Read Online The Yellowstone Conundrum by John Randall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Randall
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What’s that smell? “Oh, man!” The odor got worse the further down the hallway he went. Reluctantly, LeRoy triggered the polisher off before it had a chance to dance by itself. The smell was terrible. A groan came from locker 248. Some kid had been stuffed inside.
Using his universal locker key, LeRoy opened the lock, then the door. A small boy was jammed face first into the locker. He’d shit and wet his pants; stuck in the locker for eighteen hours.
To his credit, even at urging of his parents, the police and school administrators; Andy didn’t give up the names of the three football players and two ninth grade titties that had nearly killed him. When he came to in the emergency room he was still counting; “Sixty-four thousand eight hundred…sixty four thousand eight hundred and five.”
Bonneville Power Administration
Portland, Oregon
Early travelers in Portland on the I-405 and I-5 bridges, many being commuters from Washington State cities north of town, were unpleasantly surprised as the foundations of the Freemont and Marquam bridges crossing the Willamette River failed as if choreographed by a maestro.
Marq uam Bridge I-5, Jason “cacophony”
(2007) Wikipedia
Freemon t Bridge I-405, by Jason “cacophony”
Wikipedia (10/23/07)
The Marquam Bridge carried traffic across the Willamette River in South Portland on I-5. It was a double-decked bridge, carrying 135,900 vehicles a day, the busiest in the state. The concrete and steel pilings wobbled this way and that, and collapsed, sending five hundred eighty-two cars into the river. Further north, the newer Freemont Bridge allowed I-405 traffic to enter North Portland after crossing the river. It was the second longest tied-arch bridge in the world after the Caiyuanba Bridge spanning the Yangtze River in China. While the bridge withstood the double quake, the elevated dual-deck concrete run-up lanes on both the east and west sides of the bridge collapsed into the industrial areas below, blocking all train traffic on the west side and access to the shipping ports on the east.
“Andy!” shouted Jake Beatty. “Answer! Hello!” No answer. The phone line was dead. Jake smacked the plastic phone hard on the receiver. Nothing, dead line. He punched out #3 on his phone.
beep beep beep
Then repeated:
beep beep beep.
No cell phone. No land line. No land line, no Federal telephone system. He tried the 88 prefix to see if he could get out through the FTS. No luck.
fucking beep beep beep .
“God damn it!” Jake shouted, turning to his Power Control Panel, a supersized wall map of the power grid in the Northwest US and Canada. “Paul, what do we have?” he asked his fellow senior Power Administrator Paul Griswold, who slid across the paneled floor of the computer room to a console on the left side of the room. Griswold banged a keyboard, which in response simply went blank.
I n front of the men the lights of Clackamas and Washington counties, Multnomah County and surrounding counties across the Columbia in Washington State; King (Seattle), Cowlitz, Clark, Wahkiakum, Skamania, Lewis, Thurston all began to blink rapidly, each red light indicating a substation that was in trouble due to overloading and/or transmission tower failure.
Located one hundred miles upstream on the Columbia River was the Columbia Generating Plant just north of Richland, Washington; where 29-year old Andy Everett and 42-year old Leon Holt were breathing heavily inside a locked room, inside a nuclear plant shutting itself down without their help. The CGP had a larger red light on the big map than did the other facilities. It was blinking.
“Hanford’s going off line in minutes,” Jake said plainly, belying the fact that his heart was in his throat.
To the east along the Snake River the lights representing dams at Jackson Lake,
Using his universal locker key, LeRoy opened the lock, then the door. A small boy was jammed face first into the locker. He’d shit and wet his pants; stuck in the locker for eighteen hours.
To his credit, even at urging of his parents, the police and school administrators; Andy didn’t give up the names of the three football players and two ninth grade titties that had nearly killed him. When he came to in the emergency room he was still counting; “Sixty-four thousand eight hundred…sixty four thousand eight hundred and five.”
Bonneville Power Administration
Portland, Oregon
Early travelers in Portland on the I-405 and I-5 bridges, many being commuters from Washington State cities north of town, were unpleasantly surprised as the foundations of the Freemont and Marquam bridges crossing the Willamette River failed as if choreographed by a maestro.
Marq uam Bridge I-5, Jason “cacophony”
(2007) Wikipedia
Freemon t Bridge I-405, by Jason “cacophony”
Wikipedia (10/23/07)
The Marquam Bridge carried traffic across the Willamette River in South Portland on I-5. It was a double-decked bridge, carrying 135,900 vehicles a day, the busiest in the state. The concrete and steel pilings wobbled this way and that, and collapsed, sending five hundred eighty-two cars into the river. Further north, the newer Freemont Bridge allowed I-405 traffic to enter North Portland after crossing the river. It was the second longest tied-arch bridge in the world after the Caiyuanba Bridge spanning the Yangtze River in China. While the bridge withstood the double quake, the elevated dual-deck concrete run-up lanes on both the east and west sides of the bridge collapsed into the industrial areas below, blocking all train traffic on the west side and access to the shipping ports on the east.
“Andy!” shouted Jake Beatty. “Answer! Hello!” No answer. The phone line was dead. Jake smacked the plastic phone hard on the receiver. Nothing, dead line. He punched out #3 on his phone.
beep beep beep
Then repeated:
beep beep beep.
No cell phone. No land line. No land line, no Federal telephone system. He tried the 88 prefix to see if he could get out through the FTS. No luck.
fucking beep beep beep .
“God damn it!” Jake shouted, turning to his Power Control Panel, a supersized wall map of the power grid in the Northwest US and Canada. “Paul, what do we have?” he asked his fellow senior Power Administrator Paul Griswold, who slid across the paneled floor of the computer room to a console on the left side of the room. Griswold banged a keyboard, which in response simply went blank.
I n front of the men the lights of Clackamas and Washington counties, Multnomah County and surrounding counties across the Columbia in Washington State; King (Seattle), Cowlitz, Clark, Wahkiakum, Skamania, Lewis, Thurston all began to blink rapidly, each red light indicating a substation that was in trouble due to overloading and/or transmission tower failure.
Located one hundred miles upstream on the Columbia River was the Columbia Generating Plant just north of Richland, Washington; where 29-year old Andy Everett and 42-year old Leon Holt were breathing heavily inside a locked room, inside a nuclear plant shutting itself down without their help. The CGP had a larger red light on the big map than did the other facilities. It was blinking.
“Hanford’s going off line in minutes,” Jake said plainly, belying the fact that his heart was in his throat.
To the east along the Snake River the lights representing dams at Jackson Lake,
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