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Back 3 a.m.
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

Keeping one hand on the guardrail, I gaze in every direction. Fifty yards behind me, there is a thirty foot gap where the street has collapsed into the river. Thirty yards ahead of me there is a smaller piece of the bridge missing. Of the twenty flags that line the bridge, only two poles remain attached. Neither carries their flag. Behind the cloud of dust, both hotels have been flattened. So have the bank and two other buildings. One remains standing. The sole survivor. I wonder how many other buildings have fallen. How many other hotels?

The death toll could be staggering.

All I can think about is Ingrid.

Is our cabin still standing?

Was she far enough from the epicenter to escape the worst of it?

If the cabin did fall, is she buried? Is she trapped and helpless, screaming out my name?

I look down at my watch.

3:23 a.m.

The quake lasted over two minutes.

I run south to the edge of the island. My concrete glacier. I peer down at the jagged edge of road and the three-inch thick rebar that bends downward toward the thirty-foot section of road that lies in the river. I had hoped we could drop down to it, but the river has intensified and it rushes past in waves of brown.

I run to the north end. The gap is half as big, but the story is the same.

Meow.

“I can’t jump it.”

Meow.

“Well, I’m not Carl Lewis.”

I gaze down at the river. I don’t know if the earthquake broke a levy, or a dam, or if it simply pushed a huge excess of water forward — a river tsunami, if such a thing exists — but it has morphed into raging brown rapids. A sweeping sludge of angry water. The rising water rides high on the banks and continues to rip trees from their roots and sweep them away. Those trees begin hammering at the support of my concrete island. A cabin, or what is left of a cabin, swirls around a bend in the river, and moments later, smashes into the pillar beneath our feet.

The island rocks and a huge chunk falls away.

Our glacier is crumbling.

I line myself up over the support pillar. This is where I am going to wait it out. Wait until help arrives.

I check my watch.

3:28 a.m.

Where are the fire trucks? Where are the choppers?

The bridge lurches.

I gaze down.

The debris could no longer fit under the bridge. Trees upon trees, sections of docks, a boat, cabin decks, a car. It is a stew of casualties from the monster quake. I can feel the bridge creaking. It can’t hold out much longer.