The Journal: Cracked Earth

by Deborah D. Moore

  It was 5:15 P.M. Central time, right in the heart of rush hour, when the second quake hit. It measured 8.2 on the Richter scale.

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: November 8

  The first quake was downgraded to a 7.6 with the epicenter slightly north of Memphis. It lasted four minutes. All along the Mississippi River bridges have collapsed or are severely damaged. Aerial views show a crack in the Earth.

  It’s mind boggling, but at least the levees are holding. The second quake remains at an 8.2 and centered in what was Hannibal, Missouri. Hannibal is gone, leveled. The tectonic plate was shoved out of place during the seven minutes of shaking, and now the Mississippi at this juncture is spilling back into itself, forming a new lake. The death toll is staggering, thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, with thousands more missing and even more thousands injured.

  There is no way to get an actual count right now because the devastation is too great. There are fires and gas explosions everywhere, hampering any rescue efforts, which are minimal. Roads are filled with debris from buildings and crushed cars. Asphalt and concrete have buckled. Emergency vehicles can’t get anywhere. Gas stations are burning out of control from ruptured fuel tanks and natural gas lines have ignited everywhere. FEMA is overwhelmed. They were completely tied up on the East Coast with the hurricane victims, and now this. They can’t even do anything since there has been no call from either governor requesting help.

  Missing Missouri Governor Sarah Astor was home with her family in Hannibal. Tennessee Governor Johnny Perkins is also missing. Both governments are in chaos. All shipping traffic on the Mississippi has been halted. Some of the barges were shoved into the river banks, while others that were not so lucky, were sunk. With virtually all the bridges compromised in one way or another, the vehicle traffic is non-existent. It’s the same way for any east-west trains. The only route is through northern Minnesota and it’s blocked by the first blizzard of the season.

  Reports just came in that there were two 4.5 tremors in Utah within the last twelve hours, and a 6.7 in Yellowstone. They had to evacuate and close the park because the ground is so hot that it was melting the soles on shoes. Another 6.3 Richter scale earthquake occurred off the coast of British Columbia.

  What is happening???

  * * *

  That’s it, no more runs to town.

  I dressed in my usual slacks, long sleeved shirt and vest. The vest is important to hide my shoulder holster. Ever since the first quake, I’ve been wearing it even around the house.

  County Road 695 into town was absent any traffic, though that’s not unusual. I wanted to make this a fast trip so light traffic was a bonus. I pulled into the mall parking lot. My goal was to get to the hardware store in the strip-mall section next to the grocery store. I grabbed one of the cloth shopping bags from the back seat and headed in. The selection of batteries was poor, others had obviously thought about them too. Damn! I could kick myself for forgetting I needed batteries! I managed to obtain three packs of D cell and two of C. They were not enough since they were only double packs.

  When I neared the check out, I saw the shotgun leaning behind the counter. The young man, maybe thirty years old, saw me glance at it.

  “Getting that bad already?” I asked, putting the batteries on the counter.

  “Yes,” he replied tensely. “It’s cash only and I don’t make change.” That surprised me. I handed him enough bills and left.

  Next door at Mack’s, I got a bonus. Who looks for batteries in the shampoo aisle? I found four more packs of D, C, AA and AAA. Since there were lots of nine volt, I took two, in spite of the fact that, offhand, I can’t think of anything I have that uses nine volt. Apparently nobody else does either.

  Out of curiosity, I wandered through the store a bit. It’s only been three days, but the beer, wine and liquor section was stripped clean. The rest of the shelves were near bare. In the cereal aisle two women were arguing over a canister of oatmeal. I watched in silence as they struggled over the box. The box inevitably broke, spilling its confetti-like contents, joining the Fruit Loops and Cocoa Puffs already littering the floor. One woman glared at the other and stomped off, cereal audibly crunching underfoot while the other stood there staring at the floor and cried. I slipped away before either knew that I had seen their petty quarrel. In the produce section, it was worse. Things were mixed in together, rotten or dumped on the floor that was already sticky with crushed tomatoes and mashed bananas. The sickly sweet stench of unidentifiable fermenting fruit was overwhelming. I did not want to be there.

  I found Marie’s lane and set the batteries from the basket on the conveyor, leaving my cloth bag in the seat of the cart. Her eyes pooled with tears and she grabbed my hand.

  “Thank you. Thank you for the warning. I did what you said,” she choked up while ringing up my purchase. I smiled because I didn’t know how to answer. She looked for a bag and I said I’d put the batteries in my bag with my stuff from next door. I pushed the cart out beyond her station to get the batteries off the end, and she came from behind the register and gave me a hug. It felt somewhat awkward because Marie is six feet tall and I’m only five-foot-five.

  “You take care of yourself, Marie, and if your gut says don’t come in to work, then don’t. It’s going to get even worse. You know that don’t you?” I whispered. She nodded and I grabbed my now heavy sack and left.

  * * *

  I got to my car and hit the release button on the key fob to open the hatch. My eyes were darting around the lot, trying to stay aware of my surroundings. I noticed two young men walking down the parking lane. They both appeared to be in their early twenties and were sloppy looking with long greasy hair and torn jeans. One carried a baseball bat while the other had what looked to be a metal plumbing pipe and they were looking at me.

  Oh, crap.

  I set my bag in the car and turned my body slightly, slamming the hatch shut with my right hand while the left hand hit the lock on the fob, before dropping the keys into my left pocket. My right hand then slid inside my vest and released the strap on the Kel-Tec that was snug in its shoulder holster. They were now seven cars away.

  “That’s far enough!” I yelled, trying to sound cold and confident, not sure if I had succeeded. The sight of the gun pointed in their direction stopped them. I held the standard two-handed position until they backed away. My concentration was on the two punks in front of me and I didn’t hear the cart approach from behind.

  “Ma’am,” a nervous voice said and I turned quickly. Two cars over, with an empty slot between us, was a young man. I pointed the gun up when I saw the child in the cart. “Please, will you stay until I get my son in the car seat? I didn’t think it would be this bad,” he pleaded. The young father looked miserable.

  “Be quick!” I commanded and turned back to the punks who had stopped retreating. They apparently realized this new person was not a threat to me, but to them, and they turned to leave. The father put the child in the car, strapped him in, and loaded the few groceries that he had found. He was about to enter his vehicle when I yelled, “Hey, put your cart in the corral! If we want civilization to continue, we must remain civilized.”

  He hurriedly pushed his now empty cart into the metal corral. “Thank you, lady. You’re absolutely right about staying civilized.”

  I unlocked my car, slid in, re-locked the doors and set the 9mm down on the seat next to me. Looking at the handgun, I realized that I had better put it back into its holster. Right after I strapped the Kel-Tec back into the holster, my hands shook nervously from the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Although I’ve had my Concealed Pistol License for eight years, I have never pulled my gun before.

  I just wanted to go home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  From what I saw yesterday, I am even more concerned with my friends on Eagle Beach. They're not from here and have no family close by. I am familiar with the schedule the “house parents” keep. I knew Steve cooked breakfast and left
for home around 8:30 A.M. By 8:20 A.M. I was parked at the end of the road, waiting to flag him down. He was the one in charge and I needed to talk with him.

  When I saw his red pickup, I got out of my car. He stopped, looking perplexed. “What’s up, Allexa, car trouble?” he asked.

  “No, Steve, it’s fine. Can we talk for a couple of minutes?” Not waiting for his answer, I opened the truck door and climbed in. “I didn’t want to do this in front of the guys. No sense in worrying them,” I said. “Supply lines are already shutting down, I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s not my business what you’re stocked up on at the house, though I’m going to suggest a few things. First, if you can, get to the bulk food store and get as many non-perishables that you can: pasta, rice and canned goods—anything that doesn’t need refrigeration.”

  “I’ve been working on a list, and I see I’ve got too much that won’t keep,” Steve said, looking down the road, already lost in thought.

  “That place has a whole house generator, right?”

  “Automatic turn on when the power goes out for more than five minutes, propane fueled. You’re going to tell me to get the tank topped off, right?”

  “Yep.” I smiled. “I have a feeling that the power might not last much longer, Steve. That gennie will keep the freezers going. You should use that food first, and you need power to run the blower for that outside woodstove. Without it, it’s going to get mighty cold in that house, especially facing Lake Superior like it does.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he confessed. “How do you know all this, Allexa? And what’s your interest?”

  “Well, Steve, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the term, ‘prepper’, but that’s what I am. I have spent years trying to be prepared to survive just about anything. I’ve had numerous conversations with others, who are a lot smarter than me about what we depend on and what could go wrong with it. We’ve discussed what we need and what would happen if we don’t have it. I suppose that’s why the township has appointed me the emergency manager and kept me through three administrations. I’m real good at thinking about the worst possible things that can happen and then trying to see our way past them.” I laughed. “What’s my interest? None, except that you’ve got a dozen guys back there that are depending on you, and it’s part of my job to help you do that. Besides, I really like those guys. Oh, and Steve? Don’t forget to stock up on some things for your own family!”

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: November 10

  It’s been four days since the first earthquake hit down south. So much has happened it feels like much longer. Yesterday I had left a message for the new township supervisor, Anna, but she hasn’t called me back yet. I’ll have to track her down. We need to talk about the safety of the town. Though I rarely have the occasion to use all my knowledge and training as the town’s emergency manager, I do take the position seriously. I feel a strong urge, though, to get my own house in order before I can help others.

  * * *

  My cold weather lunch has normally been a pint of homemade soup mixed with a pint of a canned vegetable. When I was grabbing the two jars off the back pantry, it occurred to me that I’m going to have to do some rationing myself! The majority of my pantry food is supposed to get me through the winter. Now it might have to last a lot longer, unless I want to go vegetarian. Yuck. I put one jar back.

  I still wasn’t over my encounter from yesterday, and needed to stay busy. I needed to do normal stuff, so I baked. First I baked a loaf of whole wheat bread, then a focaccia. I don’t know why I did the focaccia since I don’t normally eat sweets. Still, it smells heavenly in here. I used apples, raisins, lots of cinnamon and walnuts.

  Knowing that power could go off at any time, I’m trying to stay ahead doing chores, even to the point of doing small loads of laundry. Today I washed only the clothes that I wore yesterday.

  Then I gathered the empty water jugs for a trip to the spring. Only two were completely empty, and the third was half full. I poured the water into a couple of buckets, trying to collect as much water from the spring as possible. It’s only a thirty minute jaunt round trip, though it might be a long time before I can go back. I was nervous the whole time. Once I got there, and remembered how isolated it was, I knew that it was a stupid thing to do.

  The roads were eerily free of traffic, but now I have twenty gallons of fresh spring water to drink. I’ll set up my water filtration system if need be, however, not until I can’t get the artesian water. I know I shouldn’t be making those kinds of trips alone anymore. Still, it sure is hard. I’ve been alone and independent for so long that it’s a tough habit to break! I’ll have to work on that.

  The news tonight said a total of eleven states had been affected by the quake: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Louisiana and Mississippi. Damage was concentrated along the Mississippi River and the New Madrid fault line and branched out from there. There is still no word on a total number of dead. They may never know.

  There was a power outage here tonight that lasted a half hour. Is this just the beginning?

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: November 11

  Last night I actually slept with the window open! It was something normal in a not-so normal world. When I went to bed, it was forty-five degrees, an acceptable temperature to me for having the window open. This morning it’s fifty-eight degrees and windy, with the forecast of thunderstorms. Tomorrow the temperature is supposed to plummet to thirty degrees and we’re expecting snow. I guess when the power and the internet goes, we will all know the weather the old fashioned way: step outside and look. Right now I can see sunshine, a welcome sight, yet over the Big Lake, there are blue-black clouds forming.

  It’s Sunday and I’m not a churchgoer. At the same time, it has occurred to me that the church might be the place to take the pulse of the community. What a wakeup call.

  * * *

  I parked myself in the back pew of the Methodist Church. Carolyn, the minister, is a friend of mine. The buzz, of course, was the earthquakes, and discussion of them being a punishment from God. The rest of the talk was the concern for limited supplies that was already being felt. To give her credit, Carolyn emphasized the need for the community to band together to take care of each other whenever possible. Some of the people were “hand-wringers”, and some were downright hostile. It was surprising to me to see which side some were on.

  It didn’t surprise me that Lenny Bagget was hostile; it did surprise me to even see him in church. Adam Grant has always been a gruff, take-charge kind of guy, but he and his wife Carla were on the side of the handwringers. Many were concerned about how they were going to eat, which gave me an idea. I left a note in the collection plate for Carolyn to contact me, and I slipped out the back unnoticed.

  Back home for lunch, I found I really missed the combination of a meat soup with veggies, so I came up with an acceptable compromise. For lunch, I poured one jar of turkey soup into the pan and one jar of canned green beans, mixed them up, and then ladled half of it back into one of the empty pints for soup tomorrow. Now I don’t feel so denied. I’ve got all this food that I grew and canned for myself that I’m finding it very difficult to not eat what I want to. It’s frustrating but I know it’s necessary. Tonight is linguini with clam sauce and mussels from the freezer, all from storage. I have to keep eating from the freezer while the power is still on. That’s my goal— at least one meal a day from the freezer. It would be disastrous to lose all that frozen food when the power grid goes down.

  The temperature got up to sixty-four degrees and then the rain started, lowering the temps. By tomorrow it’s supposed to drop thirty degrees! I brought in more wood.

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: November 12

  It’s been a week since the first quake. Now that reality has hit, I think I had better make a stronger effort to check in with the township supervisor. After all, I am the township emergency manager. I’m wond
ering if that’s such a good position to have right now. During a disaster it’s a lot of responsibility and pressure. I hope I’m up to it. The times I’ve had to put that hat on are few and far between and my training didn’t cover national disasters, only localized events.

  The very first thing I need to do is call Liz since she’s the one I ultimately report to. I’m hoping she will give me some clue what I need to be doing. I haven’t been trained for anything on this scale.

  It was a short conversation. She is overwhelmed herself and had little time to spare for me.

  * * *

  “I’ve known you for eight years, Allexa, and you’re one of the few local EM’s that take their position seriously. Follow protocol and do what you think best for your town, you know it better than I do. I’ve got my hands full here,” Liz said matter-of-factly during our brief conversation. I could hear her shuffling papers in the background.

  “Can we get any food supplies? And what about law enforcement?”

  “I know that you have several retired officers up there. Do you think they will be willing to pitch in? I can send the sheriff up in a few days to deputize them and anyone else that you think would be good to have,” she replied, deftly skirting the first half of my question.