The Disaster Days

by Rebecca Behrens

  The pavement began its incline. Finally. The last stretch before the bridge. Going down the hill is always my favorite part of the bus ride from school; it means I’m almost home. Now, I was overjoyed, because it meant I was almost away. The bridge would lead us back to civilization. To safety. To help. The road was slick with rain, the shoulder turning into a mud puddle. My sneakers slid dangerously on the asphalt. My lungs ached, and my head spun. It felt like I was suffocating again. “Keep going, you can do it.” Neha’s voice egged me on. I pictured my dad, safe, smiling, waiting somewhere for me. My mom whispering in my ear, “I’m so proud of you.”

  Going up the hill is where you can see Rainier when “the mountain is out.” I stared in its direction, although the rain clouds hid it. Now I knew just how much power the mountains—and the tectonic plates deep below them—really held. Sneaky Juan de Fuca. I turned ahead to face the road. I was small, an ant in comparison.

  But I was not powerless.

  Even though everything ached, even though I convulsed with shivers, even though the light was starting to fade, even though in so many ways it would have been easier to give in and give up—I kept pulling us toward the top. The wagon groaned to a stop next to me at the peak. We made it. The bridge was just down the hill.

  I blinked, not understanding what I was seeing. Water brown as chocolate milk was everywhere, covering the low-lying end of the road and surrounding grass. The inlet had flooded. The bridge rose out of the floodwaters, but it was now a bridge to nowhere, a slab of concrete that stretched a few yards out over the inlet and then ended in midair. A section had collapsed. Even if we waded through the swirling floodwaters, the bridge couldn’t lead us to help, but only to a drop-off into the rising waters below.

  I sank to the ground. We were trapped. Fires and floods. Tears streamed from my eyes. We’d made it all the way here, but there was nowhere left to go.

  I closed my eyes. A humming filled my ears. I struggled to breathe.

  Zoe tapped my shoulder. “Do you see that?”

  “See what?” I managed, between gasping breaths. “The bridge? Yeah…it’s broken. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, the lights.” I lifted my head. Zoe was pointing toward the water. No, across the water. I squinted. Through the rain, I could see where the road continued on the other side, connecting our home to the rest of Pelling. The humming hadn’t been in my ears. There were flashing lights, bright and orange, from a parked utility truck. Next to it, a big yellow school bus—was it Mr. Fisk’s? He had honked! The honk tolled for me! A person in a blue slicker, setting down shiny emergency cones. Bobbing in the water in front of him, a small motorboat, also with flashing lights—maybe a police boat.

  I didn’t know if they’d seen us. I raised my arm to wave. I stood up, even though I knew I should sit during an asthma attack. The joy from seeing other people—grown-ups—was like a shot of adrenaline. They were the first we’d seen in days. They were the helpers.

  I did it. I got us to them, and they’re going to get us to safety.

  And if I had managed to do that—maybe our families and friends had survived too. Hope filled my heart.

  The bus’s door suddenly flung open. A figure came tumbling out.

  I think they see us.

  The person who had rushed out now ran to the water’s edge, toward the boat still on their side. She waved her arms, frantically. She cupped her hands around her mouth. I recognized her purple coat.

  And her voice, forcing its way across the water. Both panicked and euphoric. “Hannah!”

  I sank to my knees, tears of joy and disbelief, and relief, streaming down my face.

  The voice belonged to my mother.

  Transcript of “The Disaster Days”

  a special segment of “Seattle after Cascadia”

  Beth Kajawa: This is Beth Kajawa with KUOW News. As part of our “Seattle after Cascadia” series and ongoing coverage of the earthquake and recovery efforts, I want to share an incredible story of an unlikely hero in the immediate aftermath—Hannah Steele, a thirteen-year-old babysitter who found herself stranded with her two young charges for more than three days in an isolated neighborhood on Pelling Island. I’m reporting from Pelling Island Middle School, where Hannah and her parents are taking part in the cleanup efforts. Today they are sharing their experiences of the quake and the “disaster days” after.

  Hannah’s mother, Ellen Steele, a librarian at Seattle Public Library’s Central Library, survived the earthquake with only bruises from falling books. However, she found herself trapped in the chaos of downtown Seattle for days afterward. With the Elliott Bay Bridge closed and ferry service not running, she had no way to get home to the island and her daughter.

  Ellen Steele: To finally get back to Pelling, I begged a ride on a police boat. That was on the third day after the quake. I told them that my daughter was on the island, babysitting our neighbor’s two smaller children, when the quake hit. I had no idea if my neighbor had been able to get back to them, or if any emergency personnel on the island were even aware that these kids were stranded alone. When Seattle police heard the panic in my voice and saw the tearstains on my face, they whisked me back to Pelling on the next boat out—I was so grateful.

  But I ran into another hurdle once I made it to the island. When I got to my car in the ferry lot, I found it destroyed. Fred Fisk happened to be there and was able to give me a ride in the school bus, which he’d been using to distribute supplies. He remembered dropping Hannah off at her babysitting gig shortly before the quake. We raced toward the house only to find that the bridge that connects my neighborhood to the rest of Pelling had partially collapsed.

  Beth Kajawa: You must have been terrified.

  Ellen Steele: Oh, absolutely. There was smoke in the distance too—turns out a ranger station had caught fire during an aftershock. We honked and honked, hoping someone would come out on the other side, so I’d know the kids were okay. I even considered trying to swim across, but the inlet had flooded and the current was too strong… Eventually I got my head together, and Fred and I raced back to the emergency response staging area, where I alerted the authorities that my daughter and her charges were trapped across the inlet. We drove back to the bridge to wait for help. The rescue boat had just arrived when I saw, at the top of the hill on the other side, Hannah pull up with a wagon loaded with the two kids. And guinea pig.

  Beth Kajawa: How did it feel, seeing your daughter?

  Ellen Steele: Incredible relief. And pride. I’m still in awe of how Hannah took charge of the situation. From quick thinking to treating injuries to looking up print resources to simply staying calm. Even once we got the kids on the rescue boat, Hannah insisted on staying with Zoe and Oscar as they were transported to the hospital—she said they were sticking together, no matter what. My daughter really showed a lot of bravery and responsibility. I knew she had it in her—she’s one strong girl.

  Beth Kajawa: It would take days before Hannah’s father, Peter Steele, would hear of his daughter’s ordeal. He was in the middle of a struggle for survival of his own. An architect, he had been away on the day of the quake, working on a hotel project on the Washington coast. Peter had left the tsunami inundation zone just twenty minutes before the earthquake, on a run for supplies with a coworker. That meant he was safely—miraculously—out of the zone at the time the devastating wave hit. However, he found himself stranded in the chaos inland, with no way to get home or communicate with his family to let them know he was safe.

  Peter Steele: I can’t tell you what it was like, when I was finally able to reach my wife and daughter on a satellite phone days after the tsunami, and to finally know they were okay. There just aren’t words. I never doubted Hannah was tough, that she would try her best to get help—but I was still terrified for her.

  Beth Kajawa: I can only imagine. Now, I want to mention that local artist Andrea Matlock, the
mother of Zoe and Oscar, the two children Hannah was babysitting, was seriously injured while attending a gallery event when the quake hit. During the days after, she was treated at Virginia Mason Hospital. Andrea is at physical therapy today, but she’s expected to make a full recovery from her injuries.

  But before these happy reunions—there was the young babysitter’s ordeal of being stranded in a damaged house with no power, water, heat, or a phone. Here we have Hannah herself, who’s going to tell our listeners about her experience. Hannah, did you ever expect that your after-school babysitting gig would turn into several days of being in charge, in a survival situation?

  Hannah Steele: It was only my second time babysitting, and the first time that Ms. Matlock went farther away than Main Street. So I was nervous going in, I guess, even when I thought it would be a normal afternoon.

  Beth Kajawa: How did you know what to do during the quake?

  Hannah Steele: I really didn’t. At first, we were all just shocked. Without our phones, the internet, and TV, or even electricity—it was a whole new world. We did have an emergency radio for a few of the days. And, actually, your broadcasts helped me to know what was going on. Your voice was so reassuring.

  Beth Kajawa: That’s… [clears throat] That’s really wonderful to hear. Thank you.

  Hannah Steele: I also used the training I had learned in Mrs. Pinales’s babysitting course. We relied on some encyclopedias we found for advice, plus a Girl Scout manual and a super-old home medical guide. That’s how we figured out how to start a fire and what to do when Zoe and Oscar both got injured. I couldn’t just Google for answers or call a doctor, you know?

  Beth Kajawa: That must have been very strange for you!

  Hannah Steele: [laughs] Yeah, it took some getting used to, for sure.

  Beth Kajawa: Oscar broke his leg in a fall, and although he faced complications—compartment syndrome—it’s now healing well. His older sister, Zoe, suffered a cut from debris that became infected, but thanks to antibiotic treatment, she’s doing fine. That’s in part because of Hannah’s bravery in seeking out help on the third day after the quake. Despite her own health concerns—repeated asthma attacks—she led the children and their pet guinea pig, Jupiter, to rescuers at the site of the collapsed inlet bridge. How is your health now, Hannah?

  Hannah Steele: I’m doing well. I’m much better about remembering to bring my rescue inhaler along with me when I go places, and I’m learning to live with asthma and not let it limit me.

  Beth Kajawa: That’s great. Hannah, how did you keep calm during those long days when you were stranded? You encountered a gas leak in one home, several aftershocks, impassable roads, flooding and liquefaction, and even a brush with a bear?

  Hannah Steele: My dad always tells me just to try my best. That’s what I did. I also thought a lot about my best friend, Neha. She’s right over there, with our friend Marley. Hey, Neha! [interview briefly pauses for friend to join] She’s the most encouraging person I know. I imagined the pep talks she would give to keep me going whenever I started to feel like I couldn’t.

  Beth Kajawa: Neha, where were you during the quake?

  Neha Jain: My soccer team was sheltered in Bremerton, because we’d just finished a game. I was in the middle of texting with Hannah when the quake hit. I knew she was alone with the kids, and I was so worried about her. When cell service was finally restored and I got her messages and knew she was okay, that was, like, the happiest I’ve ever felt.

  Hannah Steele: Same.

  Neha Jain: Honestly, now Hannah’s the one inspiring me. She’s a hero.

  Beth Kajawa: I can tell you two are really great friends. So, Hannah, what is life like on Pelling Island after the quake?

  Hannah Steele: Well, my house was really damaged. Soil liquefaction made it sink into the ground—I knew what that was thanks to your reporting! While my dad is working to fix it, we’re temporarily living in our other next-door neighbor’s house, which was faster to fix up. Mr. Aranita is away, helping with his grandkids in Portland—that’s where he was during the quake.

  They say that rebuilding Pelling Island will take a long time and a lot of work. It’s not the utopia I thought it was—except for our community. People have really come together to help one another out and restore our island. It’s been nice to be part of that.

  Beth Kajawa: I agree. Even in the midst of a heart-wrenching disaster, there can be happiness in watching a community join together. Now, I have to ask—do you think you’ll ever babysit again?

  Hannah Steele: Actually, I’ve been babysitting for the Matlocks a lot already, while Andrea is still recuperating. But I don’t babysit alone. I have a deputy—Zoe. She was a huge help during the disaster days. She was actually the one to start the campfire and figure out how to pitch the tent in the backyard. I couldn’t have survived without her or Oscar. Or Jupiter! He was like an emotional support guinea pig.

  Beth Kajawa: Your teamwork is really exemplary. Still, I hope now your time together isn’t so eventful!

  Hannah Steele: [laughs] Yeah, me too. When I come over to their temporary apartment, where they’re staying till the house repairs are done, the kids do homework and spend plenty of time playing video games and with their tablets, like before the quake. What’s different is that we definitely don’t take electricity for granted…or having food and water.

  But sometimes we’ll build a blanket fort, like we did to stay warm after the quake, or even make microwave s’mores. We spend more afternoons outside, playing “survival.” Zoe and I are still updating our notebook with instructions and tips. Anyway, being outdoors feels different now. It’s like… I’m aware of how powerful the environment around us is. It’s a good and bad thing.

  Beth Kajawa: That’s very insightful. Any last words of advice for our listeners?

  Hannah Steele: My babysitting bag is also my go-bag. I pack a first aid kit, a spare inhaler, snacks and water, a flashlight with fresh batteries, my babysitting course manual, and our notebook. I always take that stuff with me.

  Just in case of emergency.

  Author’s Note

  Hannah’s story of survival during a major earthquake in the Pacific Northwest is fiction, but it is rooted in facts. Pelling may be a made-up island community across Elliott Bay from Seattle, but the post-quake threats Hannah, Zoe, and Oscar face there—from liquefaction to lumbering bears, seiches (a back-and-forth wave in an enclosed body of water, like what Hannah witnessed in the fish pond) to sand volcanoes—are all realistic.

  Major earthquakes—above a magnitude 7.0—have happened along the Cascadia Subduction Zone (CSZ) in the past; the most recent occurred on January 26, 1700, with an estimated magnitude of around 9.0. It’s certain other very large “megathrust” earthquakes will happen in this area in the future, although we don’t know when. Unlike other subduction zones, the CSZ usually doesn’t produce smaller quakes. It could very well be decades before another major earthquake happens. That means we may have lots of time to prepare.

  Natural disasters, like the earthquake described in this book, are sadly regular phenomena. Perhaps your community has been affected by a hurricane, tornado, wildfire, blizzard, landslide, drought, or flood. These events are “natural” in the sense that weather and earth changes cause them, but their size, frequency, and levels of destruction can all be impacted by things humans do. As our climate changes, scientists predict that natural disasters will become more prevalent and more damaging.

  It’s scary to think about a natural disaster harming our homes and families, but thinking ahead is how we can keep ourselves safe. Talk to your loved ones about preparedness. You may want to set up a plan for communication in the event of an emergency, and it’s always smart to keep an emergency kit and “go bags” stocked. For more information on emergency preparedness, visit the website for your local office of emergency management or the Red Cross.

 
If you’d like to help others who have been affected by natural disasters, a good place to start is ready.gov/volunteer.

  For additional resources about the CSZ, earthquake science, and emergency preparedness, visit the author’s website at rebeccabehrens.com/resources.

  Acknowledgments

  A magnitude of thanks to:

  Annie Berger, for rooting for these characters and sharing her editorial insight to shape their story of survival, and to the wonderful team at Sourcebooks—especially Sarah Kasman, Steve Geck, Dominique Raccah, Todd Stocke, Cassie Gutman, Rebecca Sage, Nicole Hower, Heather Moore, Margaret Coffee, Heidi Weiland, Valerie Pierce, Ashlyn Keil—for all it takes to turn a manuscript on an author’s computer into a book in a reader’s hands.

  Suzie Townsend, for being the best advocate an author could ask for, and to Cassandra Baim and Dani Segelbaum, for their skilled support, and to the whole team at New Leaf Literary for their hard work and hustle, especially Joanna Volpe and Pouya Shahbazian.

  Dr. Amy Williamson, postdoctoral researcher at the University of Oregon, for graciously reviewing the earthquake and scientific details in this book and offering her feedback. Any mistakes are my own.

  Kathryn Schulz, for writing “The Really Big One,” the unputdownable New Yorker article that sparked my idea for this story.

  Beth Behrens and Michelle Schusterman, for reading and cheerleading.

  Jessica, David, and Daisy Matlock for answering all those random Seattleite questions, and for letting me borrow their last name.