Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) James Best (best e book reader .TXT) 📖

“What about you?” Baldwin asked.

“I live in San Francisco. You drop me off and head down the highway.”

“Drive to San Francisco?” Baldwin said, shaking her head. “Through this downpour? A storm of supposedly biblical proportions that’ll turn the San Joaquin Valley into another of the Great Lakes? Are you crazy?”

“No, they’re not crazy. They’re right,” Smith said. “With the government leaving, there’s nothing for us to do here. We might as well return to our respective homes where we can protect our loved ones. When word gets out, everyone will run to San Francisco. It’s a matter of timing. If we go now, maybe we can beat the gridlock.”

“You’re with them?” Baldwin said, incredulous.

“I’m with us. Have you ever looked at a topo map of California? The entire Central Valley looks like a lake waiting to happen; in fact, it has been a lake in the past. Prehistoric Lake Corcoran covered almost twenty thousand square miles and drained into Monterey Bay. Before that, the Central Valley was an open bay. Yeah, I think we ought to get out of here. We’re like tiny ants sitting dead center in a bathtub with the spigot wide open. If they’ve evacuated the government, we should go. As an advisory commission, we can’t issue alerts or orders or even a press release. We can only add value through government officials, and they’ve skedaddled. We need to go too. What do you drive?”

“Mercedes S Class,” she replied automatically.

“I have a Land Cruiser 100 Series. We’ll take my car.”

“What’s wrong with mine?”

“The Land Cruiser is an off-road vehicle, and the older 100 Series is one of the best. With my lift kit, bigger wheels, and rough-terrain tires, we can get through almost anything. I use it in the mountains all the time.”

“No!” Baldwin said as firmly as she could. They appeared incredulous, so she explained. “We have a meeting in the morning and an obligation to the people of this state. We can’t abandon our responsibilities.”

“That meeting will never happen,” Wilson said. “First of all, the lieutenant governor and his chief of staff have left the building, so to speak. And Tom here,” she said, pointing at the vice chair, “doesn’t seem to want to run a meaningless meeting. Second, by my calculations, Sacramento will be under two feet of water by morning … give or take a foot. Only the biggest trucks won’t stall as they plow through the water. To get to this phantom meeting, we’ll need a big ol’ dump truck or a boat. To what purpose? Power will be iffy, landlines out. Rushing water erodes the base of towers and then drags them down. Cellular and internet will be problematic because electrical devices don’t like water. Are you getting the picture?”

“Show her,” Ashley insisted urgently.

She opened the laptop cradled in her left arm. The screen displayed an elaborate spreadsheet. “I took the forecasted rain from USGS, estimated the landmass east of here, and modelled the runoff, taking into account elevations.” She pointed to a number at the bottom of the screen. “That water has no place else to run. We’re gonna get swamped.”

“How sure are you?” Baldwin asked.

“I made my calculations conservatively. It may rain less, the ground might absorb more, or I might have missed a big swale that can collect water, but I also may have erred in the other direction. Then we could be under three or more feet of water.” She hesitated. “In any case, it won’t be less than a full foot of water covering every square inch of this city. By the way, there will be no flying out of here. They want to keep it quiet, but they built the airport on lowlands. It’s only twenty-seven feet above sea level. Practically a friggin’ swamp before. It’s under water, and nothing in or out for the duration.”

Everyone looked expectantly at Baldwin.

“A few feet of water would be a calamity,” Baldwin said weakly, “but not life threatening.”

“If it quits raining tonight, I agree,” Wilson said. “But the forecast is for a week of heavy downpour. My worst-case scenario is that this city will be buried under more than ten feet of water. Getting to high ground will become more difficult by the hour.”

“So, we save ourselves and to hell with everyone else?”

Wilson started to speak, but Ashley interrupted. “People will not believe us anyway. Come on. We need to get going.”

Baldwin shook her head, not ready to give up. “A general evacuation notice from the governor would carry credibility. We need to call him or Gleason or someone close to them.”

Wilson shook her head. “I’ve already talked to my boss. He contacted the governor’s office. They told him the governor isn’t ready to declare a statewide emergency. He refuses to incite panic throughout the entire Central Valley. Patricia, the politicians won’t listen. Believe me, I tried … personally. Pissed my boss off royally. But I have a plan. I’ve been ordered to do nothing officially, but I—we—can initiate something like a chain-mail alert. We all know someone in Sacramento. We’ll make calls and privately tell them about the danger. Ask them to keep it quiet, but they won’t. Word will spread like wildfire as the people we notify call friends and relatives. We can get an alert out to the general populace with reasonable deniability.”

Baldwin didn’t think deniability should be a concern, but instead of arguing, she said, “Everyone won’t go.”

“Nor will they with an official government alert. Look at Katrina and Hurricane Sandy.”

“What about calling the media?” Baldwin tried.

Wilson made an exasperated sigh. “The media will check with the governor’s office, and they’ll squash it as unfounded hysteria. I’ve thought this through.”

Everyone stood in a circle and stared at each other.

“I feel like a traitor running away,” Baldwin said. Then added, “You go. I’ll stay and do what I can.”

Smith put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do. Do you know first aid? Do you have