California Earthquake

“What the hell?” I cried out in terror, suddenly falling out of my daybed to land on the floor. Since I live alone, no one answered me. All around me, cats raced in a frenzied panic, trying to find a spot in our small home where the roof wasn’t crashing down on them.

The sun was just coming up when the 8.3 earthquake hit northern California. Once the shaking and heaving of the ground underneath my home stopped, I managed to scramble to my feet and head out of the bedroom to the library and the front door. By now my animals had escaped outside to safety and were sitting out in the front yard, casually washing themselves. I stood in the doorway and quickly made sure they were all safe. After ascertaining none were injured, I looked around my front room and then up through the huge hole in the roof.

If a person lives in California, sometimes known as the shake and bake state, it is wise to always be prepared. Years ago, I’d filled an old suitcase with family pictures and papers priceless and irreplaceable. I’d also periodically put $20 bills at the bottom of the suitcase in case I was unable to get to the bank. The suitcase was located near the front door.

Around 9 a.m., three hours after the earthquake struck, I was sifting through the debris in the library when I heard the sound of a fire engine coming up our little country road. When I ran outside to stand by the road, I saw neighbors up and down the road doing the same thing.

On the engine stood a fireman, megaphone to his lips, calling out to us. “Evacuation is mandatory! You all need to go to town, to the auditorium where you’ll be safe.” On the outskirts of town was the large veterans’ auditorium, a central meeting place for all the town’s inhabitants if a disaster struck. As the engine made its slow way down the road, he kept repeating the same message until he finally disappeared onto the main two-lane highway.

Hating to do it, I knew I had to leave my animals behind until the crisis had passed. After loading the stuffed suitcase into Blue Satyr, my brand new Toyota Yaris, I joined the caravan of other vehicles belonging to my neighbors. Upon reaching the end of my road where it came out on the main highway, I cautiously merged into the heavy traffic aiming for town.

The cars and trucks ahead of me crawled slowly and then came to a stop when another strong aftershock hit. The ground under a corpse of eucalyptus trees, loosened by a heavier than usual rainy season, suddenly gave way. Three of the trees fell onto the highway with a deafening crash, trapping cars and people underneath them. The way to town and safety was blocked, perhaps for days, until the trees could be removed.

I saw others getting out of their cars to help the trapped people. Knowing I would just be in their way, I made a quick decision. Mandatory evacuation or not, I managed to swing Blue Satyr around and head back the way I’d come. Many of my neighbors made the same choice, and we all returned to our shattered homes.

Until help arrived, we shared what resources we had. It turned out I was the one who had the most bottled water. Over the years, every time I bought a gallon of the Sunny Delight juice, I’d wash out the empty plastic container and fill it with water. By the time the earthquake struck, there were 30 containers on shelves in my front room. They had all survived, and I was able to dole it out to neighbors whose wells no longer worked.

Like everyone else on my little country road, I had tried to prepare myself for when the “big one” would happen. We had no electricity, of course, during that time, but I’d also thought of that. Back in 2003 when Spock, my beautiful cedar tree in the front yard, fell on my home, I’d lost the electricity for three days. A small Sterno stove quickly became a major part of my emergency kit, and I was able to at least eat hot food after the quake. A small stash of canned goods had been stored on a bottom shelf in the library along with a few unbreakable dishes. I’d also placed a Coleman lamp and flashlights with a bucket of batteries on the bottom shelf.

My cats slowly came back to where I was camping out in the only room I could get into, the library. Books were scattered all over the floor, but I was able to locate the basket where I kept the cans of cat food. I’d crawled into the next room, which was my bedroom, and quickly determined it was unsafe to stay there.

Tile from the roof constantly fell through another large hole every time an aftershock hit. This made remaining in the room for any length of time too dangerous. I grabbed blankets and pillows off my bed and managed to make it back to the library between falling tiles.

Portable battery-operated radios kept me and my neighbors informed of the recovery effort being made in our area. It took the full 72 hours predicted by the authorities, but eventually someone came up the road to announce the main road was clear. We could now go to town, but by then we all decided evacuation was no longer necessary.

Those on my little country road had gathered together in the face of this major crisis, keeping each other safe and alive. Soon, the hard part would begin, filling out paperwork for insurance companies, rebuilding our homes, and preparing for the next emergency.

For now, we had survived, evacuating when able to do so, otherwise hunkering down in place to ride it out in true California fashion.

Microsoft Word count = 997

Winner of the 10/25/07 "The Writer's Cramp"  daily prompt contest