by Bobby Akart
Running from northwest to southeast across the eastern part of Shelby County was the Wolf River. Ordinarily, it was a muddy river that was approximately a hundred feet wide. It was the type of waterway that commuters and locals traveled across every day without giving it a second thought. Today was different.
After the earthquakes, the river had flooded and consumed the low-lying areas all around it. The water encroached up the embankment holding Humphreys Boulevard, but anything lower in elevation was flooded. Walnut Grove Road extended over the river, providing a direct route to the house. However, the bridge abutments had been compromised, and it was at risk of collapsing. The police had closed the thoroughfare to all traffic, including pedestrians.
The guys had to travel south along Wolf River Boulevard and then ride parallel to the river into Germantown. From there, they could make their way into Cordova. However, it was entering Germantown that threw the guys for a loop, literally.
They’d just travelled across an overpass above a swollen creek feeding the Wolf River when floodwaters covered the road. The standing water was six to eighteen inches deep in areas, but because the bicycle tires didn’t have the same buoyancy effect as a car’s, the guys were able to ride through it.
Jack pointed to the Germantown Welcome Sign and provided Tony a thumbs-up. He explained they were only a few miles from the house and could still be there by dark. Excited, he pedaled faster and sped ahead of Tony. Tony started laughing, and the two grown men suddenly found themselves reverting back to the twelve-year-old versions of themselves, racing through the water, challenging one another to go faster.
Jack was a full bike length ahead of Tony when he ran into a submerged streetlight and its steel pole. The quake had dislodged it from its concrete mount and toppled it across the road. The water had covered it from view.
Jack’s front tire struck the pole hard, popping it and bending it inward. The sudden stop of his momentum sent him flying over the handlebars until he rolled over and over again on the flooded asphalt.
Tony suffered a similar fate although he managed to apply the brakes and slide into the pole before it threw him sideways off the bike. He suffered significant scrapes and bruises. Jack might have broken his wrist and reinjured the leg hurt from the gas explosion.
The guys groaned in pain. Jack pushed himself upright in the floodwaters and gripped his wrist. He rocked back and forth. His face contorted in agony. The amount of pain caused Jack to assume his wrist was broken.
Tony stood and brushed off the bits of asphalt embedded in his clothing and wiped the blood off his elbows with the standing water.
“Man, I think it’s broken,” said Jack as Tony approached him. He tried to hold it up for Tony to see, but the pain forced him to bring it back in front of his stomach. Tony knelt to a crouch and patted Jack on the knee.
“Can I take a look?”
Jack let go of his wrist and raised his right arm in front of Tony.
Tony made eye contact with him. “Jack, this is probably gonna hurt.”
“It can’t be any worse than that bomb blast last night.”
“Except you’re gonna be conscious for this,” said Tony with a smile.
“Good point. Go ahead, Doc.”
Tony, who’d played a year of football at LSU before focusing on school, was familiar with sports injuries of all types. He gently took Jack’s wrist in his hands and ran the tips of his fingers all around it.
“Good news, so far,” he began. “I don’t feel any protruding bones. It could still be a hairline fracture, but it’s definitely not a complete break. You’ve got a little swelling. Let’s check your range of motion. Slowly rotate your wrist. If you can’t do it, I’ll help. Give me a pain level on a scale of 1 to ten, and be honest.”
Jack barely rotated his wrist and groaned. “Ten. Ten!”
Tony rolled his eyes and smiled. “You didn’t even do it,” he said as he took Jack’s wrist in his hands again. “Loosen up and let me do it.”
Jack exhaled and his arm went limp. Tony slowly rotated the wrist, and Jack winced but endured the motion.
“Okay. Okay,” said Jack as he tugged his wrist back to his belly. “That’s enough for a diagnosis.”
Tony stood and walked behind Jack to help him stand to get out of the water. “Was your pain sharp and stabbing. Or was it—?”
Jack cut him off. “It was more of a throbbing, pulsating pain.”
“I think it’s just sprained. There are no bones poking out, and it doesn’t look crooked or anything. Trust me, I had a broken wrist years ago. If it was broken, you’d know it.”
Jack shook his head side to side and began hobbling on his reinjured right leg toward Germantown. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“We all are,” added Tony.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Monday, Christmas Eve
USGS
Golden, Colorado
It was Christmas Eve on the calendar, not that most people cared at the moment. It was day four of the worst natural disaster in the history of modern mankind. From the Gulf of Mexico to Hudson Bay in Canada, earthquakes continued to rumble across the center of North America.
Power outages and lost communications extended outward from the Mississippi River for a hundred miles. Rescue and recovery efforts were stymied by the continuous shaking, causing roads to buckle and chasms to open. Flooding was widespread as the aquifers were emptied onto the surface of the planet, and the Gulf of Mexico poured upstream along the Mississippi, bringing brackish waters to low-lying areas.
Dr. Lansing had resigned herself to the fact there was no end in sight. Every time she thought the seismic activity had calmed, a new hot spot opened up in the seventeen states directly impacted by the series of earthquakes.
The nation had come to a standstill. Within the areas directly affected by the series of earthquakes, survivors tried to hold on until assistance arrived, not realizing help was not coming any time soon. The president’s decision to send in FEMA resources and the National Guard during the predawn hours of Sunday had been met with the second M8+ quake centered near Memphis. Personnel and supplies were lost during the earthquake and the aftermath as the river sent floodwaters rushing into populated areas.
Survivors had no detailed information about what was happening around them, much less within the disaster zones throughout the Central U.S. They waited, sure their government would be able to bring them food and water or provide the displaced a roof over their heads.
The NEIC team continued to work with little sleep and short breaks. They processed the data and disclosed it to Dr. Lansing, who took over the modeling and analysis. She in turn delivered it to the USGS headquarters in Virginia via satellite uplink. All transcontinental communication lines had been cut. The country had been severed in two for all intents and purposes. The ability to cross the Mississippi by vehicle was limited to a single bridge in Minneapolis and the Huey P. Long Bridge in Baton Rouge. Others had either collapsed, been so damaged as to be rendered unsafe, or were flooded by the rising waters.
The nation was in the throes of a heart-wrenching, devastating catastrophe that was too incredible to comprehend.
A gentle tap at the door brought Dr. Lansing back to the present as she tried desperately to push out of her mind the death toll numbers she’d just seen from her FEMA Daily Operations Briefing, the largest of its kind since she’d joined the USGS.
“Mum, you have a phone call.”
“Oliver, now’s not a good time.”
“I think you need to take this one. It’s the president.”
“Come on,” she said with a scowl. “It’s not the time for jokes either.”
“It’s legit, mum. I confirmed it myself.”
Dr. Lansing glanced over at her telephone. A single blinking light flashed on and off rapidly as if it recognized the incredible importance of the caller. She shrugged and lifted the handset while dismissing Oliver with her other hand.
“Hello?”
she greeted the president as if she was unsure Oliver was accurate about it being him.
“Dr. Lansing, I’m calling to apologize for doubting you. I made a terrible mistake, and we lost many lives and valuable resources.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled in an effort to calm her nerves.
“You made the logical decision, Mr. President. I’ll be the first to admit my opinion was very much in the minority.”
“Well, it was the one I asked for, and I should have relied upon it instead of letting others, especially those with my political future on the forefront of their mind, influence my decision. Sometimes the best decisions may seem politically unpopular at the time.”
Dr. Lansing could tell the man was pouring his heart out to her. He just seemed like he needed somebody to talk to. His mood wasn’t that different from her own at the moment. She never imagined the president would just pick up the phone and call someone during a time like this. When she didn’t respond to his last statement, he continued.
“I’ve read your updates and most recent reports. This reads like science fiction to me. Fissures. Aquifer ruptures. Rivers flowing backwards. Liquefaction pulling skyscrapers into quicksand. To be honest, when I took office, a reporter asked me what threat I feared the most. Naturally, nuclear war was at the tip of my tongue as well as any event that might destroy our power grid or other critical infrastructure. Then, jokingly, I said I could probably deal with an alien space invasion better than those other things. I never imagined an earthquake would bring our nation to her knees.”
“Sadly, sir, I knew it was a possibility. These types of geologic events have occurred throughout the millennia. Only now, our population levels are huge. Our buildings and necessary infrastructure to provide us modern conveniences cover our landscape. When these seismic events occur, they don’t discriminate. They don’t target one city over another. They simply happen like they have for millions of years. We’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The president noticeably sighed on the other end of the call. “It’s Christmas Eve, and it should be a time of joy and celebration for all Americans. Instead, it has many, myself included, wondering if the powerful hand of God played a role in all of this. A not-so-friendly reminder that He’s in charge.”
“Sir, I can’t imagine that any god would punish us this way. However, if He’s as benevolent as most believe, this too shall pass.”
The president laughed under his breath; then he caught himself. “Excuse me, Dr. Lansing. I don’t think any of this is funny. I am, however, going to repeat the question I asked you two days ago. Is this over?”
She sighed and paused for a long moment.
“Dr. Lansing,” the president continued, “your silence speaks volumes. Please don’t mince words or equivocate.”
She knew in her heart what the answer was, but she hesitated to punch the distraught president in the gut one more time. In the end, she had to speak her truth.
“Sir, it’s quite likely just the beginning.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Monday, Christmas Eve
Atwood Residence
Cordova, Tennessee
It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve. The Atwood home should’ve been full of love for family and the excitement of Christmas. It was bustling with activity but not like any of them ever imagined. Everyone had a job to do, except Beth’s new baby, whose role was to remain adorable and serve as a reminder that life can spring from the depths of despair. This bundle of love proved Jack and Tony could make their way home to their family.
Emily was tasked with entertaining Anthony and putting the final touches on the Christmas decorations. She found her blunt-tipped scissors, a box of crayons, and a packet of multicolored construction paper. The two of them settled between the Christmas tree and the fire to create some paper ornaments to adorn the Atwood home. With some twine, the two children created a variety of holiday shapes to hang on doorknobs, drawer pulls, and even each other’s ears.
Tate was the busiest of the bunch. He’d awakened early to restock their firewood supply. His first stops were the yards of vacant homes near theirs. After the conversation they’d had concerning the difference between looting for the sake of stealing and foraging for the sake of survival, he was determined his family, especially his new niece, would survive the winter.
In addition to firewood, he gathered several small propane tanks from outdoor grills in the vicinity. There wasn’t anything left in their refrigerator to cook, but the necessity of fresh water led him to thinking how he might be able to purify the lake water behind the house.
He hummed a little ditty as he went about his business. Strain and boil, baby. Strain and boil.
This led him to another water-gathering option. He devised a way to reroute rainwater through the downspouts, across a coffee filter, and into buckets. Just like with the lake water, boiling out the impurities was the last step in the process.
Jill tried to meal plan with what she had left. She set all of the Christmas cakes and cookies into a separate wall cabinet. Regardless of when the guys made it home, whether it was Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, or after the first of the year, there would be some type of holiday yummy to enjoy.
She made notes on their canned goods and breakfast foods to determine the best way to provide some semblance of a balanced diet. She was the consummate organizer, and through her planning, she was able to come up with seven days of meals with sufficient calories to keep them all satisfied.
Jill recognized, however, this would not be enough when Jack and Tony arrived home. When they did, it would be time to consider entering their neighbors’ homes or moving toward the retail stores to assess their options.
Beth took on the role of the family nurse. After her ordeal, she’d become aware of the types of medical supplies the family would need to deal with basic necessities. She worked with Jill to make a wish list of items they should find for their first aid kit. If or when they determined it was necessary to borrow from their neighbors, they’d have a list of what to look for.
Despite the obvious need to prepare themselves for a prolonged power outage and therefore a lack of resources necessary to live day to day, their activities on Christmas Eve gave them a sense of purpose. It also took their worried minds off Jack and Tony, who were still missing. Sitting around the house wringing their hands wasn’t going to help them survive from one day to the next.
The afternoon flew by, and the sun began to set over the lake behind the house. Tate checked the stakes he’d driven into the ground at the edge of the lake to determine whether the water levels had changed. Since that morning, the water had risen three inches. On the surface, that sounded minimal. However, based upon his calculations, a continuous one-inch rise per day meant their basement would be subjected to flooding within a few weeks. If aftershocks hit or a heavy rainfall, then everything would change.
Everyone but Emily and Anthony had gathered on the back deck to watch the sunset. Beth had the baby wrapped up snugly and tucked inside an oversized sweater of Jill’s. Tate emerged from below by climbing up an extension ladder. The stairs leading to the ground had broken loose from the deck and fallen down the hill. Jill was sitting sideways on the rail, mindlessly watching the orange ball drop over the horizon where the homes once were on the other side of the lake.
Suddenly, the French doors leading to the kitchen swung open. Warm air escaped the house and found its way to the group twelve feet away. Emily poked her head through and addressed them in a loud whisper so as not to startle Anthony or the baby.
“Mom, I think somebody’s coming.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Monday, Christmas Eve
Atwood Residence
Cordova, Tennessee
Every family had stories to tell. Clearly, some were more memorable than others. A few were repeated often and told to most anyone, strangers included. Others were buried in closets, behind lock and key, or in some cases, in old trun
ks hidden away in the attic underneath boxes of Christmas decorations. For Jill, Beth, their husbands and children, the events of the last seventy-two hours created stories that would be passed to their grandchildren and then to their grandchildren. Just as the memories of the New Madrid earthquakes from 1811–12 had been told and retold over the centuries.
Jack and Tony hobbled together up the sidewalk to the front door. They’d picked up the pace through the neighborhood as they discovered most of the homes were standing intact. The sight of Jack’s Jeep sitting in front of the house indicated Jill and the kids were probably home.
The Mississippi Highway Patrol car in the driveway caught Tony’s eye next, causing him to practically drag Jack along the street out of concern for his wife. Jack gave him a reason to relax.
“Tony, the state police in Mississippi aren’t going to hand-deliver bad news in a catastrophe like this. There’s too much of that to go around. They’d only deliver something good—your family.”
Tony became emotional, and within seconds, both men were blubbering with excitement. They hobbled in unison like two kids participating in the one-legged race in a schoolyard. Before they reached the steps, the front door swung inward.
Emily burst through first and leapt from porch to sidewalk, skipping the three steps before sticking the landing like an Olympian. She rushed to hug the guys, knocking them back a step. Jack groaned, but the pain meant nothing. He began sobbing as Tate followed his sister outside, and then Jill tentatively walked to the edge of the front stoop, her hand covering her mouth.
There were no dry eyes in the Atwood family. Their hearts raced. Their noses ran. Their smiles threatened to reach their ears. Throughout the joyous reunion, God was thanked often, and the words I love you were repeated too many times to count.
