University of Memphis, he’d make arrangements to send someone to Harvey’s farm with a camera. He might even go himself and take another look around. If he did, he’d make sure he brought along a good set of topo maps to check the ground elevations.
After half an hour of white-knuckled driving, Atkins passed a sign for the turnoff to Reelfoot Lake. He was passing right through the center of the New Madrid Seismic Zone.
It was a constant struggle to keep the Jimmy on the road. Even the lightest tap on the brakes sent the back end sliding sideways. He crept up to a rural intersection and pulled to a stop. A Tennessee Highway Patrol car, blue lights flashing, was blocking the highway.
The trooper rolled down the window and waved to Atkins.
“Road’s closed ahead,” he said. “Got a bridge that’s solid ice. Had a bad accident up there couple hours ago. A man’s dead.”
Atkins explained that he was with the U.S. Geological Survey and was in a hurry to get to Memphis.
“This is important,” he said. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Sorry, no can do,” the trooper said. He was polite but firm.
There was a truck stop and diner across the road, a white prefab building with a red awning over the door and three sets of gas pumps. A few cars and pickups were parked on the gravel lot.
“Why don’t you get something to eat,” the trooper said. “Irma does a damn good breakfast. We ought to have the road open in an hour or so.”
Atkins nodded and pulled onto the lot. A few years back, he probably would have argued with the cop. His temper had been an issue with Marci, his last steady girlfriend. They’d had an on- off relationship for nearly two years. A long time for him, the longest since he’d lost Sara. He’d come close to falling in love with Marci. Maybe he even had and hadn’t realized it until it was too late. She was a lawyer. Petite, long brown hair, a lovely woman. They’d met on the racquetball courts at the YMCA in Reston. She’d finally walked out on him, and he didn’t blame her. She was tired of his temper tantrums and sulking moodiness, but mainly tired of him not being there. He’d gone to Ankorah after an earthquake. When he got back to their apartment three weeks later, she was gone. She’d taken only her clothes.
“I recommend her apple pie,” the trooper called out.
Atkins smiled tightly and waved. As he got out of his car, he looked across the road. An old church with faded white paint and a tall, graceful steeple was set back from the intersection. A small home, also made of white clapboard, stood next to it. The parsonage. A cemetery wrapped around the church, a fenced yard with hundreds of gray, weather-beaten headstones that tilted at odd angles.
Atkins heard a dog barking. The animal, a black Lab, was standing on the front porch of the parsonage, head back and howling. As Atkins watched, the big dog began pulling at its chain. Straining to break free, it jerked and tugged so hard that it fell over. The dog got up and lunged again, the chain holding it back. The animal’s piercing bark was like nothing Atkins had ever heard. It looked frantic to free itself.
The front door opened. An elderly man wearing a blue sweater and holding a newspaper stepped onto the porch to see what was wrong. The dog instantly turned and hurled itself at him, knocking him down. The man fell hard as the dog kept trying to break its chain.
Atkins ran to help. So did the trooper. A woman opened the door and had to slam it shut when the dog charged her. The old man managed to get up on his knees, grab the chain, and pull the Lab over on its side. He unfastened the lead from the collar and the dog was off the porch like a shot. It was acting crazy. There was no other way to describe it.
Dumbfounded, Atkins watched the animal race across the open field behind the church when the ground began to shake. A mild jolt, quickly followed by a stronger one. Instinctively, Atkins began counting: one, two, three. Four seconds before the shear waves arrived. The earthquake’s epicenter had to be close. It was a good shake, one of the strongest he’d felt in years.
The ground rocked for over ten seconds. At least a magnitude 7, maybe more, he figured.
Atkins looked out at the field behind the church and couldn’t believe his eyes. The undulating ground was moving from left to right in an S wave. It was headed in his direction. Transfixed, he watched it roll toward him— ground, trees, church, the parsonage riding up and down on its crest as it swept by. The wave knocked him off his feet. He’d been on solid earth one moment, in the air the next.
The trooper had fallen to his knees. He pointed across the road to the church.
“There goes the steeple!” he shouted.
Toppling over, the gilt cross going first, the steeple snapped off at the place where it was attached to the roof. Atkins watched it fall. Then the ground began to heave again. There was a deep rumbling, far off, but building louder. Then the earth erupted in geysers of sand and water. Dozens of blowholes spouting muck twenty feet into the air.
Atkins knew immediately what was happening. Liquefaction. The ground had suddenly liquefied or turned to quicksand. He’d never actually seen it happen before, but this was a textbook example, taking place right before his eyes. A stunning display. The force of the earthquake had blasted up a mixture of foul-smelling water, sand, lignite or “brown coal,” and other debris from deep in the ground. As he watched, amazed, four or five separate geysers ripped the cemetery open. Clods of muddy earth, bits of wood and peat were blown into the air. Caskets were pushed up to the surface. Entire coffins lay exposed. Some with only the tops or sides or a smashed end visible, poking up through the ground. A few lids had sprung open. Bodies had pitched out. Skeletons. It was horrific.
The trooper shouted, “Do you hear that?”
The ground thirty feet from Atkins opened with a tearing sound and just as quickly slammed shut again. It cracked and groaned like an ice floe breaking up. The grinding noise was loud, unnerving. The fissure was four or five feet across and could have been several hundred yards long.
There was another good shake, less intense than the first. This one shattered the diner’s hand-painted plate-glass window. Customers began pouring out of the place.
Atkins ran to help the old man, who was still lying on the front porch of the parsonage. The house had been pushed off its stone foundation and was listing on its side. The crevasse left a jagged crack in the ground that crossed the road at a right angle, splitting the pavement in a wide gash. The offset was a good two feet.
Atkins got the man under one arm, while the trooper took the other. The man’s wife had come out to help. Both of them were dazed with fear. The woman said he was a Baptist minister. They both kept staring at the cemetery, eyes clouded, uncomprehending. The ground was littered with fragments of broken caskets, pooled muddy water, and bones.
It took nearly an hour of trying before Atkins finally managed to get through to Walt Jacobs’ office at the University of Memphis. He made the call from the diner.
Jacobs, who’d arrived back in Memphis late the night before, gave him the news. The earthquake was a magnitude 7.1, the biggest quake on the New Madrid Fault in 104 years. The epicenter was about thirty miles northeast of Reelfoot Lake, but the seismic energy had radiated due south. Memphis had taken a solid hit.
“We’ve got some damage here,” Jacobs said, struggling to regulate his voice. “The reports are just starting to come in. Sounds a lot like Northridge. We’re going to have some casualties.”
KENTUCKY LAKE
JANUARY 10
6:22 A.M.
MOST MORNINGS STARTED EARLY FOR LAUREN Mitchell, well before six, and this one was no exception. Even though they’d had an ice storm the night before, the white bass were running in the main channel and there were some die-hard fishermen who put on insulated snowmobile suits and went out after them in bass boats. It didn’t matter how cold or wet it was. Someone was always out on the water.
Lauren was getting ready to check the fingerlings in the minnow tank when the first sharp jolt knocked her to the floor. Her feet came right out from under her and she went down hard, barely getting her hands up in time to break the fall.
Another hard shake was followed closely by two more, each more powerful than the other. The dock lurched
