blow erupted, throwing up a stream of water, silt, and cottony-white sand. One bubbling hole after another opened up in the field. One of them was about a hundred feet wide.
“You better push it!” Atkins shouted to the driver. “We’ve got to get across before the whole field liquefies.” If that happened, it would be like trying to cross a lake of quicksand. They’d never make it.
“John, over there!” Elizabeth said, pointing to steam billowing from a narrow fissure that had split the ground open. A couple feet wide, the tear ran up the side of the facing hill like a scar.
“Did the bomb explode?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s not time yet.”
Elizabeth, like Atkins, knew these were all preshocks leading to a major earthquake. Strain energy was rapidly building toward a rupture. When this one hit, the tectonic explosion was going to be immense.
The convoy was climbing the hill, the studded, oversize tires churning up the soft ground. Elizabeth and Atkins were snapped back in their seats as the Humvee rolled over a fallen tree.
They were almost to the crest.
Another fifty yards, and they’d be out of the danger zone.
BOOKER gripped the blaster firmly in both hands. In the last strong shock, the roof had collapsed at the far end of the tunnel.
The detonator cord still ran free.
He sat against the wall, trying to steady himself and think clearly.
Neutron continued to hold up the weakened section of roof in the middle of the tunnel, but it was starting to sag and the cracks were spreading. It wouldn’t be long before it caved in on them.
It was almost time, a matter of a few seconds.
Booker put his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a breath. Images of his wife and daughters, of places they’d gone, tracked before him.
His two daughters.
He focused on them and remembered their faces as first and second-graders and how cute they looked in their blue-and-white tartan school uniforms. He’d kept those faded pictures in his wallet for thirty years.
They were bright, good girls, far better than he’d deserved. He’d stayed close to them. One taught English literature at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville. The other was an architect in Kansas City. He hoped they’d understand the decision he’d made and why.
He glanced at his watch and started counting down from ten….
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…
He gave the blaster a sharp clockwise turn with his right hand.
THE Humvee barreled over the top of the hill. Wheels spinning, it slid through a ragged clearing in the trees smashed open moments earlier by a heavy personnel carrier. Back in control, the driver started down the other side but immediately hit his brakes, skidding to a stop that spun them around in a sharp half-circle.
Atkins had heard the order to halt come over the Humvee’s dashboard radio.
He knew what it meant: it was almost time for the explosion.
“Get out!” the driver shouted. Soldiers were jumping from the open backs of troop carriers. They were lugging rifles and packs and running hard down the side of the hill, some stumbling and rolling, then getting up and running again.
Atkins and Elizabeth got out of the Humvee and started after them. There was no cover, no shelter. They were going to take whatever happened out on open ground. It was as good as any other place, Atkins thought. At least they’d be able to see each other in case someone needed help.
A gorgeous valley spread open before them. The hills in this part of southwestern Kentucky were wooded. The fields lush with thick grass. Atkins couldn’t help but think, as he often had before, that it was fine horse country. Then he realized something that he’d overlooked for days. He hadn’t seen a single horse or cow or sheep. The fields in this part of the Bluegrass State had been abandoned by both man and beast.
They saw the president at the bottom of the hill. He’d just stepped out of a half-track. Soldiers had already formed a protective shield around him. Others had moved up into the hills and taken defensive positions. Helicopters buzzed the ridgeline at dangerously low altitude.
“Here it comes,” Elizabeth said. “Yes!”
She felt herself lifted up. It was like an ocean swell washing against her legs in a strong surf, causing her to sway on her feet but not fall down. Two distinct ground waves rolled past them, rippling the trees and tall grass.
They were ten yards from a stream that trickled along the base of the limestone hills. Clear as glass only moments earlier, the surface of the water suddenly shimmered.
“It fired!” Atkins shouted.
NEAR BENTON, KENTUCKY
JANUARY 20
4:30 P.M.
LAUREN MITCHELL HAD BEEN GIVEN A PERSONAL escort to drive her home—four Army paratroopers in two Humvees. In the two hours since they’d left the Golden Orient, they’d covered less than twenty miles on unmarked country roads. Following Lauren’s directions, they’d frequently plowed across sodden fields and pastures to save time.
Lauren had wanted to be back with her grandson when the bomb exploded. She didn’t make it.
Her driver, a nervous but alert corporal, pulled over on the shoulder of a muddy road a few seconds before zero hour.
“Maybe we better get out of the vehicle,” he said.
Unsure what to expect, they were well within the thirty-to forty-mile radius for the bomb’s maximum seismic effect.
“It should hit any second now,” the soldier said, looking at his watch.
They were on a steep hillcrest with a view of Kentucky Lake in the distance, the gray-blue water visible through a gap in the trees. Another five miles, and Lauren would have been home. She wondered how Bobby was doing and longed to be back with him.
“Listen!” one of the soldiers shouted.
The sound of muffled thunder rolled along the ridges. The bomb had gone off.
“It’s gonna wash right over us,” the corporal said, looking back toward a narrow valley they’d just driven through. The hills were swaying. The ground was moving toward them in waves.
“Get away from the vehicles!” the corporal yelled. The Humvees had begun to rock up and down on their axles. They ran, half fell, down a grassy hill that sloped away from the road. The first wave staggered them, then the second wave knocked them off their feet. They fell hard.
“Jesus,” the corporal said, trying to stand and falling on his back as the ground kept shaking.
Lauren sat up and dug her hands into the wet grass, trying to hold on to something, afraid she’d be thrown into the air. She stared out toward the lake. The water momentarily seemed to pull back from shore. She watched big waves whip up as the shaking intensified. Monster waves.
After a few minutes, the ground quieted again.
Lauren picked herself up, got her balance, and hiked back to the road.
The corporal followed her. “I think we can drive now, ma’am,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
Lauren shook her head and said, “Thanks, but I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She could be home in an hour if she put her mind to it. She didn’t want to be caught in one of those Humvees if the road turned liquid or a trench opened up beneath them. Two of the paratroopers followed her on foot. The others drove.
