PARADISE
A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller
Aftershock Series
Book One
****
MICHAEL R. WATSON
Paradise: Aftershock Series, Book One
Copyright © 2016 by Michael R. Watson.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, without prior permission of the author, who is the copyright holder.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All characters, incidents, and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Dedication
To my grandchildren, Ethan, Paige, Kinsey, Lilly, and Macie. May you always be prepared.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my family and friends who ‘volunteered’ to be beta readers throughout the writing, review and revision process.
Prologue
Earthquakes in America’s heartland had been so rare an occurrence and their magnitudes so low most weren’t even considered newsworthy. Then, that all began to change. The first tremors were weak and barely perceptible, but within weeks it became difficult to ignore ripples on the surface of a glass of iced tea or glasses clinking together in the kitchen cabinet. Even though these early signs lasted only a few seconds, their cause was undeniable.
Gradually, over the next few months, the frequency and magnitude of the tremors continued to rise as did a growing apprehension among those affected. It then became almost commonplace to hear a brief mention about the most recent one during the evening news. Strangely, the tremors weren’t occurring everywhere across the region, but only in isolated clusters or swarms.
A growing concern and curiosity brought a handful of respected earth scientists together to study the anomalous occurrences. Within a matter of weeks they had completed their evaluation of the data and reached a unanimous conclusion, something no one expected.
The data was re-evaluated again and again, but it became obvious there was a common culprit, the disposal of wastewater from the oil and gas industry into deep injection wells. Favorable prices had resulted in increased production, which in turn had led to an increase in volume of wastewater. It was suggested that the surge in volume of the contaminated water had pressurized and “lubricated” known and previously unknown fault zones, making them susceptible to movement, inducing the earthquakes to occur.
By the time the governing bodies accepted the results of the study there was still the question of what could be done about it. Or was it already too late? Through news outlets the public was made aware of the cause, who then demanded the disposal wells to be shut down. The oil and gas companies vehemently opposed such a drastic action. As a compromise, the first response was to curtail the amount of wastewater being placed down the disposal wells nearest the strongest quake occurrences. The action appeared to have had no immediate effect as the frequency and magnitudes of the quakes continued to escalate. Perhaps too much had been expected too soon or it had been too late to stop the process already set in motion. The state officials were in a quandary as to what to do next. Safety, of course, was a priority, but not necessarily the priority. After all, the oil and gas industry was a major source of revenue for the region.
* * *
Thousands of miles away, a series of simultaneous and massive earthquakes struck areas all along the Ring of Fire from New Zealand to Southeast Asia, to Alaska, and back down along the Washington, Oregon, and California coastline to Chile. The devastating results were compounded by the tsunamis that followed with mountains of flood waters being driven into the coastal areas, creating even more destruction. For those who had survived the earthquakes and had remained along the coast, there was no hope. The death toll soared into the tens of thousands.
Earthquakes along the west coast of the U.S. were a common occurrence. It was an unfortunate but eventual consequence of living near the San Andreas Fault system and the Cascadia subduction zone. But, this time, something was different; the magnitudes being reported in California were even higher than the historically devastating ones from the 1906 and 1994 earthquakes.
As a result of these quakes, there were reports of widespread chaos and devastation. The government and local law enforcement lost control, collapsing and becoming non-existent. Then all communication with the west coast came to a halt. With no radio, television, phone service or internet, one could only assume the worst.
The people of the heartland could only attempt to relate to what the people were going through on the west coast, recalling their own experiences with tornados and flooding. But the destruction the quakes and tsunamis brought encompassed a much larger area and affected a great many more people. Some of the hardest hit places were so decimated they would possibly never recover. The moderate quakes taking place in the heartland seemed almost insignificant in comparison.
Then, according to reports, something even more unbelievable appeared to be taking place. The massive quakes and aftershocks had triggered a chain reaction of quakes, releasing stored up energy from interlinked faults as they spread slowly and steadily inland. The migrating movement was like a series of surging waves approaching a shoreline. Public announcements attempted to warn those ahead of their path of the impending danger and the potential for even stronger shockwaves to come. But nothing like this had ever been experienced before, so no one listened, resulting in the avoidable loss of even more lives.
* * *
Even though the quakes occurring in the heartland were a significant increase in both numbers and magnitude from previous years, the moderate magnitudes were not enough to convince the majority of the people they were a legitimate threat. And the idea they were in danger was a ridiculous notion and treated as a joke. After all, they lived in a safe zone, the west coast was over a thousand miles away, and the effects of an earthquake there would never reach the central plains.
In this part of the country, earthquakes hadn’t been expected or planned for. They were something that only happened to other people, like those living along the west coast. None of the buildings had been built or designed with any consideration given to withstanding an earthquake. And why would they? Earthquakes in the region had been a rare and insignificant occurrence, and quake-resistant design and construction would have been a ridiculous notion as well as a waste of money.
Afraid and confused by the bizarre aftershock waves, there was a group who prayed to be spared from a similar devastation being experienced to the west, that somehow the Rocky Mountains would intercept or dampen this new anomaly’s spreading force and momentum.
It took only a few days to realize their prayers had gone unanswered. Without warning, shockwaves struck the heartland with magnitudes higher than any previously recorded, propelled even higher in the “lubricated” cluster areas. Tremors that had at first been just mild curiosities were now frightening and dangerous anomalies.
As subsequent waves struck, and their magnitudes increased, the damage to buildings and the infrastructure progressively grew worse. The increase of magnitude had also included increases of duration, lasting thirty seconds to over a minute, resulting in the greatest damage. It became evident a collapse was coming.
The first physical and obvious indications of the seriousness of the threat came when cracks appeared in both interior and exterior walls and windows began to shatter from the shifting and heaving of foundations. Structural damage couldn’t be prevented and there was nowhere safer to go. The surroun
ding communities were all dealing with the same dire situations. The people could only watch as their communities crumbled around them.
By the time the third major wave hit, the schools and many of the businesses had already closed, the buildings too dangerous to be occupied. Communities rallied together with both friends and strangers helping one another with a willingness to share what little they had. Food and clean drinking water were the priority.
However, as those essentials began to run low, the aforementioned willingness to share came to an abrupt halt as families turned to self-preservation. It didn’t take long for neighbors to turn on one another.
The people of the heartland were at the mercy of the earthquakes, and each other.
* * *
Chapter 1
A month had passed and the earthquakes continued to move toward us in waves, each subsequent one increasing in frequency and magnitude. Unfortunately, according to the few news reports we’d received, there was nowhere better or safer to go. And since the quakes struck randomly, without any set pattern, it was impossible to predict exactly when the next one would hit. The waiting and anticipation were almost as bad as the actual quake, adding to the stress and placing many of the people on the verge of panic.
Based on the assumptions of the investigating earth scientists, a quake with a projected magnitude of 8.0 or higher could hit at any time without warning.
I was worried for my family. They stayed home while I walked downtown to look for answers. They began to sort out what we could take with us if or when we had to leave. Even though the car had almost a full tank of gas, I was on foot, the precious fuel in reserve for if and when we needed to leave in a hurry.
Near City Hall the street was full of people, anxious to see what, if anything, was being done to help our desperate situation. I recognized several people in the crowd as the same ones who in the beginning had scoffed at the idea of earthquakes causing any damage in our community. Panic and fear were on many of the faces, helpless, not knowing what to do, looking for any kind of help or guidance. Some had already lost their homes. Small groups consoled one another while others, I learned, had already left town, gambling that there were answers and help elsewhere.
My attention was drawn to the sky above by a growing sound, surprised to see a helicopter hovering directly overhead. Perhaps we were finally going to receive the help we so desperately needed. But, instead of landing, the helicopter continued to hover overhead as an arm began to throw papers out the side door. Confused, we watched as they fluttered down to us.
I grabbed one of the papers out of the air. It was a flyer, an invitation to a place offering help. I was immediately suspicious and crumpled it up, about to throw it to the ground. Then, I considered that Sarah, my wife, might like to see it and stuffed it into my pocket. The ground was littered with the flyers, others reacting just as I almost had. I heard comments from both those who were overjoyed that someone was offering to help and others, like myself, who were skeptical of a helping hand coming out of nowhere. I could sense the crowd’s frustration building with a few individuals becoming excessively vocal, working up the others, while yelling for the helicopter to land. I was sympathetic; we were all in the same boat. When I looked back up, the helicopter was gone.
Its sudden disappearance without offering assistance of any kind brought out the worst in the crowd. Angry chants began to fill the downtown area. Maybe it was the idea that someone was able to fly around in a helicopter while we were struggling for the bare essentials for survival.
I wasn’t surprised to hear the City Hall’s doors were locked. And no one had been able to reach the Mayor or any of the Town Council for over a week. I was startled when a brick shattered a large pane of window-front glass. That was my cue to duck away. They weren’t going to accomplish anything other than to release some of their stored up frustration. As I walked away, others from the community, some of them my neighbors, joined in with the destruction, breaking windows of storefronts, grabbing and carrying away whatever they could get their hands on. The community was falling apart and things were getting ugly. My only thought was to get back to my family.
Walking back home, I avoided a group who appeared to be intent on causing trouble by crossing to the other side of the street. They were traveling in a pack, breaking out car windows as they walked down the other side of the street. As I passed by, I recognized some of their faces. They were just kids, maybe fifteen. I was pretty sure one of them was the boy who sacked my groceries. They moved on and so did I.
I noticed the owner of the corner convenience store, Bill Flask, was hurriedly placing plastic bags over the pump dispensers. It was a common practice when a dispenser needed repairs, but he was covering all of them. He was the last business holdout. Curious, I walked over.
“Bill, are you out of gas?”
“I might as well be. My tanks are almost empty and I just received a call. The fuel trucks won’t be coming. The quakes hit the refinery we use pretty hard. They’ve been fighting fires and trying to make repairs, but they’re fighting a losing battle. They’re abandoning the plant. It’s too dangerous for anyone to stay. Even if the refinery was still operational, they said delivery would be impossible with the roads the way they are now. Cracks and crevices have opened up across the roads, the asphalt and concrete have buckled, and many of the bridges have already collapsed. Even the rail lines have been damaged beyond use. Airports are at a standstill with fuel supplies exhausted and runways too damaged to be used. That’s when the phone line went dead. Now, I can’t reach anyone.”
I pulled out my cell phone and checked for a signal. There weren’t any bars. It came as no surprise. Reception in town had always been hit or miss, but this time there could be a good reason, the cell towers could be down due to the recent quakes. It was difficult to believe all this was happening, here, in what should have been a safe zone.
The pack of boys was now headed back in our direction and it was larger now. It seemed as though their courage was growing too, becoming even more arrogant, destructive, and loud.
“You’d better get on home,” I warned. “Trouble is on its way.”
He looked past me, seeing the agitated and destructive group of boys moving in our direction. He nodded agreement and ran back to the store, locking the doors. I’m sure he knew as well as I did it wouldn’t matter. I avoided the boys once again as I made my way home.
As another shockwave hit, I watched as people struggled to stay upright, grabbing hold of whatever was close. I grabbed onto the trunk of a nearby tree and held on until the tremor subsided. Reaching our house without injury, I was shocked to find one wall had already collapsed during my absence, the roof sitting cockeyed. Sarah was sitting on the ground in the front yard, surrounded by piles of our belongings, crying and trying to console our frightened and confused son and daughter, Christopher, 9, and Cindy, 7. When she saw me, she jumped to her feet and ran to me, throwing her arms around my neck. Chris and Cindy were right behind her. I tried to comfort all of them with a prolonged hug.
“Oh, John,” Sarah exclaimed. “Our home, it’s gone.”
“It’ll be alright,” I told her, trying to soothe and reassure her, not knowing if it was true or not. “At least we’re all safe.”
She looked up at me with red and mascara smeared eyes, forcing a weak smile.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.” She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. “What do we do now?”
“I’m not sure, but we can’t stay here. Tell me what you need and I’ll try to get it out of the house. ”
“Leave our home?”
“Just look at it. It’s not safe and it’s only going to get worse. I’m surprised there’s still any electricity in town. Soon there won’t be. And once the gas lines break, it’ll only be a matter of time before the whole town goes up.”
A good friend and neighbor, Jerry Wilson, excitedly ran over to us from across the street. It appear
ed their house had suffered as much damage as ours.
“Did you hear?” he asked excitedly.
“Hear what?” I asked.
“A helicopter flew over earlier and dropped flyers inviting all of us to a safe place in western Oklahoma where we can go to get help. Here, I got one for you. See, it’s even got a map.”
I pulled my crumpled copy out of my pocket. “I’ve read all about it.”
“It says it’s an old prison,” he continued, “with walls strong enough to stand up to the quakes and they have their own solar panels and wind turbines for power. It also says they have plenty of food and water. I’m going to load up my family and go there. Most of our neighbors are going, too. How about you, John?”
“Jerry, you know everyone’s not going to be able to stay in this prison,” I pointed out, still skeptical, trying to be the voice of reason. “No matter how large it is.”
“Probably not, but at least there will be food and water,” countered Jerry. “Before long, that’ll be more than we have here.”
I had my doubts. Like I’d always heard, ‘If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.’ “We’re going to have to talk about it. You go ahead. Maybe we’ll see you there.”
“Jerry, hurry up!” yelled his wife, Judy, from across the street.
“Okay, John,” he said, as he backed away. “But don’t wait too long. The first ones there will get the best spots.” He waved a goodbye to us as he ran back to his wife. There was no point in trying to change his mind. They had already loaded up their car and were ready to leave. His wife waved just before she and their young daughter piled into their car. Sarah waved back. With the roads in their current condition, I wondered just how far they would be able to drive before having to abandon their car and go the rest of the way on foot. We waved back as they drove away. Panic-driven, a procession of cars and pickups packed full with family keepsakes and comforts of home paraded by, horns blaring and tempers flaring at anyone who got in their way.
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