Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) by Dale B. Mattheis

surfer.
    Tucking
into a ball with arms covering his head, Jeff desperately prayed that the quake
would end. It did not.
    The
Pacific Northwest was finally experiencing the big quake that had been predicted
for years. The Cascade Mountains rolled and pitched like a sea tormented by
hurricane winds with Jeff the merest bit of flotsam on its surface. Mountains
that would stand forever fell like mounds of gravel only to be pitched back
into the sky rumbling and roaring protest. Farther north, one slowly collapsed
into the reservoir behind Ross Dam.
    A
tidal wave raced down the reservoir and thundered into the dam, thousands of
tons of water spewing over the top. The dam had a large safety factor built
into it and held, but was twisted and heaved by the earthquake like it was made
of soft plastic instead of concrete and steel. Sirens screamed their warning
and engineers raced to open spillways. They never made it.
    With
a grinding rumble, the central section split open. In what seemed slow motion,
huge concrete slabs broke free to tumble into the river below. A wall of deep
green burst through the damn and arced far out over the river before crashing
down. Millions of cubic feet of water surged toward the break as another tidal
wave headed west toward drowsing farmland and cities, filling the Skagit and
Sauk Rivers with a force that nothing known to man could resist.
    And
Mount Rainier shuddered.
    Over
fourteen thousand feet tall and it shuddered like a leaf, opening wide clefts
that delved deep. Subterranean fires under high pressure gained nearly
instantaneous release. With a gigantic explosion heard as far away as Missoula,
the top of the mountain blew off. Uncountable metric tons of snow melted in an
instant under the lash of the pyroclastic flow that bellowed down the west
flank of the mountain at speeds approaching two hundred miles an hour.
    The
superheated blast of gas, plasma and ash began to dissipate after thirty miles,
but the damage was done. A boiling cauldron of mud twenty miles wide raced for
Tacoma, filling and scouring every ravine. Then, in a chain reaction, Mt.
Baker, St. Helens and Adams spewed fiery death into the sky.
    Far
up in the mountains, Jeff was aware only that he was going to die. Barely conscious,
he was spit out by the avalanche and slammed into a tree. A tremendous blow
hammered his mind and he felt himself dissolve into nothing.
     
     

Chapter Four
Belief Dies Hard
    A
mound of snow shifted, changing into the shape of a man. Struggling to a sitting
position, Jeff grabbed his head. The pain was so bad he thought his head would
split open. Heavy snowfall blasted by in horizontal sheets turning his world
into a white cocoon. Feeling disoriented and shivering uncontrollably, he
crawled to the rim of the shallow depression he was lying in. Bracing himself
against the wind, Jeff caught brief glimpses of barren snow and rock.
    “What
happened?” Jeff gazed around in complete bewilderment. “Where did all the snow
come from? There wasn’t nearly this much on the ground. Where’s the forest?”
Memories of a head-over-heels tumble and roaring earth came to mind in a
terrifying burst. “Holy shit. The earthquake. I’m alive!” His teeth were
chattering and he unfastened the backpack harness. “Surviving the earthquake
doesn’t matter a damn if I freeze to death.”
    Untying
one of the snowshoes, he assembled it with shaking hands. Using it as a shovel,
he hollowed out a snow cave. Crawling inside, Jeff dragged the pack after him
and located the ground cloth. He rolled the sleeping bag out on top and climbed
in, clothes and all. Jeff vaguely wondered if he would survive the storm. Screw
it, he thought, at least I’m warm.
    He
awakened in darkness trying to get his breath. Groping about, Jeff discovered
that the mouth of the scooped-out cave had drifted over. Punching an opening,
he maneuvered the pack so he could see what was left on the outside.
    “Where’s
my sword? Oh, please, not