would pay for a sucker fish like this?” asked Jeremiah, but the question was moot because the octopus was long gone.
The rain was now pouring down in buckets as the three men stood stunned on the dock, watching another large fishing trawler make its’ approach. The starboard lookout was waving his arms above his head and they could hear him shouting in the distance. He was pointing toward them, gesturing wildly until they finally turned around and saw a huge tentacle slithering over the dock.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 16

The Temblor

Detective Whimble was convinced there was a connection between the disappearances of the tow truck driver as well as others, and Fig Street. Somehow, there was something sinister about that unassuming side street with the steep incline. He had already ruled out driving down the steep hill, and plunging into the estuary because that would have required breaking through the fence, which had not been done.
The tow truck driver was a dependable worker and long-time employee who just didn’t seem prone to suddenly walking away from it all. It just didn’t add up. However, Detective Whimble didn’t consider a bunch of radioactive hocus pocus to be within the realm of possibility. He was surprised to get a call morning from the homeowner in the wheelchair at the end of Fig Street.
The door opened before Whimble could even knock, and in the doorway sat Howard Brollins. “C’min” slurred the former Mayor. “Kitcha water?” he asked, trying to be a gracious host. Whimble waved him off.
“No thanks. I’ve been chugging coffee all morning. I’m sure there’s a reason why you called me back here, Mr. Brollins, and I still have a few questions to ask myself, so let’s get to it please.”
Brollins nodded enthusiastically adding, “Line in the sand.”
The detective looked at him quizzically, unwrapped a butterscotch candy and popped it into his mouth. “What do you mean by that, Mr. Brollins- what line in the sand?”
“Line in the sand” Brollins repeated, this time straining from his chair to point across the street toward a patch of sandy soil.
“Mr. Brollins is not well,” came a startling voice from the corner, where Mr. Smoking Stone had apparently been sitting all along, the detective missing him for some inexplicable reason. “You shouldn’t be bothering him” Smoking Stone repeated several times.
“Mr. uh, what is your name sir?” asked Whimble.
“Smoking Stone is my name, and this is the land of my ancestors. Mr. Brollins has nothing else to tell you and you should please go now.”
“Mr. Stone, would you like to be arrested for impeding an investigation, because that could easily be arranged,” asked the detective. “What does it mean, ‘line in the sand?”
Smoking Stone lived up to his name and put match to peace pipe, took a long draw, and began a chant:

The hour is late, the danger is great
But one can save us from our fate
Many are the lives at stake
Soon the lion will awake

“Lion?” asked the detective.
“Line in the sand,” mumbled the former mayor, nodding his shaky head.
The detective bid them good afternoon and left the house. Outside, he marveled at the fence which had somehow manifested itself in two separate photos, many years spanning between the two. From his left trench coat pocket he produced a small attachable spy camera, which he clipped to the top of the fence aiming it slightly downward toward the sand.
Meanwhile and far away, the primordial spine of California Valley finally lost the last grain of sand before surrender, allowing two shells of the Earth to move in different directions for the first time in 110 years. The mighty San Andreas Fault line was separating, mother from child. Slowly, inexorably, this seismic cataclysm transferred its energy to the San Luis Bay Fault Zone, and the Rattlesnake Fault. The Rattlesnake then telegraphed energy westward, biting hard on the Shoreline Fault, and its evil twin, the San Luis Bay Fault, pumping all her seismic venom dry.
With both the Shoreline and San Luis Bay Faults charged and excited, they sent energy directly toward each other, resulting in a head on collision. After 50 years of protest and social upheaval, Diablo Canyon had finally met its match- seismic energy given vertical acceleration by the interaction of two parallel en echelon faults.
The ground movement caused an interruption in the flow of electricity running water pumps that kept spent fuel submerged in the overburdened waste pools. The hills upon which the pools were built cracked under the strain and allowed water to leak out. The nuclear fuel rods became exposed to the atmosphere with no electricity for the pumps to re-submerge them. Cubic miles of radioactive gas rode the jet stream south toward Los Angeles, and hell became a real place on Earth.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 17

Level 7 Emergency

Ron made sure he got Shelley through the rain and onto the roaring chopper provided by PG&E Corporation. Running with their heads down, they stumbled several times as they boarded the flight to Sacramento. Once inside, the chopper lifted off immediately and the pilot shouted back to them, “Gotta go, it’ll only get worse.” They looked out the windows and the ground was rushing away from them, the chopper already impossibly high.
Ron produced a neat looking thermos, opened it and poured everyone a steaming cup of java for the half hour trip. Nobody knew they were coming except the commissioners and their staff, and not one of them knew why a meeting was such an emergency. As they flew toward the northeast, they left the rain behind and a sunny sky revealed itself for the first time in days. It wasn’t long before they approached the Sacramento area, where vast wetlands stretched from horizon to horizon below.
A few times Shelley thought she noticed aberrant behavior in the huge flocks of migrating waterfowl but she chalked it up to the wind. The pilot stuck the landing atop the roof of the 25 story cal EPA building at 1001 I Street, discharged his two VIP passengers and let the rotors whine down. “Send up some lunch” he requested. Ron patted him on the shoulder and nodded.
They were met by a very handsome man in uniform who led them into a long narrow conference room adorned with enough walnut furniture to have saved the forest. Ron, always chivalrous, held a seat out for Shelley, who smiled up at him. They were soon joined by two heavily armed soldiers in all black uniforms who took up positions on each side of the entrance. The scientists gave each other a look of puzzlement, thinking it a bit over the top.
Finally, the commission chair entered the room, and he immediately apologized for the guards. “Sorry about the tight security but things have changed while you were airborne. We are now in a state of national emergency, code red. I do not yet know why so don’t bother to ask. Now what is the nature of your particular emergency and how can I be of assistance?”
“Mr. Rodgersen” Shelley began, in the last several hours, we have been examining marine life exhibiting anomalous growth.”
“What species?” asked the commissioner.
“Dungeness Crab, sir.”
“Yikes!” he replied. “Tomorrow is Dungeness season and fishermen have been chomping at the bit.”
“What is the cause and nature of this anomaly, Dr. Carver?”
“The crab was caught in the net of a trawler, weighing in at a whopping 400 pounds” she said, causing the commissioner to raise both eyebrows. Upon laboratory examination, we found the crab to be contaminated with extremely high levels of several isotopes, origin unknown.”
“Have you checked any others for signs of similar conditions?” asked Rodgersen.
“We have,” Shelley nodded, “all positive. You have to shut the fishery down, at least temporarily.”
“I’ll give the order right now, no need to call anyone else in. But I’ll need the toxin readouts.”
“Commissioner, it would look very suspicious –unfairly so, we think- for our employer if word of radiation got out. Diablo is just too close to ground zero and everyone will be pointing the finger at PG&E. We have almost 5,000 employees in the region.”
“What do you suggest?” asked the commissioner.
“A screen story, a cover.” Shelley looked at Ron, who produced a briefcase, opened it, and handed Rodgersen a neatly printed file. “It’s all there, a die off caused by an algae bloom.”
“You mean a red tide?” asked the commissioner.
“Exactly, sir. Nobody can eat Dungeness contaminated with too high a level of demoic acid. That could be fatal” said Shelley.
“OK consider it done, cover intact.”
Just then the handsome soldier walked back into the narrow room and bent down to whisper in the commissioner’s ear. Again the commissioner raised both eyebrows.
“Friends, I regret to inform you there has been an earthquake, of at least magnitude 7.7 and it appears there is a Level 7 Event ongoing. You are both needed back in that area immediately.” The soldier handed them both pills to protect their thyroid glands from radiation as well as other safety gear. “Consider the Dungeness season shut down due to demoic poisoning; Godspeed to you both.”
The scientists ran back up to the roof and boarded the chopper, which made a bee line back to Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant –and a Level 7 emergency.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 18

The Ascent

On the Central Coast of California, long have two competing tribes feuded with one another, the Salinan and Chumash peoples. Everything about one, it seemed, usually bothered everyone in the other- but not on this day. All around the base of Morro Rock, hand crafted drums pounded their steady beat, the rhythm patterned so as to mimic the heartbeat of the Earth. On various boulders, large pots of gruel and mashed acorn stew sat bubbling and steaming in the cold morning air, twigs glowing beneath like blankets under a warm puppy.
Even the clouds stopped drifting aimlessly by, seeming to instead gather ‘round in a large halo. Native children ran and laughed, playing on the beach of their ancestors, on this day of days. Across the harbor mouth, huge flocks of double breasted cormorants stood like sentries along the shore of the sand spit, wings held far out at their sides. Sea lions and harbor seals, like the native peoples, seemed to have put their gripes away during this magic time.
And two stood tall amid the drumming and the food sharing, amid the animals and laughing children. Two figures representing the best of these indigenous peoples, one a man, one a woman. The woman was called Crystal of the Universe, her long raven tresses lightly brushing the back of her legs. Three attendants were nearly finished braiding sacred shells and beads into her hair.
The other was Smoking Stone himself, and he stood now fully painted by the medicine woman and Shaman of his tribe. From his hair, crow feathers hung all around, giving him a look almost like Cleopatra. In his rawhide pouch he carried the Baywood fine sand endemic to the area, which would be the catalyst to help awaken the mountain. The protector would be here soon.
Sage and cedar burned in abalone shells as the two representatives of Mother Earth began to ascend the rock and as they climbed, they heard the drum beats fading into the distance. They rested every time they came to a ledge that would support them, occasionally meeting face to face with the various nesting birds of the rock. Not one of these birds so much as noticed the climbers, and seemed to look right through them. By the time the air grew foggy, they had reached the home of the Peregrine Falcon, and she gave them her blessing. Then with a hornet-like scream, the large bird of prey gave the signal for all birds to leave the mountain. She splayed her powerful wings out to her side and fell forward, skyrocketing off into the distance.
All birds flew from the mountain, never to return. All squirrels chattered their way down the rock faces, followed by rabbits, snakes and reptiles. By the time dark fell, Crystal and Smoking Stone were alone on the rock, and the ceremony began. Due to the sacred nature of the ceremony, its details will not be revealed here, other than that it involved sand, a small fire and two warring tribes at peace. Together, they called to the distant lion.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 19

Flight of the Bumble Bee

The telephone at Detective Whimble’s desk hadn’t rang this much since the first time he bounced an alimony check at his ex wife’s bank. Every conceivable kook, nut and crank wanted the real story about every article in the supermarket tabloids. Monsters, Indians, earthquakes, radiation- you name it.
He sat writing with one hand and juggling a Reuben sandwich with the other. “Police Department” he answered a random call.
“I felt the shaking and if it wasn’t an earthquake, what the hell are they doing over there at Diablo Canyon? The birds are going crazy and my wife wants to know…” Detective Whimble quietly hung up the phone- which began ringing again immediately. “Police Department” he repeated.
Detective Whimble, this is Lady Corr, I’m Howard’s maid?”
“Howard who, ma’am?” the detective inquired.
“Brollins, Howard Brollins; he lives over on Fig Street, used to be the mayor once.”
“Oh, yes, what can I do for you?” he asked.
“Maybe you better come over here, sir. I hate to bother anybody, but Howard is just beside himself. Here, let me put him on the phone for you.”
“No ma’am, please don’t…” the detective was cut off in mid sentence.
“Uh, hello” said Howard Brollins in very garbled language, “A’tective right away and please!”
“Howard, I’m extremely swamped today but…”
“Rye-now!!” screamed the man in the wheelchair, his voice audibly hoarse.
Whimble hung up the phone and headed over to the home at the end of Fig Street. He wanted to check his camera anyways. The trip from San Luis to Morro Bay took longer than usual due to a long line of military vehicles pouring onto Highway 101 out of the National Guard Armory at Camp San Luis Obispo. All manner of military trucks and half track vehicles were streaming from the base like killer bees from an underground utility vault at a construction site. Funny thing, they were all headed, single file, toward Morro Bay!
When Detective Whimble finally reached the exit, he came upon an amazing scene, right out of the movies. Soldiers had established perimeters and set up road blocks to keep people from leaving.
People were standing behind makeshift fences with their families in tow, screaming about an earthquake. All seemed to want the same thing; to distance themselves from Diablo Canyon, a few miles to the south. The uniformed military personnel would have no part of it. Several tanks rode the traffic circle around and around at the north entrance to Morro Bay. They were obviously blocking anybody from accessing the 101 and escaping the area for parts further north. The detective though, wanted to enter town, and had no problem doing so.
As the detective parked in the middle of Fig Street, he grabbed his camera off the fence and brought it with him to see Howard Brollins. Lady Corr answered the door and ushered Whimble inside. “Howard, the Detective is here to see you” said she.
Detective Whimble gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Lady Corr, and took a seat facing Howard Brollins. “I want to check the camera” he said to Howard. “May I plug in?”
Howard nodded, and showed him where to feed the yellow cable into the 60 inch monitor that doubled as computer/home entertainment center. Howard watched a lot of sports. In seconds, the camera’s hard drive was whipping backwards in fast motion on the large monitor screen before them. When it reached the beginning, Whimble pressed ‘play’ and then ‘fast forward’. The three of them sat watching for anything unusual, with Lady Corr the first to retire. “I’m going to bed, Howard, hope you don’t mind. I can’t leave with all the commotion going on up there” she pointed toward the top of the cul de sac.
Detective Whimble and Howard Brollins saw the shadowy movement on the screen at the same time. Whimble hit the ‘stop’ button and Howard shouted, “Line in the sand!”
The detective rolled it back 30 seconds and played it again at regular speed. A car with two young occupants, a boy and a girl, came driving down the dead end and parked on the sand. In a moment, they were necking. In another moment, they were fighting for their lives. Whimble couldn’t believe his jaded eyes when he saw a set of large claws rise up on either side of the car and seize it like a Tonka toy. Within seconds, the car was gone, occupants and all. In a few more minutes, an enormous insect rose from the sand, and expelled one blood drained carcass and then another.
Detective Whimble was stupefied, but Howard Brollins simply shouted ‘Line in the sand, line in the sand, line in the sand!” And Detective Whimble now understood. This was an Ant Lion, a lion in the sand. He wondered how many poor saps were down in that bottomless pit of sand? He shuddered involuntarily.
The Detective ran up the street, found the commander and asked him to bring some firepower to the end of the block, explaining why while on the move.
“What the hell are you talking about, a Lion in the sand?” asked the commander. “What the hell does that mean?” He would soon find out.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 20

Rendezvous on the Rock

In his days as President of Morro Bay Fisherman’s Association, Jeremiah O’Ryan had seen some large octopi, but nothing like the one under the dock, tentacles reaching for him from both sides. The sucker discs were the size of dinner plates, and the current from the creature’s siphon was so strong it created a wake that damaged the hulls of boats moored nearby. Lloyd Sneedon snapped off photo after photo, trying to get one of the creature’s eyeballs, which reminded him of an early 1960’s movie. The young fisher boy in the yellow slicker ran down the dock so fast he was unable to stop in time. He slid off the end and into the mud now exposed by low tide. The octopus was on him in seconds and he was dragged into the water, screaming. Jeremiah heroically stabbed at the creature with a gaff, but succeeded only in causing an enormous ink discharge, and nothing underwater was visible from then on.
The rain tapered off and all fell eerily silent. Off in the distance, a floatilla of boats of all shapes and sizes headed northward in no order or formation. High above, huge flocks of birds flew north in numbers that nearly blotted out the sky. The men looked at each other in bewilderment. Sneedon called his paper’s home office and asked for Executive Editor Sandra Durry. When he finally did get her on the line, she had no idea what he was talking about. Apparently, whatever the facts were, everyone was being kept in the dark. Lloyd knew he was on his own.
He decided to call the police department, and succeeded in reaching the cell phone of Detective David Whimble. “Detective Whimble” he answered, out of breath. “Hello Detective, this is Lloyd Sneedon from the Tribune, we met at Fig Street the other day over a missing tow truck driver?”
“That’s exactly where I am right now, Lloyd and you’ll get here ASAP if you want a good story!” said Whimble. The reporter was already close enough to see the muzzle flashes over Fig Street. The National Guard had opened up with heavy weapons on something over there. Lady Corr was now wide awake and had wheeled Howard onto his front porch. Detective Whimble retreated to stand right next to them, frightened of the movements coming from the infamous sandy patch at the end of Fig Street.
Soldiers aimed and fired volley after volley from their AR-15 semi-automatic rifles at what now looked to be a gigantic insect, emerging from the sand. “Hold your fire!” yelled the commander. The large bug used clear back legs to clean itself, and surprised everyone as it spread enormous transparent wings, not unlike those of a Dragonfly. It shook them out for a few moments, then leaned back on its haunches, and took to the sky. All stood in amazement with no shots fired as it flew off over the estuary toward the looming rock at Morro Bay. Lloyd watched the insect float overhead, its large multi-chambered eyes staring in many directions at once. It eventually stopped flapping, and seemed instead to vibrate as it let itself gently down, finally settling directly atop the peak of Morro Bay Rock, mere feet from the chanting natives performing their ceremony.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 21

Nuclear Conflagration

The sleek chopper cut south as the crow flies, unencumbered by the now massive traffic jams on the freeways below. Despite a near-complete news blackout and no alarm ever given, the word had gotten out. Social media was a game changer. As they passed over the grapevine hill, the ground rose up to meet them, allowing a close up view of the meteoric collapse of law, and civilized society. The Interstate 5 Freeway was at a complete stand-still, and thousands of people were abandoning their cars. In places where traffic was still moving, car jackings were epidemic. Everyone they saw moving along the roads or through hills and fields carried a weapon of some sort, and families clung together tightly, reminding Shelley of roving bands of Neanderthals. “How quickly it all goes to shit” observed the pilot.
The military presence on the ground was completely overwhelmed by the sheer crush of the masses and concentrated their efforts at setting up perimeters around oil refineries and other oil infrastructure. In less affluent areas, bridges were bombed out so as to staunch the flow of undesirables. A growing number of bodies lay strewn across the landscape, while the weak and dying were quickly relieved of their supplies, and aided in their departure. The proud and storied republic of California was being reduced back to the stone ages within a matter of hours.
Meanwhile, reports had come in from the parent company that the plant’s waste integrity had been breached and atmospheric containment was currently zero. They were instructed to land at Camp Roberts for briefing before suiting suit up for their return to Diablo Canyon.
“Wind direction is due south” said the pilot.
“That’s bad news for ninety thousand people in Santa Barbara and ten million people in Los Angeles” said Shelley. An army of speeding recreational vehicles could be seen kicking up dust on all roads leading east into the deserts. “The smart ones” opined Ron, gesturing toward the windshield. The pilot grabbed a joy stick in his black leather glove and maneuvered it to a new position and the chopper began a controlled decent into Camp Roberts National Guard Base in Paso Robles. A large contingent of emergency workers gathered in a circle around the heli-pad waiting for them with their new orders, equipment and radiation suits.
Upon landing, Doctor Shelley Carver immediately began wolfing through her orders, and was astounded to learn that, rather than controlling the amount of radioactivity escaping from the plant, the order of the day at Diablo Canyon was to control the perception that Pacific Gas & Electric was somehow responsible –or even connected to- this so-called ‘emergency’. The folder used words like ‘overblown’ exaggerated, and libel. After all, PG&E was the largest employer in San Luis Obispo County.
It really made her ill to think she would have to be the public relations arm of the nuclear conflagration.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 22

The Golden Egg

Some 585 feet above the mouth of Morro Bay Estuary, the giant mutated antlion lacewing sat cleaning itself, somehow soothed by the melodic and rhythmic chant of the native ceremony taking place in his honor. With roots in the Mesazoic, the antlion had been written about in biblical lore as far back as the mid 1400’s. In those writings, the antlion represented a fatalistic dichotomy, a terminal cross between creatures that on the one hand ate meat and the other, grain. This conflict caused the creature to starve and die, but our mutated giant had no such complications.

Bring forth your eggs, oh protector of the balance
Leaving those untouched who sing ancestral sacred parlance
Send your offspring deeper than the deepest ever have
Allowing Mother Earth to send forth her healing salve

The giant yet graceful lacewing crooked her thorax into a mild depression on the apex of Morro Bay Rock. The sacred ceremonial fire flared up each time an egg began to drop. Soon, the depression was filled with eggs, each one decorated purple and blue, shining with an inner glow not unlike the bioluminescence of a deep sea creature. The natives sang, alternately crying and laughing as the huge Mesazoic goddess –her work now done- took flight, and floated away into the night on the sparks of a sacred fire.
Back on Fig Street, the detective stood on the porch of former mayor Howard Brollins, along with his Lady Corr, and one last time they all said together, ‘Lion in the Sand’.
The Commander, meanwhile, had other, less peaceful ideas, ordering his troops to march on the Rock, with designs on killing the wretched creature. Three platoons of National Guardsmen four columns across, marched north down Main Street, stopping at the base of the Rock. There they set up camp, where more weapons were gathering by the hour, all aimed at the top of that accursed rock.
Nearby, Lloyd Sneedon and Jeremiah O’Ryan watched from a Eucalyptus-covered hillside as these apocalyptic events unfolded. The sea had betrayed the fisherman, while the news itself betrayed the reporter. Photos of a giant crab were of no interest to anybody now. And somehow, Lloyd knew, there was more going on than they were being told. He made another call to his editor, but instead of reaching her, all he got was this cryptic message on her answering machine:
‘Lloyd, if you’re getting this message, get out now- just get out of the area. There’s a big leak at the nuclear power plant and the wind is blowing south. Head north and don’t stop running until you hear something different; godspeed’.
Lloyd though, was a reporter through and through. It was in the blood. Son of a son of a son of a central coast investigative journalist, that’s what he was. He intended to cover this one to the end, and, under cover of the gathering darkness, he made his way to the base of the rock and started climbing.
“Lloyd, come back!” Jeremiah half shouted, half whispered. “You’re gonna get yourself killed you idiot!”
Lloyd smiled back in response, checked for the camera around his neck, and began the long hand-over-hand climb to the top.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 23

Mission Launch

Before launching their mission to Diablo Canyon for an official damage assessment, Shelley requested a meeting with the base Executive Officer. Upon hearing her requirements, the ‘XO’ instead referred her upstairs and she sat before the desk of the Commanding Officer of Camp Roberts mere minutes later.
“Doctor Carver” he began, “we have already been directed to give you any assistance you need. The executive Officer simply followed the chain of command, as was proper. Now, what can we do to help make the situation safe?”
“Sir, as I look at the uncertainties, I believe a two-prong approach is called for- on the ground as well as by air. I am respectfully requesting the chopper be fully fueled and equipped with supplies and meds, and that we be scheduled for a complete re-fueling and re-supply at Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station upon completion of our southland sweep.”
“Not a problem” said the ‘C.O.’.
“And for my partner, I will need a standard military issue half-track vehicle, fully equipped.”
“And by equipped, does that include armed?” he asked.
“To the teeth, sir” she said, looking him straight in the eyes.
Within half an hour, the chopper sat freshly fueled on the tarmac, the pilot ready for take-off. Outside, Shelley and Ron embraced beneath the wind of whirling rotor blades. Two soldiers stood at her side, handing her their orders in a manila folder. She looked up at the taller of the two. All five of them were resplendent in white radiation-resistant perma-suits, making it obvious they were all together. The taller soldier said, “Randall, Captain Joseph Randall, at your service, ma’am; and this is Lieutenant Mora. We’re with you all the way. They sent us as a pair, and with Level 7 clearance, which seems to indicate this is a one-way trip.” Shelley nodded to Ron, and he stepped into the side hatch of an idling half track war machine. “Looks like we’re going to the moon,” he joked.
“And we just may be,” said Randall, closing the hatch behind him. Lieutenant Mora stepped up into the suicide seat, and Captain Randall into the cockpit- after offering a brisk salute to Shelley carver.
“Let’s go!” called the chopper pilot, and the two groups parted ways.
“Where to?” asked Randall to Ron in the rear compartment of the half track. “Due East!” he replied.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 24

Rock and a Hard Place

From the parking area below, the only thing visible atop Morro Rock was a thousand dying embers from a sacred fire, each floating away like the last firefly of a romantic summer. In gruesome contrast, heavy 50 caliber machine guns all but surrounded the entire monolith, loaded, aimed, and ready to fire. The commander was unsure what he was actually aiming at, but with more guns arriving from Camp San Luis with every passing moment, the feeding frenzy had taken on a life of its own.
His cell phone garbled to life and he placed it on speaker phone, pinned to the scrambled egg insignia on the shoulder-board of his jacket. “Commander, Llioyd Sneedon here, over” came the call.
“This is the Commander, over” he replied.
“I just arrived at the rim of the summit, and the Indians are still here singing their songs- but no sign of the winged creature, over” said Lloyd.
“Stay right where you are Mr. Sneedon, I’m going to give you a better look” said the commander. He turned toward a large tent nearby and shouted, “Let’s have a Sneaky Pete, straight up.”
Suddenly the harsh fizz of a rocket launch dominated the area. Moments later, a bright explosion occurred far above the rock summit, and what looked like the star of Bethlehem floated slowly down beneath a small parachute. The entire area was brilliantly lit and Lloyd got right on the speaker. “The place is lit up like it was daylight, was that you?”
“That’s a big 10-4 replied the commander, you are welcome, courtesy the You- nited States National Guard. See anything?”
“Just these boulders in the middle of the summit, brightly colored, not like the rest. Wait a minute, they are moving and it looks like they might-“ Lloyd interrupted himself with silence.
“Mr. Sneedon, what do you see, please report immediately lest I be forced to open fire upon which time you will become an unfortunate casualty we call collateral damage” said the commander. It took a minute or two, but the reporter broke his stunned silence thus:
“Sorry, I had to get some shots of this- they’re eggs, commander, I do believe these are eggs, and now I can see twenty, perhaps thirty creatures climbing out of the eggs and burrowing into the ground below them.”
“Can you describe these creatures, Mr. Sneedon” asked the commander.
“Only that they look like giant gray ladybugs with huge mouth parts, like two inverted saws” said Lloyd. The commander looked to a man standing at his side and leaned over to allow the smaller man to speak into his ear.
“Sir, the reporter is describing the larvae stage of an ant lion, which will eventually make a cocoon and become a flighted insect” said the National Guard entomologist.
Lloyd spoke again, “Sir, they are now all beneath the soil and making some sort of sand cones.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sneedon. Now it is strongly advised that you vacate the area asap. We will give you five minutes, Commander Blivitz over and out.” The reporter tried to complain that it was not enough time but the line had gone dead. He made a mad scramble for the edge and clambered over the side. Unbeknownst to anyone except Smoking Stone and his people, these larvae were no longer anywhere near the rock summit, but rather were burrowing down for all they were worth, headed toward the pit of hell, far below.
Commander Blivitz, true to his word, gave Lloyd Sneedon five whole minutes to vacate the summit before giving the order to fire at will. And there was no shortage of those who were willing. The top of the rock took intense fire from many different weapons. At the bottom stood Jeremiah O’Ryan, looking up at the spectacle of it all, the concern on his face illuminated by an occasional parachute flare.
By morning, several aftershocks had hit the region, all conducted from the mighty San Andreas, via the Rattlesnake Fault and straight to the parallel faults beneath Diablo Canyon. The first early light revealed a rock with just slightly more damage than when man set charges there in the 1950’s using the rubble to build breakwaters. The military presence though, had grown ten-fold around the area. The commander was waiting on orders to destroy the rock and he stood ready to reduce it to a small pile of sawdust. “This overgrown marble’s gonna be good for nothing but buildin’ a sandbox when I get through with it” he boasted.
The large native contingent still drumming and dancing around the base of the rock now signaled to the shadowy heights far above, and as the women led their children away from the area, the first arrow came a-whistling down. ‘Thwit’ was the sound as the arrow found its mark in the adam’s apple of the suddenly quiet commander. His entomologist stood beside him, still looking aloft through infrared binoculars and unaware of the silent rain of death now spreading to all corners of the military staging area below. It was a spectacular sight, one that Lloyd Sneedon made sure to capture many compelling images of. This was turning out to be the story of a lifetime. Why had he never considered going freelance before, he wondered?

Line in the Sand, Chapter 25

A Deal with the Devil

The pilot brought the chopper out to the coast and then flew south over the crippled Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant. Actually, the plant itself was fine. The problem was a split in the ground, a crevasse opened up by ground movement far too severe for the power plant to withstand, no matter the retrofit, no matter the workmanship, no matter the stringent regulatory requirements. When a seismologist came along with the unique concept of how normal seismic force from a moderate earthquake could torque its way into something Diablo Canyon was not built to withstand, rather than learn from him, Pacific Gas and Electric attacked the messenger. Those policies led to people burning to death in San Bruno, and children developing problems in Hinckley.
Yet all the while, like many large corporations, the money was spent controlling people’s outrage rather than on life-saving research. And that is where Doctor Shelley Carver came in. She was a brilliant researcher and considered herself a good person. Now, her own view of herself was being challenged. As they flew over Diablo, the spent fuel pools were easily visible in the hillside behind the two domes of the plant. The interaction of two parallel faults had caused seismic energy to climb the hillside like a cat climbs a window curtain. The all-important cooling water leaked out, exposing the stored nuclear waste to the atmosphere where a chemical reaction with the air occurred.
There was no visible component to this interaction. Radioactivity is a silent and imperceptible killer. And like heating a butter-knife allows cold butter to become malleable, so it is with the genetic codes of living beings and radiation. Sudden evolutionary changes can and do happen, rapidly. Shelley was well aware these changes were already taking place in the environment below them, as the sleek chopper speared the air like a missile. The pilot brought the chopper to a standstill over the laboratory building, and set it on autopilot. They elected not to chance landing for fear of whipping up the dust particles with the rotors. All those dust particles now had radioactivity riding them, piggy back and you didn’t want to breathe that into your lungs.
Shelley Carver strapped into a harness and was lowered slowly down to the ground, where she entered the lab through a locked metal door. Everything was exactly as she left it, and it struck her as spooky. She collected her lap top and external hard drive and walked back outside. It took only a few minutes to get back up into the chopper, but it seemed like an hour. “Hey, fuck this place and these people” she said. “I’m not going to lie for them, I’m finished with it.”
“What’s the plan?” asked the pilot.
“Let’s find out what’s really going on” she said, “let’s go to L.A. and warn somebody. I just know these people haven’t told the public about anything.” She blessed herself as the pilot swung far out over the Pacific and headed south.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 26

The Great Escape

With their commander gone, it wasn’t even clear who the next in command was, such was the state of confusion at the base of Morro Rock. Flaming arrows rained from the heights, with few missing their intended targets. Soldiers lay willy-nilly about, many with clothes aflame. National guardsmen were firing their guns, but only up into the darkness. As their anger and numbers swelled, the discharges came from larger and larger cannons, punishing the rock for a crime it never committed.
On the far side, native braves put up their bows and quills to let down hemp rope in long lengths. Staying low inside vertical ruts and ridges they had known since they were children, all escaped down to the water, into a long bark canoe. With not a single casualty among them despite great odds, they paddled away silently into the night, staying close to the far shore. Their sandy canoe and clothing matched the sand spit perfectly and they became master chameleons of the estuary. The mighty armed force surrounding the landward side of the rock never even knew they were gone.
Meanwhile, high atop the rock summit, only a crescent moon witnessed the sand cones left by mutated bug larvae now digging deep below. In only a few hours, many ant lions had reached the place deep beneath sea level where the rock ended and the long dormant magma started. Scientists like Doctor Carver know it is not a rock at all, but a volcanic plug, and Morro Rock is but the tiniest remnant of a once enormous volcano that ruled the area with a fiery fist.
By now, every soldier from Camp San Luis and many swat and tactical police teams had arrived at the staging area, many finding it hard to comprehend what had happened.
Lloyd Sneedon was trying to get an interview with anyone from the military but to no avail. None of them knew what was going on and neither did they want to talk on record. This futile exercise went on until the reporter was suddenly jolted from behind by his friend Jeremiah O’Ryan, who whispered urgently, “Come with me!”
The two were able to leave the area unnoticed, and broke into a trot when they climbed the hill at Main Street. They ran all the way to the State Park Marina where Jeremiah had a sailboat and jumped aboard. There was no choice but to guide her back out toward the rock because it was the only outlet to the sea. Seen, but not considered a threat, they still had to dodge shells that were landing around them.
Once through the break water, they headed straight out to sea until the rock was a mere speck on the horizon.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 27

Fallout

“How far out are we going?” asked the pilot.
“How far out are we now?” replied Shelley.
“Ten nautical miles, just wanted to stay clear of the plume.”
“Where are we in relation to the coastline?” she asked.
“A few minutes out of Santa Barbara,” he told her.
“That’s our first stop,” she said, somebody needs to know what’s going on.”
He pulled a canteen out of his inside pocket and handed it to her. She opened the top and took a sniff- it was coffee. “Oh, good” she said. “Thank you.” She passed it back to him and asked, “How do we look on fuel?”
“Needle hasn’t even moved yet” he told her. “Besides” he said, “see those pontoons?” Shelley nodded. “They hold enough JP-4 to get us to Seal Beach, no problem.”
Shelley had been to Santa Barbara a thousand times. Great seafood, nice area. She always hated the oil rigs though, ever since the blowout in ’69. Then there was the spill at Refugio in 2015. When, she wondered, are these people going to figure out they can get by on sunshine? They broke the plane of the shoreline doing 100 knots, airspeed. With the contaminated southerly jet stream, they were crab-assing over the city where all seemed well, but it was blissful ignorance.
“Take her down over there at the radio tower” Shelley ordered.
“Yes ma’am” the pilot responded, circling three times before putting her down. Out from the radio station side door emerged several disc jockeys and the white haired owner, the very famous Ralph Jackson, also part owner of the Santa Barbara Sun Demons.
“Mr. Jackson” Shelley yelled to him, bending at the waist to avoid the rotor blades, “can I have a word with you sir?”
“What’s this all about?” he asked in return. She gestured him inside and left the pilot with the buggy running.
“You mean you don’t know?” she asked.
“Know what?” he said. It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.
“There’s been a seismic event and Diablo Canyon is hemorrhaging radiation- and it’s coming your way.”
The man saw the PG&E insignia on the helicopter, and the strange bulky white space suits they wore and didn’t doubt her for a minute. She touched a digital button on the Geiger counter clipped to her utility belt and it responded with a sound like marbles in a clothing dryer. She handed him some informational flyers she had prepared en route, potassium iodide pills, and a Geiger counter of his own.
They headed south toward Los Angeles, after having spent only fourteen minutes on the ground. Shelley tuned the radio to KYSB, the Santa Barbara Radio Station, which gave a recorded message:
‘This is not a test, this is an actual nuclear emergency. Diablo Canyon is reported to be leaking radiation and the air in the Santa Barbara area is no longer safe for the very young or very old. Please seek shelter immediately, and keep off the roads for your own protection.’
The pilot headed back out over the blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean, curving southward as they went. Next stop, Los Angeles, California, population 11 million people.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 28

Go with the Flow

The parking lot that wrapped ¾ of the way around Morro Rock had never been anywhere near as full as it was now. National Guard troops from Camp San Luis had arrived to the last man, leaving the base on Highway 101 a ghost town. Most of the U.S. Army soldiers based at Camp Roberts had arrived towing all manner of cannons, rockets, mortars and even sound weapons. S.W.A.T. Urban Assault Vehicles were there from the San Luis Obispo Sheriff, and all local police departments had all their personnel invested. Only the California Highway Patrol were left to manage the roads.
So keyed on revenge against the Indians were they that no one had bothered to find out why there was an emergency in the first place. They would only have had to ask the U.S. Army. But as far as they were all concerned, anybody up on that rock was breaking the law and if they got in the way of a little suppressing fire, they were just going to be considered collateral damage, and for that they did apologize.
The sky was lit up with a second volley of parachute flares when the first jolt was felt underfoot.
“Fire!” came the order, and the feeding frenzy commenced. Standing in the shadows, a member of the fire department was overjoyed that the guns of Armageddon had been released on his word, knowing he had no such authority. He held an open palm over his guffawing mouth. A second ground movement came just moments after the first, and the prevailing thought was it was a result of their bombardment.
But it was not. Far down in the bowels of the volcanic plug, a voracious group of ant lion larvae had struck molten gold, releasing a torrent of super-heated gas that ended their own brief lives, and rolled down the sloping face of the rock like Satan on a sled. Everyone in the staging area was instantly incinerated by the all-encompassing pyroclastic flow, which took one and all in an eleven hundred degree love embrace.
Indifferent to their fate, the rock itself continued to wretch in a geologic form of reverse peristalsis, until the heaving became more productive. Magma long trapped beneath the ground found its path of least resistance up the lava tube and spat out of the flow cone.
The volcanic plug was now a functioning Shield Volcano, known to spread lava far and wide, creating an enormous mound. The warlike men who had attacked the rock had unwittingly awoken a monstrous fire-breathing dragon asleep for eleven million years.
And the worst was yet to come.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 29

The Future’s Seed

Mother Nature’s fireworks at the rock in Morro Bay provided the perfect cover for the small group of Native Americans to make it the length of the estuary to safety. They turned the birch bark canoe upside down and walked beneath it. The portage took them up the eastern bank and through a eucalyptus grove and then on to Fig Street. Under cover of darkness and with the canoe buried in the brush, Smoking Stone cupped his hands together, and made the mournful sound of a dove. The door opened immediately and Lady Corr wheeled Howard Brollins out on the porch.
“It is good to see you alive my friend,” said Howard. “Please come on in!”
“I have brought others with me; we must all now take shelter,” said Smoking Stone, his face covered in ash. Out from the shadows, the rest of the natives began to reveal themselves. “These are the braves of the flaming arrow,” he added, “and this is Crystal of the Universe.”
Howard gasped at the sight of the beautiful young Princess, and bowed with great reverence from his chair.
“Inside,” he said, “quickly.”
Once inside, Lady Corr provided each of them with towels and placed a large bucket of steaming water on a center table for washing. She then retired to the kitchen, where she was joined by the grateful young woman.

Fire Mountain come to life
Save our people, friends and wife
Flaming arrows found their mark
Guided truly through the dark
Please protect us where we stand
Just as we protect the land
Hear us in our time of need
Let us be the future’s seed

The fireworks on the rock grew louder and brighter even as the night grew quieter and darker. The dozen or so people from different backgrounds and races huddled close together in the darkened room, swaying quietly to the chanting of Smoking Stone. This gave them all great comfort as the floor beneath them began to shake violently. It would stop for a moment and then start again, coming ever more frequently. The Mountain was getting ready to blow.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 30

Ruby Sky

Jeremiah O’Ryan had plied these waters a thousand times. He was no stranger to the weather, tide or swells. But he was still having trouble believing that spark on the horizon was Morro Bay Rock. Lloyd Sneedon, on the other hand, was a professional reporter, not a fisherman. He was entirely frustrated that he couldn’t capture a decent photograph from this distance.
With all the explosions going on when they left, there really never was time to stop and look back. Jeremiah set sail and caught wind enough to move the sailboat offshore in a hurry, and before they knew it they were thirty miles out and opening. Now the pyrotechnics at the rock seemed to have changed from man made to something more organic and powerful. Lloyd was no volcanologist but dam if that volcanic plug wasn’t undergoing an eruption!
He wondered if it had anything to do with those bugs.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” said Jeremiah.
“If you say so” answered Lloyd. By now the eruption had the entire eastern sky lit with a ruby glow. This had to be an important event. Jeremiah had lived here all his life and that rock had done nothing but sit by quietly doing as it was told- even when the fools started to blast it for rocks to build the breakwater. But that was no longer the case, no sir. That rock was a living, breathing dragon, and even at this distance the two men didn’t feel entirely safe.
“Does your phone have signal?” asked Jeremiah. Lloyd looked down and nodded his head. “Mind?” he asked. Lloyd shook his head, and handed him the phone. Jeremiah produced a number scrawled quickly on a corner torn from a telephone directory and dialed it in. Before the first ring was complete, Shelley answered.
“Jeremiah, where the fuck are you!” she shouted with glee, then struggled to hear over the din of the whirling rotors of the chopper.
“I’m in my sailboat about 35 miles off Target Rock, Morro Bay, and lady, that rock is puttin’ on a show tonight.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“If I didn’t know any better, why I’d swear that rock is erupting into a volcano, that’s what.”
“When did this start?” she asked.
“About 12 hours ago, late at night, right after the National Guard and everybody else with a uniform and a badge took to shootin’ at it. I ran into that reporter Lloyd from the Tribune, and we launched my boat from the marina, headed out and didn’t look back- ‘till now.”
“That’s great news, Jeremiah. Bad news though, is I left your crab at Diablo. Good news is, it’s got to be cooked by now.” There was laughter in the chopper and on the boat.
“So what do we do now?” asked Jeremiah.
“Stay where you are,” said Shelley. We’re headed south to Los Angeles for a look-see. We’ll be refueling at Seal Beach Naval Station, then I’m not sure what- depends. Knowing you, you have fresh water, and you can fish- just stay within cell phone range of the coast.”
“I know a little island around here somewhere, I think we’re gonna hold up there a while. I’ll wait to hear back from you” said Jeremiah.
“Roger that, Shelley Carver out.” The streamlined chopper cut the air like a dart, sometimes whistling in the wind. Below them, all they could see was smoke, and where there was smoke, there was chaos. It had only taken an hour to get over Los Angeles County from KBSY in Santa Barbara, but word of the catastrophe arrived in the southland well before they did. Nothing was moving on the freeways, just people milling around in bumper to bumper traffic.
When they came in for a closer look, they could hear sirens everywhere, and it looked like people were already being affected by the huge dose of radiation blowing their way. That’s when the first shots hit the chopper. At first they thought it was random, the pilot asking, “What the fuck?”
But then Shelley said “Look”, and pointed to the chopper door. There was a large PG&E insignia, and that was going to get you shot at in this situation. And who could blame them? The pilot shook his head and swung the chopper back out over the ocean.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Let’s go get that fuel.”

Line in the Sand, Chapter 31

Cheyenne Mountain

Ron kept the big Half-track a safe distance behind a horde of RV’s all headed for the proverbial hills. Moving at 51 knots, they were traveling due north on the I-15N, about to cross from Arizona into Utah. By now, word of the iffy situation at Diablo Canyon had generated a reverse gold rush, and every major highway eastward was jammed. Fortunately, thanks to Shelley’s foresight, Ron and crew were way ahead of the curve, as were those uncanny RV people. Every so often, one or two of them would turn off the highway and head for whatever secret nook of shelter they had long kept hidden. Ron wondered about the rest of them, still trucking up ahead. Could they all be headed to Cheyenne, he wondered aloud.
“No matter” the young soldier chimed in from the back. “We have something that they don’t have- and that’s a Level 7 Security clearance.” After 700 miles, they finally turned onto the 70 Interstate toward Colorado. They were halfway there!
Ron removed the vibrating phone from his hazmat suit pocket and answered cheerfully; “Shelley?”
He could tell it was her calling, but he couldn’t understand the words because of some kind of interference- or was it simply the distance? “Shelley, I can’t hear you, try calling back again from somewhere else.” Suddenly her voice came through loud and clear.
“Ron! Sorry, I had the speaker on” she said.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Flying over the city of Long Beach, California, altitude 600’, headed due south at 140 knots” she answered.
“What’s it look like there?” asked Ron.
“Well, Los Angeles was a total loss and so is this place. We can’t get too low because everybody wants to shoot us out of the sky. We’ve got that scarlet letter; three of them to be precise, P, G, and E. People see it on the doors and try to shoot us down. Where are you now?”
“Halfway to the rendezvous point, following behind a herd of RV’s” he said, “I guess it’s true- dinosaurs did travel in herds!”
“We’ll come meet you soon. We’re on our way over Orange County, doing a last big loop. The place is done for, burning to the ground- can you hear the gunshots?”
“Yes I can,” said Ron, “you tell the pilot to keep his altitude!”
“Shelley ou,t” she said.
Arriving at Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station, the pilot made a bulls-eye on the helipad. They knew conditions were bad because everyone on the ground wore the same suits as they did. The pilot helped a deck hand fuel the chopper while Shelley tapped the button on her shoulder board to get a Geiger counter reading. The news wasn’t good. Within fifteen minutes the chopper was in the air headed due east. The pilot wanted to put some miles between them and the jet stream before heading toward Colorado for the rendezvous with the other half of Shelley’s team. In an hour, they made the correction to northeast and reached the I-70 soon thereafter. At almost 200 knots, they came up behind the Half-track before the sun was low in the sky, and the pilot couldn’t help but buzz them from behind at dangerously low altitude.
When they reached the gates of Cheyenne Mountain Complex, they announced their arrival and shut the chopper rotors down. Ron popped out of the Half-track and ran to hug Shelley.
The huge blast doors opened with a mechanical whine and a team of soldiers was sent out to escort Doctor Shelley Carver inside. Her work had just begun.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 32

Island O’Ryan

Lloyd and Jeremiah stayed within cell phone range as they were ordered to. The first night, they contacted Shelley from a small island to describe what can only be called a cataclysmic explosion coming from the direction of the rock. Thirty five miles away their eardrums were blown in by the force of the air displaced by the event. This was no ordinary event, nor did Jeremiah relay it to the scientist as such.
The stream of fire the explosion produced reached out of sight and up into the dark abyss of the night, looking like buttery stardust smeared across the heavens once it got there. “I really don’t think,” he told her, stuttering, “that is, I’m having trouble believing that this event is connected to what happened back on the mainland, Doc” said the fisherman.
Shelley thought otherwise, and warned him to be ready for a possible tsunami. “When was the explosion?” she asked.
“Ten minutes ago,” he answered, “give or take.”
Shelley did the math in her head and guessed from the size of the event and the distance the fisherman was at sea, a tsunami was possible within ten more minutes. Jeremiah guided the sailboat to the leeward side of their small island and weighed anchor. And a tsunami showed up, right on time. However, it simply raised the water level and rolled on by, doing no damage to the boat or island except for bending a few trees that had, from the look of them, been bent before. Lloyd was sure to photograph it all, and Jeremiah reported the secondary event to Shelley, now safe in a subterranean labyrinth called the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado Springs.
The danger for them was over, with the explosions done, the tsunami passed and the Jet Stream their friend rather than their enemy. They waded ashore, and set up at an old camp Jeremiah had used many times. This would be their home for the foreseeable future, with shelter, a fresh water source and abundant fishing. Shelley would keep them informed of when it might be safe to return. The fire burned down to a soft glow and they watched shooting stars streak across a moonless sky as both exhausted men fell into a deep, deep sleep.
Back at Fig Street, the danger was just beginning for the Braves of the Flaming Arrow and their hosts. Their chants were now drowned out by the sound of monolithic stones hurtling skyward, not unlike that of heavy artillery in time of war. And indeed, this was war, the enemy being radioactive poison belching into the atmosphere as a result of the reckless actions of greedy men. The Braves were threatened from radioactivity from the south and from the north by a relentless march of molten lava, bubbling across the estuarine landscape toward them.
Howard Brollins knew it was the end for him. Bound to a wheelchair, he could not run. And he let the others know that he would have no part of heroics on their part to attempt his rescue at the risk of endangering themselves. Crystal of the Universe laughed and pointed out there could be no escape anyway -for any of them. Smoking Stone soothed nerves by reminding them that according to the lore of their ancestors, they enjoyed special protection as guardians of the land and sea. All in the room tried hard to agree. And they wouldn’t have long to wait before they found out. The rumbling and rolling of the ground in motion was now at their door, and they watched out the window as the cul de sac fell victim to liquefaction. Plants, trees, bushes, buildings, poles and wires were all sucked under the now molten sand, and in came the boiling water, followed quickly by lava. Everything it touched burst into flames and the Braves of the Flaming Arrow began to sing their death song.
Howard tried to comfort Lady Corr, who had always been so good to him. She buried her head into his chest, sobbing. But, lit by the flickering light of molten lava, they all saw confidence in the now painted face of Smoking Stone. He sang the songs of life instead of death, and he was the only one among them who was not surprised when the lava passed them by on both sides, and any lava meant for them drained harmlessly down into the sand cone left by the Ant Lion.
“Line in the Sand,” he said to them all.
They lit the sacred sage, cheered wildly and danced all night long.

Line in the Sand, Chapter 33

Anomaly in Orbit

If anything could compare with those sandy traps the giant ant lions had made, it was Cheyenne Mountain Complex, built deep in the bosom of the Earth in an undisclosed location near Colorado Springs. The place had it all, which is exactly why Shelley and Ron had long ago chosen it as a plan of last resort. It had its’ own source of natural running fresh water, was built to withstand a near direct nuclear hit, and came equipped with an air filtration system up to all tasks. Not only was Cheyenne Mountain once the home of NORAD, it was still kept ‘on ice’ as a fully stocked and mission capable Plan B.
Once ushered inside, Shelley Carter became the highest ranking scientist of the facility and staff immediately began giving her the grand tour. If a giant doomsday hole in the ground could be called enchanting, this was. She bathed, ate, left her haz-mat monkey suit behind, and planted herself squarely before the enormous radar monitor. Within days, she had mastered the equipment and was in fact the first to discover an anomaly in space, a fact realized moments later when they were contacted by NORAD itself.
“Cheyenne this is North American Radar, we are also tracking a large object. Do you have any information, over?” the call came in with a red flasher blinking at the corner of the big monitor screen.
“NORAD, this is Cheyenne, handing you over to Doctor Shelley Carver, until recently of Diablo Canyon Nuclear Facility,” said the head of staff. Shelley rolled her eyes and pushed her way onto the control chair.
“NORAD, this is Dr. Carver. I have reason to believe the object is Earthly in origin. Can you have the ISS run diagnostics to confirm, over?” Apparently, the International Space Station had observed only the residual product and not the explosion itself. The global crew was studying the moon and the object in question was on the opposite side of the planet, also in geosynchronous orbit. Nobody realized there was an object in orbit until Shelley discovered it. She was also watching a split screen of lava pouring unchecked out of the planet’s crust from the site of the rock at Morro Bay. Smoke hissed skyward as lava poured into the nearby sea, and there was no telling where it would end.
On another split screen she watched tiny figures scrambling in white haz-mat suits at the site of the Diablo conflagration 12 miles to the south. A call came back in from NORAD.
“Cheyenne, this is North American Radar, you are being put through to the ISS, do you copy?”
“Copy,” answered Shelley.
“Putting you through, wait one. OK, Space Station, you have Doctor Carver on the line, go ahead.”
A friendly voice with a decidedly Russian accent told Shelley they had run a spectral analysis of the makeup of the anomalous object which confirmed her opinion, that the object was from the Earth.
“Doctor Carver, can you give us your opinion as to the nature of the object?” asked the ISS Cosmonaut.
“Wait one,” requested Shelley as another screen drew her attention with a bright yellow flasher. “What’s going on?” she asked her colleague.
“The radiation count took a nose dive north of Point Conception,” said Ron.
“What does that mean?” asked Shelley.
“The radiation cloud can no longer be linked to the spent fuel pools at Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant!” he yelled excitedly. “The lava has sealed off the waste, and entombed the plant!”
“ Congratulations,” said the Russian voice from space; maybe make Kamchatka eruption for bury Chernobyl!” “Cheyenne, this is North American Radar, congratulations, looks like we dodged a bullet.”
“With a depleted uranium shell casing!” answered Shelley. “Like our comrade says, now to get Kamchatka and Fuji to follow suit!”
Diablo Canyon would do no more harm so long as it stayed buried for a million years or so. It had already expelled a lot of radiation, now destined to float around the world with the radioactive products from Chernobyl and Fukushima as invisible bands of contamination. “So what is it?” the Russian voice asked before retiring back to studying the moon, “what is the anomaly you have detected in orbit?”
“It’s what’s left of the Morro Bay Rock, comrade; now she’ll be keeping sentry from orbit! This is Doctor Shelley Carver, signing off.”

The End

For Joan Carter

                                                                                                                   The Author