Wednesday afternoon: A remote island off the Washington coast

Barnabas Quince stepped out of the helicopter and onto the helipad. There was no one to greet him.  In fact, there was no one else within ten miles of a mountaintop near Glacier Peak, WA., one hundred and thirty miles northeast of Seattle.

Barnabas ambled to the lone four-wheel-drive Jeep that had been sitting there waiting for him.  He started the engine of the vehicle and waved goodbye to the helicopter pilot and watched the giant chopper take off and fly away.

The former military leader drove up the winding roads of the mountain. He took more than twenty minutes to reach his destination.

At an elevation of four-thousand feet, he could still witness the detonation with a telescope, and the Cascade Mountains would protect him from the aftermath of the blast, as well as the tidal waves.

He’d purchased the small but elegant rambler over twenty years earlier and used it as one of his many safe houses. Barnabas stayed there on more than one occasion to hide out from the authorities when there was heat, but never in his wildest dreams did he suspect that one day he would, from its deck, witness the most devastating destruction ever on US soil.

He bypassed the front entrance of the house and took the stairs to the oversized observation deck. It had been a long time since he’d been there and didn’t know quite what to expect. The deck, however, was still in great shape.

He looked to the southeast and saw the magnificent Glacier Peak mountain, still capped in snow, even in the summer.  Looking down over the railing, he saw the steep slope of the rocky mountain side.  Many years ago, he’d gotten angry with one of his own men and tossed him over the deck railing.  The sharp rocks split the man’s skull in two and caved in his chest. It was a horrible death.

Aside from the climbers and campers, when he stayed there, he lived in relative isolation. Nearby Glacier Peak is the fourth largest mountain in Washington, and considered to be the most active of the five stratovolcanoes of the Cascade Mountain Range, also known as the Cascade Volcanic Arc.

The sky was crystal clear and the air as fresh as any he had breathed. Seattle's skyline was too small to make out with the naked eye given its distance, but he knew it was there, and in the not so distant future he’d be able to see the plumbs of the explosion... just fine. The thought of it made him smile.

He looked down at the lower levels and saw the myriad of colors created by nature’s garden of wildflowers, purple, red and yellow, peeking out of a blanket of lush foliage.  At higher levels, from his vantage point he could see Cloudy Pass, which led to the beautiful Suiattle River.

The volcano’s last known eruption was around the year 1700 and had an estimated Volcanic Explosivity Index of two, compared to the index of five with the Mount St. Helens eruption in 1980.  Still, because of its potential for volatility and its remote location, the area was largely unpopulated, perfect for him.

He checked his watch. It was time to set up.  He remembered his telescope was in the spare bedroom of the house.  It would take a little time to carry it to the deck and set it up.

He entered the home through the glass double-sided sliding doors that led to the kitchen. Barnabas had ordered the house cleaned and stocked with food and supplies. After the detonation, he intended to stay there for a while, how long he didn’t know.  He wanted to witness the aftermath firsthand.

He opened the door to the refrigerator and pulled a beer from the stocked shelves. Taking a large swig of the ice-cold brew, he strolled into the living room and picked up the remote control for the McIntosh audio equipment and switched it on.

Barnabas thumbed through the CD collection and picked out, Elvis Costello’s 1977 album, My Aim Is True, and slid the disc into the player tray, skipping to track eleven, “Waiting on the End of the World.”

The guitar riff of the song began, and the drums kicked in.  Barnabas drained the rest of his beer and snapped his fingers, singing along.

The man from the television crawled into the train

I wonder who he's gonna stick it in this time

Everyone was looking for a little entertainment

So they'll probably pull his hands off when they find out his name

And then they shut down the power all along the line

And we got stuck in the tunnel where no lights shine

They got to touching all the girls who were too scared to call out

Nobody was saying anything at all

We were waiting for the end of the world

Waiting for the end of the world

Waiting for the end of the world

Dear Lord, I sincerely hope you're coming

'cause you really started something

“That’s morbid even for you,” came a deep voice from behind.

Barnabas jumped and whipped around. He took in a breath and held it. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a large Cheyenne standing six feet from him, holding a pistol, pointed at his head.

“Rainhorse!” he gasped.