Professor Christopher Laubin, the fifth member of the council, hurries down the aisle.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ The Chair of the Geology Department nods to the other members of the committee, situates himself in one of the gold-cushioned high-backed chairs, then turns his attention to Lauren. ‘Are you ready to proceed, Ms. Beckmeyer?’

Been ready, you old … ‘Yes, sir.’

She inserts a disk, activating the first series of images—a sequence of moving photos of the Mount St. Helens eruption.

‘On May 18, 1980, at 8:32 A.M., a magnitude 5.1 earthquake shook Mount St. Helens. Within fifteen to twenty seconds, the volcano’s bulge and summit slid away in a huge landslide. This landslide depressurized the volcano’s magma system, triggering powerful explosions that ripped through the sliding debris. Rocks, volcanic gas, ash, and steam were blasted upward at speeds exceeding 300 miles per hour. The blast cloud traveled 17 miles north, its lateral blast producing a column of ash and gas that rose more than 15 miles into the atmosphere in less than fifteen minutes. Over the course of the day, prevailing winds blew 520 million tons of ash eastward across the United States and caused complete darkness in Spokane, Washington, 250 miles from the site.’

A slide of the devastation appears.

‘Volcanic eruptions are not unusual. Even fifty years ago, scientists were able to predict Mount St. Helens eruption in plenty of time to warn the population.’ She pauses to make eye contact with the committee. ‘Now imagine a volcano whose eruption is not predictable, packing ten thousand times the force of Mount St. Helens. Imagine a blast spewing enough ash to cover half the United States in a few frightening minutes. In short, imagine an explosion comparable to an asteroid strike, one that could plunge Earth into millions of years of unending winter.’

The image changes, the committee now looking at a satellite view of a crater, its surface boiling azure greens and blues.

‘The nightmare I’ve just described is called a super volcano. Unlike a volcano, it possesses no cone. Essentially, it exists as a massive subterranean magma pocket, or caldera. A caldera is a depression, formed by the collapse of the ground following a volcanic explosion of a large body of stored magma. What you’re looking at is a thermal photograph of Yellowstone National Park’s youngest of three calderas. This monster lurks five miles below the surface. It is 112 miles across and 48 miles wide, encompassing nearly the entire park.’

Lauren glances up, pleased to see shocked expressions on four of the committee members. They should be shocked, we’re only talking the end of civilization …

Lauren changes the photo to an overhead shot of an island situated in a large crater lake.