Page 88

Outside the Ice Tube, Mauna Kea, Hawai‘i

The eruption at Mauna Loa came as Mac and Rivers pulled up to the Ice Tube in General Rivers’s jeep.

From the side of Mauna Kea, they could see the smoke and flames, orange and red and blue, the color of fire, against the blue sky. Mac knew what was happening, even from here: the caldera was covered with lava that was beginning to travel from the rift zones.

They would find out soon—how soon depended on the speed of the lava—if the canals and trenches, all of the diversions, all of their plans, actually worked.

In the distance, they heard the sound of sirens from the All-Hazard Statewide Outdoor Warning Siren System, signaling that the Big Island was essentially under attack.

Our Pearl Harbor,Mac thought. Just no sneak attack from out of the sky this time.

The ground underneath them shook again; this quake lasted longer than the others and felt more serious.

Rivers yanked off his helmet, ran to the entrance, and began yelling at the men in the hazmat suits to get back into their trucks, waving at all of them to get back down the mountain.

“Go, go, go!”

Two of the men in hazmat suits hadn’t heard him over the sound of the sirens, and they continued to move toward the entrance.

Rivers ran after them, grabbed one man by his shoulders, and spun him around.

“Go!”Mac heard again.

In the distance Mac saw a sunrise-bright glow from the summit.

The fireball outlined against the sky grew bigger, and then another violent quake shook Mauna Kea, upending one of the trucks; the men inside managed to dive out before the truck crashed to the ground and rolled over.

Mac saw Rivers pitch forward maybe fifty yards from the entrance to the cave, the fall so sudden that he couldn’t catch himself with his hands, and he landed face down in the dirt and rocks. The earth underneath them would not stop shaking.

Rivers was still.

Mac ran to him, rolled him over, saw blood coming from a big cut on his forehead. But both of the man’s eyes were open and he was breathing.

“We need to get you out of here,” Mac said.

“Not until the others are out,” Rivers said.

Mac got him into a sitting position, wiped some of the blood away with his sleeve, helped him to his feet, and pulled him toward the jeep.

Rivers’s chest was heaving. In the jeep, he touched his forehead, then looked at the blood. “Is this it?” Rivers said. “Is this the one we’ve been expecting?” He sounded dazed. “Good God.”

“Let’s hope He’s good to us,” Mac said.

He got behind the wheel, pulled ahead of the caravan of trucks—the ones still upright, anyway—and headed back to the base.

He gave one quick glance back at Mauna Loa, more afraid than ever of what was coming next.

And where.

Mike Tyson was right: Everybody had a plan until they got punched in the mouth. Mac drove faster, ignoring the bumps, sometimes feeling as if the jeep were flying, feeling as if the volcano were already chasing them.

Rebecca Cruz was in the war room alone when Mac and Rivers returned.

“Where are the others?” Rivers asked. “Brett and the Cutlers were supposed to be here too.”

“Brett and the Cutlers are gone, sir.”

“Gone where?” Rivers said. “I need them here, goddamn it!”

“I assume they’re in one of Brett’s helicopters,” Rebecca said. “He wants to film the eruption himself.”

“Why?” Rivers asked.

“Because he can,” Mac said.

“He’s crazy,” Rivers said.

“That too.”