by Bobby Akart
“Okay, folks. We’ve gathered the data, and I know many of you have been focusing on modeling. In about an hour, I have to join a teleconference with my boss and the White House.”
“Wow!”
“Very cool.”
“Will you get to talk to the president?”
She sighed. “I’m not really sure. Maybe the chief of staff or some staffer? It doesn’t really matter. My boss is pressuring me for an official determination on the magnitude and intensity of this quake. Let’s work through the calculations, shall we?”
She handed her duffle bag to an aide, who hustled it into her office. Dr. Lansing turned to Oliver, her go-to guy when it came to laying the groundwork for discussions such as this one. His organizational skills and clear head would reward him with her job one day, she was sure of it.
“Oliver, we’ve been gathering data that measures magnitude, energy release, and shaking intensity. People outside this room, including those in the White House whom I’ll be speaking with later, often confuse them with one another.”
“Yes, mum,” he began. “The dependencies and relationships between the three concepts can be quite confusing to a layman.”
“Let’s start with intensity,” she instructed the man who’d been given the role of the team leader within the operations center.
“Yes, of course. We’ve been able to access most of the borehole seismometers and strong-motion accelerometers that recorded convulsions in the planet during the earthquake event. Using this data, we’ve assigned a value to each of these identifiers associated with earthquakes.
“The intensity value ranges from not felt at the surface, intensity level I, to extreme, the highest, which is identified as intensity level X or X+. For the benefit of our friends from FEMA, this is the Modified Mercalli Intensity scale.
“Under accepted definitions of intensity as being the measure of human observations, which are unavailable at this moment for obvious reasons, coupled with instrumental data at each station location, we’ve determined locations near Memphis and Keokuk, Iowa have registered as level VIII, severe. Ste. Genevieve, our epicenter that’s sixty miles south of St. Louis, has registered as intensity level IX, or violent. None of the readings support a level X or greater.”
Dr. Lansing worked through his findings and compared them to the types of earthquakes felt in California. A recent M6 near the Hayward fault running parallel to the Pacific Coast outside San Francisco had generated light to moderate damage and was rated an intensity level VI or in some places a VII.
“What about outside the normal NMSZ region?” she asked.
“Up the Ohio River, intensity level VI was the norm, especially in Southern Indiana near the towns of Mauckport and Brandenburg, Kentucky.
“Along the Mississippi, we have similar results. Level V was the norm into the Davenport-Moline area to the north. Level IV intensity is what we’ve assigned to Natchez, Mississippi, although liquefaction has increased that value to Level V in areas near Tunica, which is just south of Memphis.”
She turned to the two FEMA representatives, who’d remained at their stations throughout, except for numerous bathroom breaks to expel the gallons of coffee they’d consumed.
“I assume communications are still down. Is that right?”
The young man responded, “Yes, although our FEMA response centers have been able to communicate on a limited basis within each community using two-way radios.”
“Damage reports are incomplete. Is that fair to say?”
“Yes, sorry.”
“Hey, no apologies. I can only imagine what they’re going through,” said Dr. Lansing. She returned her attention to Oliver.
“Before we talk about energy release, we need to determine this beast’s magnitude. This is the number all the media types like to refer to even though it is only a part of the picture.”
“I agree, mum,” said Oliver. “The seismometer readings have varied throughout the United States. This earthquake was so powerful, like its counterparts in the early nineteenth century, it was felt throughout much of North America.
“For point of reference, since you’ll be speaking with the White House representatives and they’ll ask out of curiosity, we’ve determined the magnitude in Washington, DC, as M3.3. This was in line with the swarm we experienced in the last five days within the NMSZ.
“At the epicenter in Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, we’ve registered the moment magnitude as M8.5. That would put it as the strongest outside Alaska in over a century.”
Dr. Lansing’s shoulders slumped, and she leaned against a cubicle’s partition wall. It gave slightly, causing her to jerk her body upright. A momentary wave of despair came over her. She didn’t need to see FEMA’s damage report. She could visualize it for herself.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Saturday, December 22
Shelby County, Tennessee
Barely a thousand feet north of them, running parallel to the interstate, a fissure had opened up that stretched for miles. The jagged-shaped crevasse changed course abruptly from time to time, creating the impression of a lightning bolt cut into the earth as some kind of otherworldly art project. The enormous tear in the planet was so deep there was no evidence of a bottom.
Starting somewhere northwest of the Bartlett exit closer to Memphis, the earthquake had carved its way through residential neighborhoods and retail shopping centers until it reached the Wolfchase Galleria mall several miles away. The mall had been torn in half, with only JCPenney and Dillard’s standing. Stores like Macy’s and Gap had been swallowed by the earth.
With everyone’s noses pressed against the windows to take in the carnage, the bus driver decelerated to take Exit 16 for anyone living in Cordova and Germantown. The startling maneuver caused several people to lose their balance in the aisleway and shriek. The fear-filled utterance was contagious. The entire bus assumed the worst without looking and began to panic.
Jill fell back into their seat and pulled Emily down with her as passengers irrationally pushed and shoved to position themselves at the exit doors.
“Calm down, everyone! We’re making a stop to let some folks off before we head for the next exit.”
A man at the rear of the bus hollered, “I live in Bartlett! We should’ve stopped back there.”
“Sorry, sir. I am not authorized to use that exit. The area is too unstable.”
The man slumped into his seat and then stood. Then he sat back down. He didn’t seem to know whether he should get off now and walk back, or just keep riding in search of a new place to live far away from the New Madrid Seismic Zone.
The driver pulled the bus to a stop and allowed the locals, including the Atwoods, off the bus. A group of eleven plus their three stood dumbfounded for a moment. Tate saw their concern.
“Hey. Where do you guys live?”
A couple responded Germantown. Another one responded Fisherville, which was ten miles to their east.
A woman was in tears when she responded. She was holding another woman, who appeared to be in shock. She had a cut on her forehead and had a makeshift bandage wrapped around it.
“We live in Stonebridge.”
Tate knew the neighborhood well, as several of his classmates lived there. Stonebridge Golf Club was one of the courses the MUS golf team practiced on. He turned to them and smiled.
“Ma’am, you’re on this side of the interstate. They wouldn’t send the bus through there if, you know, there was a problem.”
“Do you think? I mean, did you see what happened over there?” She pointed through the highway overpass. The south side of the mall stood virtually intact. Then it suddenly ended right through the middle of JCPenney.
Tate walked up to them and gently placed his hands on their shoulders. “I really do think y’all are okay. Either way, you gotta go see.”
They patted him on the hand and thanked him before they left. Jill spontaneously hugged her son.
“You’re a good man, Tate Atwood.”<
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Tate whispered, “Mom, I hope I’m right.”
Emily couldn’t help herself. Despite the traumatic ordeal she’d been through, she couldn’t resist taking a shot at her brother. “I told you, Mom, he has a way with older women.”
Tate broke his hug with his mom and snarled, “That’s it. Mom, I can’t be held accountable for my actions!”
He feigned trying to grab his sister, and she hid behind her mother. For a few seconds, they used Jill as a blockade as they danced back and forth, trying to take a swipe at one another. Jill threw a wet blanket on the silliness.
“Kids, stop. Look over there.”
Several hundred feet down Germantown Parkway, the Dick’s Sporting Goods was being looted. Dozens of people were running through the broken windows and carrying out armfuls of sneakers, athletic gear, and clothing. The scene was the same at the adjacent Kohl’s department store.
Tate grabbed them both by the hands and tugged them toward the road. “Let’s cross here and make our way down Rockcreek Parkway through the subdivisions. We don’t want any part of that.”
“Good idea, Tate,” said Jill as she double-checked the street was clear both ways. The three of them dashed across Germantown Parkway, a street normally packed on a Saturday at lunchtime. Today, the only cars on the move appeared to be those interested in stealing from the local businesses.
They approached Riverwood Farms. The houses were intact for the most part. Brick chimneys on some of the older homes had toppled and crashed across rooftops. Broken windows were the norm rather than the exception. They rounded the lake and began to notice people in their yards. Many of them had propane grills in their driveways. They were cooking their refrigerated or frozen foods.
Other homes appeared abandoned. Garage doors were open and emptied. Others were loading up their vehicles and topping off their gas tanks with cans of fuel used for their lawn equipment.
The water levels of the eleven-hundred-acre lake in the middle of the development had dropped at least fifteen feet. The pole supports of the small boat docks used for paddleboats and Jet Skis were well above the waterline. Jill commented that in her entire lifetime spent in this neighborhood, she’d never seen the water level that low. Not even close.
When they turned onto River Rise Drive, first Emily, followed by Tate, began to run down the middle of the street. They waved to familiar neighbors but didn’t bother to stop.
“Hey, wait up!” shouted Jill, who hadn’t run this far in years. She vowed to get into shape and then began to consider where they would get their food. She tried to block the future out of her mind. She immediately began to think of Jack and wondered if he’d somehow made it home. She picked up the pace, and soon she was stretching her long legs to catch up with Emily. Tate was long gone.
The three of them turned down the cul-de-sac. “Mom! The gazebo is still here!”
The white gazebo in the grassy center island of the cul-de-sac was one of Emily’s favorite play spots. This had been her place to hang out throughout her childhood in the only home she’d ever known.
It had been Jill’s favorite spot to hide from an abusive mother and a father who consumed drugs, not recreationally, but as if it were a sports competition. Her memories of the gazebo had not always been fond ones, but Emily’s love for the spot had helped her to erase what her childhood was like.
She rounded the cul-de-sac, and their home came into view. Tate and Emily stood in front of the mailbox, staring at their two-story all-brick home that had been in the family for decades. Jack’s vintage Jeep sat in the driveway, unharmed. However, there was no sign of Beth’s car. Throughout the entire ordeal, Jill assumed the earthquake had been localized, or at worst, stretched up toward New Madrid. She presumed Beth would’ve heard about it on the news and returned to Baton Rouge. With all forms of communication out of service, she had no way of knowing for sure, so she forced herself not to worry.
She studied the house and the yard. The windows were all intact. No trees had toppled. And other than the lake dropping out of sight over the slope of the backyard, nothing had changed at the Atwood home.
“Do you think Dad’s here?” asked Tate.
Emily reached over and squeezed his hand. “If he’s not, we’ll get everything ready for him. I know he’ll be home for Christmas. He promised.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Saturday, December 22
Atwood Residence
Cordova, Tennessee
Reality hit the three of them as they realized Jill had left her handbag, with her wallet and credit cards, in the truck. Tate had lost his mom’s cell phone in the process of climbing out of the Halloran. His own phone had disappeared somewhere between the balcony falling over the top of him and dodging the Cadillac that had come crashing through the ceiling. Like so many families, they didn’t have a telephone landline. Communications were conducted by cell phone, Zoom video calls, or social media messaging services via the internet. They’d have no way to get in touch with Jack and Tony, or Beth.
As expected, the power was shut off. They had no electricity, running water, or heat other than their wood-burning fireplace in the family room. Despite the sunny day, their home was shaded by large oak trees that made it cold inside.
Tate’s first job was to get a fire going and to relocate their stack of firewood into the garage to keep it dry. Emily was tasked with picking up all the family heirlooms, photo frames, and other tchotchkes that had fallen or broken during the quake. Jill set about cooking all the perishable foods on their propane grill.
By her estimation, the power had been out sixteen hours. Their side-by-side refrigerator-freezer in the kitchen had kept the food cold enough to prevent spoilage. However, with each passing hour, the temperature would rise, putting the perishables at risk of spoiling. She started with the kitchen refrigerator and saved the deep freeze in the garage for later.
The night before, she’d purchased deli meats and cheeses for everyone to snack on as they arrived at the house. She spread it out on the counter and encouraged the kids to grab what they wanted, as that would be their food for the day. Then, like her neighbors, Jill fired up the propane gas grill on their back deck. She cooked the chicken and burger meat from the refrigerator and saved it in Tupperware containers.
“Mom, we only lost one ornament off the Shiny Brite tree,” announced Emily as she carefully brought the remains of the broken glass ornament into the kitchen for her mother to see. “A lot fell off, but they rolled around in the presents and fake snow.”
Jill led her daughter to the garbage can. “Just one ornament isn’t too bad. Heck, I’ve broken more than that over the years by accident.” She turned her head as Tate emerged from the garage.
“Hey, Mom. It’s gonna get cold at night. Should we bring our mattresses into the family room? We can move the sofa back against the wall, and the other chairs can be pushed into the living room. That way we can sleep on the floor by the fire.”
“Great idea,” said Jill.
“A slumber party,” Emily added. “But what about Aunt Beth and Uncle Tony?”
“We’ll let them have our bedroom,” Jill replied. “Before it’s over, the family room may be covered with mattresses for us and Anthony.”
Jill sighed and turned away from the kids. She stared through the kitchen window at the lake, which seemed to have lost more water. She presumed the lake had originally been created by a sinkhole or something, but she never imagined it going dry. Her thoughts turned to Jack, Beth and Tony.
She was still firmly convinced that the earthquake hadn’t affected Louisiana and Mississippi, at least not the southern part. Surely, she thought, Beth turned around and went home. As for the guys, St. Louis was a long way from here. This earthquake was bad, but could it have reached almost three hundred miles?
Then her mind switched to the visual of the chasm created in the ground only a few miles away. It looked like a canyon had suddenly appeared and swallowed everything around it. S
he furrowed her brow as she contemplated whether this canyon could grow. What if it started to rain and the ground washed away? Could it reach their home? Where would they go?
Tate interrupted her thoughts. “Mom? Do you know where the keys to the Jeep are? I think I’ll bring it in the garage after I gas it up from the mower cans.”
“You were reading my mind,” said Jill as she turned around and smiled at her son. “They’re in the top right desk drawer in Dad’s study. But, Tate, park it in front of the house by the sidewalk away from the trees. You know, just in case we have to, um, go.”
Tate nodded and smiled. He located the keys and went about his business. Jill and Emily worked together to strip the bedding and push the furniture around to make room for the mattresses. Five or six minutes later, Tate appeared in the front door and got his mother’s attention. He had a serious look on his face, so she suspected something was wrong.
“Emily, head upstairs to the closet and bring down all the extra pillows we have. Doesn’t matter which ones. I’ll be right back.”
Emily nodded and took off up the stairs.
Jill approached Tate. “Son, what is it?”
“Mom, um, I found a Nashville radio station that’s broadcasting.”
“Good! What did they say?”
Tate shook his head from side to side and grimaced. “It’s not good. You need to come listen.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Saturday, December 22
USGS
Golden, Colorado
Dr. Lansing gave instructions to her team not to disturb her unless, heaven forbid, a second earthquake struck the New Madrid Seismic Zone. She was prepared for the teleconference with her boss, who’d traveled from Reston, Virginia, to the White House Situation Room to meet with the president’s chief of staff and other members of his emergency response team.
