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Jennifer felt the wave before she heard it, though it might have been her imagination. Instinctively, she turned -- knowing as she did so that it was a stupid thing to do while running -- and she almost dropped the baby.
The bridge, now well behind her, exploded upwards as the usually modest
river carried the waters from the tsunami straight inland from the
Pacific. Moments later, she heard the rushing wall of water, an
unspeakably loud roar mixed with a series of quickly extinguished
screams. In a disembodied way, she realized that she and both her
children might be dead in moments. She kept running.
The earthquake started with a gentle tinkling of the china in the
dining room breakfront, barely audible through the bedroom door that
she had carefully left ajar so she could hear the children. As the
house shook again, this time more violently, she heard the screams of
her two girls, two and eight years old, as she started to crawl
unsteadily on all fours toward their bedroom.
Deep in the Pacific Ocean, just 150 miles off the Oregon coast, a
"megathrust" earthquake was underway. After years storing up energy
from relentlessly opposing tectonic plates, one plate had suddenly
jammed itself above another, releasing enough energy to raise the
entire seabed by 40 feet.
The fracture quickly spread both north and south as the fault-line
unzipped. The rapid deformation raised the ocean above, triggering a
huge tsunami, a giant wave hundreds of miles long with the energy of
thousands of nuclear warheads. Though barely noticeable on the surface,
the wave moved outward at 500 miles per hour. It would reach the
closest parts of the heavily populated West Coast in under 20 minutes.
Once the tsunami reached the shore it would grow -- to the height of a
10 story building in some places -- destroying everything in its path,
and creating an artificial new coastline a mile inland. More waves
would follow the first, and the seas would not return to normal for
nearly eight hours.
Despite her shock, Jennifer knew what might be coming. She and Bill had
taken the tsunami preparedness classes run by the Seaside Fire
Department. They learned from Chief O'Brien that from the first earthquake they had just minutes
to get the family out of their little vacation cottage just a block
from the water to the safety of high ground over a mile away. The
earthquake was terrifying and dangerous, but a tsunami -- should it occur -- meant almost certain
death unless they could get to safety. And they would have no time to find out for sure whether the giant wave was coming. Still, the Chief had said that the experts told him that all the previous earthquakes over past centuries had created the catastrophic waves.
Two summers ago, walking with the kids to designated safety areas
during the town-wide tsunami safety day, a real disaster seemed
impossibly remote. They even stopped to buy ice cream cones, and Emily,
then just six, had insisted on wearing her new sneakers and riding her
scooter. While the town's preparations seemed foolish to her with its
festive atmosphere and silly "tsunami evacuation safety" balloons, Bill
was adamant about the need for them. "What if you have to do this by
yourself? What if I'm out of town or on the boat, fishing?" Jennifer's
only answer was mock sarcasm, "Well, then, there'll be no more fishing!"
As Jennifer crawled toward the children's bedroom by the glow of the
night light, she considered what it meant that Bill was, actually, out
of town. More precisely, he was still at home in Portland while she and the
children were opening up the summer house over the Memorial Day
weekend. Her husband had planned to drive the 75 miles to Seaside after a
morning meeting with his biggest client.
Although she had been mostly bored by Chief O'Brien's technical
explanation, Jennifer remembered his warning." Of the communities up
and down the West Coast, Seaside is one of the most vulnerable. Even
though the last giant tsunami happened over 300 years ago, the next one
could happen any time, even while we're sitting here."
Everybody laughed, of course, but Jennifer could tell by the look on
the Chief's face that he wasn't joking to lighten the mood. Bill wasn't
laughing either. "Frankly," the Chief continued, "until the Asian
tsunami of December 26, 2004, I couldn't get anyone on the City Council
to pay any attention. Thank goodness for CNN and the Learning Channel,
and all those frightening pictures."
But Jennifer's immediate problem was not the tsunami but the powerful
earthquake rocking the house, threatening to bring it down around their
ears. Built in the early 1960s, it had belonged to Bill's parents
before Bill and Jennifer took it over for family vacations after his
folks could no longer keep it up. Just a summer cottage, it was never
that strong at the best of times.
Jennifer's mind filled with what she had to do in the next few minutes:
throw something warm around the children, grab their clothes and coats
-- at 3:00 AM, it was still cold, even at the end of May -- take the
emergency rucksack Bill insisted they keep in the front hall closet,
and grab her cell-phone. She'd dress the kids in the street -- she knew
they had to get out of the house.
Bill's grand plan to evacuate to high ground by bicycle was obviously
out the window. The bikes were all in the garage with the car blocking
them. Besides, the tires would be flat after the winter, and the bike
that Bill used to transport the baby -- it seemed oddly funny just now
that they still called her that -- was too big for her to ride. They
had well over a mile to cover in less than 30 minutes from the first
earthquake. As she crawled along the hall, she figured that she had
only 25 minutes left, maybe less.
As she entered the kid's room, pushing aside the books and toys that
had fallen off the shelves, Emily suddenly stopped screaming. She was
white as a ghost, sitting bolt upright on the floor with a blanket
wrapped around her. Caroline, the two-year-old, was crying. As the
house rocked again, Jennifer said above the noise, "Emily, can you hear
me?" Getting a weak nod, she continued as calmly as she could, "It's an
earthquake. We have to get out of the house now. Everything will be
okay, but we have to go now."
Wrapping Caroline in her blanket, she and Emily slid down the stairs on
their bottoms, unable to stand up amidst the continued shaking. The
unpacked suitcases were still in the entry hall, and Jennifer opened
the front door and pushed the heavy bag with the kids' summer clothes
and this year's new holiday paraphernalia onto the porch. Still on all
fours, and mindful of the broken glass where pictures had fallen off
the walls, she opened the hall closet, grabbed Bill's meticulously
packed emergency rucksack and, still on her knees, pulled their coats
off their hangers, and grabbed her old running shoes that she used in
the garden and her cell-phone off its charger on the hall table,
throwing each one after the suitcase. With the baby under one arm and
Emily's hand in the other, she stumbled onto the heaving porch. A loud
crack of timber and a crash came from somewhere at the back of the
house. At the moment, she had other concerns besides her real estate.
At the bottom of the front steps, she turned to her daughter. "Emily,
we don't have time to dress. Just put on your sneakers and your coat
and start walking. Remember what we said last summer, you have to walk
really fast, even if it hurts. You have to keep up with me."
"Daddy said that we could take our bikes," Emily objected, disappointed.
"We don't have time for that," Jennifer continued. " Besides, only Daddy can ride the big bike that takes Caroline."
"Why isn't Daddy here?" Caroline wailed, fresh tears in her eyes. Still
in her nightgown and bare feet, she was starting to shiver in the cold
night air. In the moonlight, she looked even paler than before.
"Emily, we can discuss everything along the way. But we have to go now.
Just put on your shoes, a sweater, and your coat. And find your jeans."
Jennifer's voice was still calm because she knew she had to be, but she
was starting to panic as the moments ticked by as she negotiated with
her 8 year-old.
"My regular jeans are still upstairs, can I wear the pink ones?" Emily
asked in the tone she used while selecting her school clothes. The
familiarity of the question was surreal, and did not bode well for
getting Emily to move quickly.
"You can wear whatever you like, but just do it quickly," Jennifer said
as she pulled a sweater over her two-year-old's head and jammed socks
and shoes on to her tiny feet. She looked at her wrist for the time,
but she had left her watch upstairs. "Damn," she muttered.
By this time the ground had stopped shaking and lights were on all over
the street, though down the road it was still dark. Maybe the power was
out. They started walking south, and Jennifer started to jog, trying
different positions to hold on to the child she was carrying. Nothing
seemed to work.
"Mommy, you're going too fast. I can't keep up and my laces are untied because you made me rush."
Jennifer put the baby down on the pavement to tie Emily's shoes. Even
without her watch, she realized that they were at least 10 minutes into
the event. Time was running out. They were going to have to make up
some time. Thank goodness the ground had stopped shaking.
"Emily, we're going to have to run if we're going to be safe. We're
going to run down our street for a couple of blocks, then we're going
to walk a bit, and then we're going to run again. We have to get over
both bridges as soon as we possibly can. Do you understand?"
Dazed, Emily only nodded.
As they started to trot down the road they noticed that the street was
filling with people. Most were on foot, a few on bikes, and an
increasing number in cars. The fire department had warned not to use
your car because of traffic jams, but the traffic was moving, and
Jennifer wondered if she had made a mistake by leaving the car. It was
too late now.
As the first bridge along 12th Avenue came into sight, Jennifer saw
that there was a line of cars snaking back along Necanicum, parallel to
the river. Half walking, half limping in a lop-sided trot trying to
keep from dropping Caroline or losing track of Emily in the thickening
crowd, she had to come to a stop at the foot of the bridge.
Momentarily, she felt embarrassed by her appearance. In pajamas, a ski
jacket, and running shoes without socks, she felt ridiculous.
"The bridge is blocked," somebody volunteered, snapping Jennifer back
to reality. "The road buckled from the 'quake.'" Jennifer just nodded,
pushing her way past the stopped cars, some with their doors open and
the engines running, but no one inside. "I guess they were right about
the cars," she muttered to no one in particular as she forced Emily
ahead of her in the narrow space between the cars and the edge of the
bridge. The bridge had become separated from the roadway on the other side. It was an easy jump, but not for cars.
"Mommy, you're hurting me."
"Sorry, darling," Jennifer said in a soothing tone she did not feel.
"Just keep moving as fast as you can. As soon as we get through these
people, we're going to have to run again. Run as fast as you can. I'll
time you up the hill to Ocean Avenue. Let's see how fast you can make
it to that fallen tree."
"But you left your watch behind," Emily pointed out.
"I'll count 1-one-thousand, 2-one-thousand," Jennifer countered
smoothly, out of reflex. Without waiting for a response, she said,
"Ready, set, go!" Engaged by the familiar routine of the game, Emily sprinted ahead, quickly leaving her mother behind, the LEDs in her sneakers marking every step. Jennifer hoped that Emily would keep going.
Now running flat out, oblivious to her pain, Jennifer passed other
people on the road. Most were further behind, walking, but a few
bicycles passed without slowing down.
After passing the second bridge across the Neawanna Creek, Shore
Terrace tilted uphill. Though the going was more difficult, Jennifer
knew that gaining height was their most important objective. Though
nearly a mile inland, the road they were on would soon be under water,
engulfed by the possibility of a massive approaching wave. The edge of
the new shoreline still lay ahead of them.
"Mommy, I'm really tired. I want to stop," Emily said when Jennifer caught up to her. "Why can't we stay at these houses? There are people inside. I can see them."
"Daddy said that we have to get to the woods. You know, to the place we
have picnics." The woods were still a quarter mile ahead, and more
steeply uphill. As the early Pacific dawn softly back-lit the trees in
front of them, Jennifer realized that they had run out of time. "Emily,
I want you to run. Run as fast as you can, and don't stop no matter what
happens."
When the wave came, Jennifer was on the steepest part of the hill. She
knew this road well, for it was one of her regular running routes,
although it was one she often avoided because the hill always hurt her
knees. At once, the water was at her ankles, then mid-calf, then her
waist. She tried to keep moving forward, holding her crying baby above
the icy water, but she could feel her feet losing their grip.
Emily was further up the road, but had stopped running. She had turned
to face her mother, her arms outstretched, screaming. Jennifer yelled,
"Keep running," but Emily either couldn't hear or wasn't listening. She
just screamed, but Jennifer heard nothing above the roar of the water.
As the water worked its way up the street, Emily started to back-pedal
up the hill, her eyes still on her mother and her baby sister, as they struggled to stay above the water. It
suddenly struck Jennifer that Emily should not be able to do that, to
simply move faster than the incoming wave. Jennifer bent her knees, allowing
herself and the baby, now partially draped over her shoulder, her little head just barely above the water, to be carried along
by the current up the hill toward Emily. The water was slowing and
getting shallower by the second, like being carried into shore.
Jennifer's feet touched bottom.
They were going to live.
* * *
Most other people from Seaside did not survive the Memorial Day
Tsunami, as it came to be known. The town was better prepared than
most, but it simply took people too long to get to safety. Experts
later determined that congestion at the bridges slowed people's escape,
but the real problem was simply the lack of time: 30 minutes was not
long enough to move thousands of people nearly a mile, mostly on foot,
especially at 3:30 in the morning.
Up and down the west coast, nearly a half-million people died. Many
were buried by the earthquake, as even "earthquake proof" buildings
collapsed, and many more were trapped in their cars as gridlock blocked
their escape. Most victims were simply caught unawares by the giant
wave while still in their homes, picking up after the earthquake. As
always, people were divided into those who had prepared for this
unlikely event and those who had not. As for Jennifer and her children,
they had prepared, and did not delay or wait for confirmation before moving to safety. But they were also very, very lucky.___
All characters in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Seaside, Oregon, however, is a real place, just south of the mouth of the Columbia River at the end of the Lewis & Clark expedition route. The "end of the trail" commemorative statue lies at the foot of Seaside's Main Street. In the 1870s, the town was settled by Ben Holladay, famed operator of the Overland Stage and railroad builder. Much of the Oregon coast, including Seaside, lies near the Cascadia subduction zone, an off-shore region of great seimic pressures that stretches from northern Vancouver Island to northern California. The town has an official population of about 6,000 and sits just sixteen feet above sea level. West Coast tsunamis are very rare, with return periods of approximately 300 to 600 years. The statistical character of such events is similar to that of hurricanes. Click here to learn more.
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