Twenty-Nine Minutes of Terror

Twenty-Nine Minutes of Terror

5:33 PM: Nine-year-old Alison McDermont danced around the small kitchen in her family’s duplex on Pinetree Lane as she hummed, She Loves You, by the Beatles in anticipation of her parents’ arrival home from work. She had just finished setting the dining room table and eagerly looked forward to the lemon pie her mother had promised for dessert.

“Muffin? Where are you?” she shouted. She glanced around the kitchen looking for her cat. From the corner of her eye, she saw a ball of orange fur race around the refrigerator and up the stairs. Alison gave chase—more for play than in hope of catching her.

By the time Alison entered her bedroom, the cat was lounging on her bed, resting against an embroidered pillow, and licking her paw. “Hey! That’s my bed—get off.”

Alison looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand and decided she had time to try on her Easter dress one more time before her parents came home. It was her favorite dress ever. Pale ivory with a floral pattern of yellows, pinks, and lavender circling the bottom. The attached belt was a thin band of green.

Quickly, she kicked off her shoes, stripped off her burgundy cardigan sweater and black pedal pushers and slipped on her pretty dress. She stepped over to the mirror attached to the inside of the closet door to admire how she looked. As she twirled around to admire the full effect, Muffin dashed between her legs and into the back of the closet. Alison knelt and crawled under the clothes. That’s when she felt…

***

5:34 PM: Nora McDermont stood in front of the time clock with a pastry box with three slices of lemon pie in her left hand as she grabbed her timecard to clock out.

“Hey, Nora. I need you to do something before you punch out. I wouldn’t ask, but Larry is a no show. I really need your help.” O.T. Simpson stood with his hands on his hips facing Nora—O.T. was the manager of the Gold Nugget Diner. He was a short, barrel-shaped man with a perpetual five o’clock shadow. He started as a dishwasher fifteen years ago and moved up to the manager’s position when the diner’s owner decided to live in semi-retirement. Except lately, it was more like permanent retirement.

“What? I can’t do a double, I just can’t.” Alison was practically in tears at the thought of staying late on Good Friday.

“No, no. It’s not that, honest” O.T. sounded like he was on the verge of begging. “Could you please clean the restrooms before you leave? That’s Larry’s first job when he arrives, but like I said, he didn’t show.”

“Okay. I’ll do it, but it’ll be fast. I need to get home before it gets too dark.”

Nora placed the pastry box in the kitchen reach-in and gathered a pair of gloves, a bucket, the cleaning supplies, and a sign to hang on the restroom door while she cleaned. As she stepped into the lady’s room and closed the door, she glanced down at her watch. It was 5:34 PM. That’s when she felt…

***

5:35 PM: Two blocks from the Gold Nugget Diner, Brody McDermont was finishing the last steps of sanitizing his workstation in the Fish Trap Market. At almost six feet tall, Brody, a former fishing boat first mate, was as burly as a professional football player. But after a near-death accident at sea, he decided to remain ashore and care for his family.

“Hey Brody, can you cut me a few salmon steaks before you leave?” Toby Wilson begged.

“Sorry, brother. I’m stepping out the door right now. Maybe in the morning.”

“Okay. Okay. I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Brody removed his apron and tossed it into the shop laundry bag. As he washed his hands at the small sink in the rear of the store, he remembered his package of halibut fillets. He grabbed his coat and pulled open the freezer door, closing it behind him out of habit. That’s when he felt…

***

5:36 PM: Following the slightest of tremors that began at 5:33 PM, the city of Anchorage, Alaska, pitched and rolled violently as a massive 9.2 magnitude earthquake damaged or demolished every man-made structure in the sprawling community. The land moved violently for miles in all directions. And it continued to shake for almost five full minutes, followed by thousands of aftershocks. Buildings crumbled and dropped on top of one another. Bridges collapsed into rivers. Sidewalks buckled as sectors of land sank ten feet in some places—while other parcels of land were pushed up a dozen feet or more. There was no escape.

Gas mains ruptured, followed by explosions—and raging fires. Water and sewage lines burst, spewing their contents in all directions. Infernos spread out of control as fire-fighters were utterly helpless to reach them, let alone locate sufficient water and pressure to extinguish them.

Roads and highways twisted, pitching cars and trucks as if they were toys—and tossed the helpless passengers trapped inside like rag dolls. Thick iron rail lines were bent like cheap paper clips, knocking over 110-ton diesel engines and hundreds of loaded box cars. Telephone poles snapped like matchsticks throwing live electric lines to the ground.

Wooden and concrete structures were rendered pitiful as they failed to withstand the second most powerful earthquake in the history of the world.

As the fading sun touched the horizon, a blaze of hellish yellow and hateful orange flashes snaked their way through the smoke-filled sky as flames became brighter in the icy darkness.

First responders, hospital staff, and other emergency personnel scrambled as best they could under the circumstances as they reacted to the cries for help. Everyone raced to control the rapidly escalating chaos. A bone-chilling cold crept across the ghoulish landscape—as if there wasn’t enough misery inflicted on this horrific night.

***

5:48 PM: Brody McDermont awoke with a knot on his head. He could see a faint light shining through the partially opened freezer door. He blinked. What the hell happened? Where am I?

He was lying on his side, but the floor was slightly tilted. Heavy boxes were on top of his legs and packages of frozen fish were scattered all around him.

“Hey. Is anybody out there?” No one answered. Brody pushed away the boxes and fish using his arms and legs, but he was cold and stiff and in pain—and disoriented. Through the dream-like mental fog he began to hear far-off sirens, screams, and car horns. With effort, he grabbed the metal shelving and pulled himself up-right. He stepped over to the door but was unsteady on his feet.

Using his shoulder, and the weight of his body, he pushed the freezer door with all his might. It barely moved, but he was able to squeeze through the narrow opening. Holding onto the door handle, he glanced around the store to discover it was in a shambles—like a bomb blew-up. Looking around he saw where the roof had caved in and landed on top of the walk-in freezer, forcing the heavy door to pop open just enough to permit him a chance to escape.

I’ve got to get home. Where’s Nora? Alison? I need to find them.

He felt like he was drunk, wobbly on his feet. He blinked a few times to clear his head. Looking down to see if his path was clear in the dim light, he saw a can of soda. He swooped down and grabbed it. After drinking the sweet liquid, he took deep breaths and shook his head to collect his thoughts. From the corner of his eye, he saw the thick, puffy coat he wore when conducting inventory inside the freezer. He put it on and looked for the matching earmuffs. They were gone.

Somehow, he staggered around the destruction as he made his way through the store and went outside—where the front of the building used to be. It was bitter cold, and the sun was dropping quickly. He held onto a light pole that was bent over to get his bearings. The street in front of him was pushed up eight feet, the sidewalks looked like they had smashed with a giant sledgehammer. Cars were on their side or turned over completely. He blinked again to clear his vision. He could see people walking in the distance, but they appeared to stumble and lurch forward, more like zombies than humans. Some of them were crying, others yelled incoherently. But most, like Brody, tried to make sense of what had just happened to their world.

Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he thought of his wife and daughter. The astringent smell of smoke burned his nostrils. He had to move, but how? Where?

Turning left, he went to the side of the market and staggered down the alley. He cut through the backyards of houses that were badly damaged or destroyed. He just kept moving.

***

6:02 PM: After what seemed like an hour, he arrived at Pinetree Lane. But the darkness and utter destruction made finding his duplex difficult. His heart raced as he tried to walk faster—he had to find his wife and daughter. The cold sweat that covered his face was becoming icy as he labored to breathe.

After a few minutes, he recognized his neighbor’s truck—and then saw what remained of his duplex. Brody ran as fast as he could towards the broken building only to find it practically flattened onto itself. He climbed onto the roof and peered into the rubble and began calling, “Alison! Alison! Where are you?” He tore away pieces of wood, insulation, and crumpled sheetrock with his bare hands.

“Dad? Dad? Is that you?” The voice was weak, barely audible, but there was no mistake, it was Alison.

Frantically, Brody pulled and tossed debris around the area where he heard the voice. Because of the poor light, it was almost impossible to see anything. Then, suddenly, something moved—with a blood-curdling screech, Muffin jumped out from under a sheet of plywood and ran to safety, practically knocking Brody off his feet.

“I’m here, dad. I’m here.” Alison yelled as loudly as she could, but the sound was muted.

“I’m coming honey, I’m coming. Don’t give up.” His voice was hoarse from the bitter cold and the increasing smoke.

He saw one small hand, then another—then her face. She was badly scratched with streaks of blood across her forehead, and her hair was disheveled, but she was alive. He struggled to remove everything that was blocking her escape. After she squirmed free, they hugged so tightly he was afraid he would hurt her.

Through her sobs, she looked at her father’s face and asked, “Where’s mom?”

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.” Kneeling atop the rubble of their destroyed home, they held each other tightly in the cold, dark hellscape that surrounded them.

***

6:11 PM: “Brody? Alison? Thank God, you’re both alive.” Nora scrambled up the pile of debris practically falling with each frenzied step. She fell to her knees and embraced her husband and daughter as the trio cried in each other’s arms.

Brody pulled back to look at his family and said, “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Everything is destroyed, everything. We have nothing left.”

“Mom,” Alison said softly, “I’m sorry about my dress. I just wanted to try it one more time before Easter. And now it’s ruined.” She grabbed onto her mother and held her tightly as her sobbing continued.

Nora embraced her daughter and rocked slowly. She pushed back her daughter’s hair and said, “Don’t worry, honey we can get you another dress. But first, we need to find shelter—somewhere warm. We need food and water. Then we can figure out what’s next. I’m just thankful we’re alive. We may not have my lemon pie or your Easter dress, but we’re together, and that’s enough for me.”

The McDermont family held each other’s hands as they slowly made their way down from their home’s destroyed rooftop, onto the uneven grass, and across the shattered sidewalk as they strolled towards the town center in search of salvation. They didn’t have anything except the clothes they were wearing, but they did have each other on this night of terror, Good Friday, March 27, 1964. They were survivors.

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