New Madrid Earthquake

by Bobby Akart

  “Like ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’?” asked Emily with a smile.

  “Sure. Why not?” Tate rubbed the top of his sister’s head. “Face it. They have food that will spoil and go to waste. We’re gonna run out ourselves after tomorrow. We need fresh water, especially. I just think that if the house is in danger, we should look around us for help first. I don’t hear any fire trucks or police cars, do you guys?”

  “No,” replied Jill. Then she suggested in all sincerity, “I suppose we could write them a note apologizing. Also, I could leave them a check for the broken window and the food we eat.”

  Tate shrugged and spread his hands apart. “See? We would be like refugees in need of food and shelter. That’s a big difference from the looters running out of Dick’s Sporting Goods with their arms full of Nikes.”

  The three were contemplative for a moment. The temperatures were dropping with the sun, and a chill swept over Jill’s body, causing her to draw her jacket tight around her body.

  Emily broke the silence and turned to her mother. “If we have to, right, Mom?”

  Jill looked into her daughter’s eyes and smiled. She’d stand in front of a speeding bus to protect her children.

  “You betcha.”

  Jill wandered back to the deck rail and watched the last of the sun drop below the horizon. Sunday night was about to pass without her husband. She wondered where he could be.

  Part V

  I’ll Be Home for Christmas

  Never, never, never give up. Let the power of love guide you to the ones you love.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Monday, Christmas Eve

  Fayette County

  East of Memphis, Tennessee

  Beth was exhausted from giving birth, lack of sleep, and loss of blood. Everything she passed on the highway had either been destroyed, shuttered, or looted. Her heart sank as the Memphis skyline normally seen at night was dark except for fires burning in the high-rise buildings. She imagined the destruction was worse near the riverfront.

  As she approached the Tennessee state line, she got a second wind as she realized Cordova wasn’t that much farther. Her excitement was doused minutes later when highway safety barriers had been erected, forcing all traffic to exit the interstate and head east. Emergency vehicles were allowed, but she was in a Mississippi Highway Patrol car that was technically stolen, and its trooper’s whereabouts were unknown.

  She fiddled with the patrol car’s scanner and emergency radio, but all she could hear was static. Fortunately, the GPS worked, and she was able to find her way east of the city after backtracking into Northern Mississippi.

  The landscape along the state line lent the appearance that a massive hand holding a spiderweb-shaped stamp had crushed the earth. Long lines of relatively thin cracks in the ground, compared to the canyon created near Lake Cormorant, weaved their way along the roads, sidewalks, and yards for miles. At times, whole sections of road had been forced upward on one side, with the back side of the miniature ridge sinking below the surface.

  Her navigation consisted of following a road to the east, turning northward for as far as the ground would allow, then zigzagging across Fayette County immediately to the east of Shelby County.

  Beth was relieved that her bleeding had stopped. She’d give anything for a bag of ice to ease her swelling, followed by a warm bath. She’d already prepared herself for the fact that neither of those things would be available to her at the house.

  Moreover, she was hungry. All she could think about were those hot tamales from the White Front Café floating around a flooded cotton field. Anthony had slept throughout the drive into Tennessee. Unless the ground shook again, she doubted he’d wake up before she arrived at the house.

  As for her gorgeous baby, she’d awakened once as Beth was driving along a country road east of Macon. Beth thought she could make her way to the house within thirty minutes, but her daughter, who’d found her voice, wailed until she pulled over to nurse her. She was concerned for her newborn because she was premature. She’d been told babies born earlier than thirty-two weeks were rarely breastfed. However, she didn’t have much of a choice under the circumstances.

  It forced Beth to catch her breath and assess her situation. She kept reminding herself women had given birth throughout the millennia without birthing suites in fancy hospitals surrounded by a team of medical professionals. The pioneer women in covered wagons did it routinely.

  She laughed to herself as she envisioned Daniel Boone’s wife screaming for an epidural while giving birth. Heck, her husband was probably off exploring Kentucky or Indiana with his brother Squire anyway.

  Once she reached Macon, it was a straight shot to the house. Growing up, Beth had spent a lot of time on the farms of East Shelby County and into Fayette County. Back then, I-269, the long interstate bypass that bisected the farms east of Memphis, didn’t exist. It was very rural and suited Beth. Despite the dark conditions, she recognized the farms along Macon Road that led west toward Cordova.

  She was able to see Gray’s Creek lapping just below the Macon Road bridge. The water had never been that high in her lifetime. She shook her head in amazement as she thought of the flooding she’d witnessed in the last forty-eight hours. The Mississippi River seemed to be expanding to the size of the Great Lakes.

  Beth wheeled her way through the S-curves as she approached the side street marking the front of the neighborhood. As she traveled west, the destruction to the buildings became more prevalent. She turned into the entrance with trepidation, as the first home she drove by had been reduced to a pile of bricks.

  There was no sign of life, although she wasn’t surprised by that at this hour. It was after midnight. She chuckled to herself, causing her baby to rise and fall on her belly. She hoped her sister or Jack didn’t come to the door with a rifle. She wasn’t sure if she could handle any more drama.

  Beth’s concern immediately changed as the headlights of the car washed across the front of the house. Jack’s Jeep was parked out front, something she suspected was out of the ordinary. There were no cars in the driveway, but they might’ve been parked in the garage. There were no sources of light inside, whether from lanterns or candles. Again, she wasn’t surprised by that.

  She slowly pulled forward and placed the patrol car in park. She turned off the ignition and allowed the motor to wind down. The ticking sound of the hot engine filled the night air. She took several deep breaths and allowed the tears to flow down her face. She’d made it.

  Beth exited the car, and cold air immediately hit the lower half of her body. She was still half naked and realized she’d never put her maternity jeans back on. She clutched her baby to her chest and rushed around the back of the car to retrieve her jeans from the rear floorboard. She slid them on and adjusted them on her hips.

  Out of habit, she made herself more presentable although her shirt was covered with dried blood, as were her hands and arms.

  “Okay, Anthony. Let’s go see who’s home. Okay?”

  The sleepy boy rubbed both eyes with his tiny fists. He was barely awake, so he didn’t put up a fight as she led him along the sidewalk leading to the front door.

  She paused and studied the door as well as the entire front of the house. It was in remarkably good condition from what she could see. Some of the upper windows had broken out, and several bricks had fallen from the box window in front, but that was it.

  Clutching her newborn in one hand and pulling Anthony along with the other, she walked to the front door. She gently knocked on the door so as not to startle anyone.

  She stepped back a foot or so and waited.

  After half a minute, nobody answered.

  She knocked more forcefully this time, reminding herself everyone was probably asleep.

  She heard movement inside and muffled voices, yet nobody immediately answered the door.

  Beth’s anxiety shot through the roof. She studied the door handle and the downstairs windows. Maybe someon
e broke in? They were trying to decide what to do.

  She gripped Anthony’s hand tighter and backed away from the door to the edge of the front steps. She steadied her nerves and prepared to bolt for the car.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Monday, Christmas Eve

  Atwood Residence

  Cordova, Tennessee

  “Mom, Mom, wake up!” Tate spoke softly as he shook his mother awake. The fire had burned out, and the house was dark. Tate had heard the sound of a car slowly approach the driveway, and he immediately recognized the appearance of headlights washing across the front of the house. His bedroom was upstairs, and he’d seen the headlight effect many times when his dad came home late from a trip.

  “Wut. What is it?” she asked in her half-sleepy state. Emily began to stir and shot up on her mattress.

  Tate scrambled to his feet and found the rifle he’d left leaning against the front doorjamb. They hadn’t experienced any looters in their neighborhood, but after they’d observed what was happening at the stores near I-40, they thought it would be a good idea to have one of their rifles at the ready.

  “What’s going on?” asked Emily.

  Tate held the gun pointed down and stuck his right eye to the peephole in the door. From that perspective, the driveway was out of view.

  He half-turned to respond, “I don’t know. A car just pulled into the driveway.”

  Emily crawled across the mattresses spread across the floor, rushed around the sofa, and climbed onto the cushion of the window box seat. She impetuously peeked through the curtains without consideration of the possible consequences. The moonlight provided just enough light to reflect off the car that had arrived. She sat back on her legs and slowly released the curtain so it closed.

  “What is it, honey?” asked Jill.

  “Um, Mom. It’s the police.”

  Jill immediately broke out into tears, assuming the worse. There was only one reason for the police to pay them a visit at this time of night, and that was to notify the next of kin of a death. Her tears and sniffles elicited a similar response from Emily.

  Jill wiped her nose and face. She stood a little taller in an attempt to will herself to look strong and in control.

  “Kids, I need you both to go into the kitchen, please.”

  “But, Mom,” Emily and Tate whined in unison.

  “No arguments. And, Tate, put that gun away.”

  He sighed and set it back against the wall where it would rest behind the door when opened. Neither he nor Emily moved toward the kitchen. Jill had to ask again.

  “Emily, Tate, I mean it. Kitchen, please. I’ll deal with this.”

  She began to sniffle again, and she tried to nonchalantly wipe away her tears. Tate took Emily by the hand, and the children sheepishly walked around their bedding past the Christmas tree until they were just inside the kitchen entry. They both turned around. Jill took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to force the issue. They could stand there and eavesdrop if they wanted to.

  There was a gentle knock at the door. It wasn’t the expected thump-thump-thump, this-is-the-cops-open-up knocking. It was the kind of knock from someone who had bad news to deliver in the middle of the night.

  She sighed and tried to gather herself. She summoned all her inner strength by providing herself words of encouragement.

  Be strong. C’mon, Jill. You’re in charge. Be strong.

  The knocking repeated. More forceful this time. It was impatient. An authoritative, this-is-your-last-chance kinda knock.

  She emitted a heavy sigh, wiped her face one last time, and dried her hands on her pants.

  “Who is it?” she asked loud enough for the visitors to hear.

  “It’s me,” a familiar female voice replied.

  Jill’s heart leapt out of her chest. The tears of sorrow magically transformed into tears of joy. She nervously fumbled with the bolt lock and handle to open the door. Finally, through the tears and the nervousness and the joyous excitement, she flung open the door.

  Her eyes grew wide as the spittin’ image of Sissy Spacek from the Stephen King movie Carrie stood in front of her, covered in blood, holding Anthony’s hand and a rolled-up towel tightly against her chest.

  The two women stared at each other for several seconds that felt like minutes. Finally, Beth broke the silence.

  “Um, can we come in?”

  Emily shrieked and yelled, “Aunt Beth! You made it!”

  She left Tate’s side and rushed past her mother. She jerked to a stop before crashing into her aunt.

  Beth winced. “Um, I had my baby.”

  “Holy crap!” hollered Tate from the kitchen.

  “Mom, isn’t this great?” asked Emily as she tugged at Jill’s sweatshirt sleeve.

  Jill was frozen. Initially, she was overwhelmed with joy the police weren’t there to inform her she was a widow. Then the sight of her sister covered with blood and cradling a newborn made her wonder if this was just one more chapter in a nightmarish dream.

  Finally, she got her wits about her and wrapped her arms around her sister. The two sisters let out their emotions, allowing the waterworks to pour out of their eyes in buckets.

  Emily took charge and reached for Anthony’s hand. The two had always had a good relationship. Anthony enjoyed Emily’s company and seemed to trust her as much as he did his mother.

  Tate came to gently hug his aunt. Then he spoke in a soft voice so he didn’t disturb the sleeping newborn. “I’ll start a fire to warm the house up.”

  Jill regained her role as the general of the Atwood clan. “Candles, too. Everywhere, please. Also, Tate, there’s enough water in the water heater to run Beth a bath. Will you start that, please? Also, fire up the grill. I want two pots of water boiling immediately.”

  Tate spun around and hustled to the kitchen. They’d hooked up a water hose to the drain spigot at the bottom of their eighty-gallon water heater. He’d fill the pots up and start them boiling. Then he’d start filling up the tub even though the water would be room temperature at best, which was around fifty at the moment. He’d keep filling the tub with hot water until it could be tolerated.

  “Thank you,” Beth said through her sniffles. “I’m a hot mess.”

  Jill laughed. “You gave birth in the wild. You are my hero.”

  After a laugh, a wave of sadness washed over Beth. “I had help. I’ll tell you about it later. I’d really like to get out of these clothes.”

  Jill lovingly wrapped her arm around her waist and led her down the dark hallway to the master bedroom. Tate had already rushed back there to light up several Christmas candles, which cast a warm, orangish glow throughout the room.

  “You’ll get to open your presents early for this miracle,” said Jill. “I also have a plush robe for you from Barefoot Dreams. It’s divine.”

  “You tried it on?” asked Beth.

  “No, of course not. I bought one for myself. We can be twinsies!”

  Beth started laughing and then grimaced. “It hurts to laugh, so try not to be funny.”

  “Hard to do, but I’ll give it my best shot.” Jill carefully hugged her sister and kissed her on the cheek.

  Beth stopped and turned back toward the family room. “Have you heard from the guys?”

  Jill pouted and shook her head. “No. Nothing. Beth, it was bad downtown. Bridges collapsed, and the river’s flooding like I’ve never seen before. They could be on the other side with no way across.”

  Jill held out her hands, and Beth turned her baby over to someone else for the first time since Willie lovingly presented her. The two sisters sat on the side of the bed next to one another while Jill gently rocked the baby. The candlelight flickered, reflecting their facial features and causing the tears on their cheeks to glisten. She turned her head toward Beth.

  “I wanna see her.”

  “She’s pink,” said Beth, causing herself to chuckle and wince. The resulting pain was her own fault, which oddly made it even funnier. She nodde
d toward the bundle of shop towels. “She’s in there somewhere. I hope.”

  Jill carefully unfurled the towels, scowling as she did. She’d look over at Beth and then remove a little more.

  “Aren’t these the kind of rags they use—” she began before Beth finished her sentence.

  “In a gas station? Yes. I gave birth in the back seat of a Mississippi Highway Patrol car while parked at a Shell station in the middle of an earthquake.”

  Jill’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head in disbelief. “Great. My niece is gonna be a grease monkey who’ll live her life in and out of jail because she likes to shake, rattle, and roll too much.”

  Beth burst out laughing and then moaned in pain. “Please, you gotta stop. We should be miserable right now.”

  “Nope. It’s Christmastime. There’ll be no sad faces at Christmas.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Monday, Christmas Eve

  Atwood Residence

  Cordova, Tennessee

  Tate stepped up as the man of the house at that moment. In addition to rebuilding the fire in the family room, he built one in the master bedroom as well. He explained to his mom that as soon as the sun came up, he’d go forage for more firewood and kindling. He twisted his back to determine if the bruise he’d received while running through the woods still hurt. It did, but it also reminded him of the cord of firewood he’d crashed into.

  He also kept the hot water coming and suggested he use their Igloo and Yeti coolers to keep the water warm so Jill could combine it with the room-temperature water gradually. He was displaying common sense in a survival situation that impressed both his mom and his aunt.

  When the fire was putting out warmth and the water was ready, Jill shut the bedroom door to provide Beth some privacy from the kids. She slowly undressed her sister by the fire and led her into the bathroom.