What an earthquake is like

As a former resident of California, I’ve been through my share of “temblors”–nothing, obviously, anywhere close to the destructive force of Chile’s quake.

It was a magnitude 8.8. Any rumble felt below 4.0, people look at each other and ask if that was an earthquake. At 5.0, you know and it’s scary. 8.8 must feel like the planet is trying to shake you off, violently.

The quake started before dawn on Saturday. Imagine waking up on what must have felt like the back of an angry, bucking bronco. In the rodeo, you’re done after 8 seconds. In Chile, the ground was shaking for almost a minute and a half.

Let’s say you managed to get on your feet within 5 seconds. By then, everything on your shelves is on the floor, moving.

Let’s say you’re not panicking but moving intently toward your front door to get out on the street, where, hopefully, it’s safer. What about the kids, your spouse, the dog?

By 10 seconds, windows and mirrors have cracked, possibly shattering. Not that you heard anything breaking. It’s so loud, it feels like you’re midflight in the cargo bay of a very large and very old bomber.

Within 15 to 20 seconds, if you can see, cracks have formed in the walls.

Within 30 seconds, chunks of plaster and who knows what else are falling all around you. Pipes are bursting.

Let’s say you’ve rousted your partner, your kids and have joined the dog and cat on the street. You hold your family close and look around to see who else was lucky enough to have gotten out. There aren’t a lot of others.

In the dim light, you can see the buildings that make up your neighborhood list like old boats. Some simply drop straight down. Nothing rises but dust.

For 45 seconds now, the ground has been shaking more violently than anyone alive can remember.

You can hear screaming now.

By 60 seconds, if it hasn’t happened already, you’re certain the world is ending–that it’s shaking itself into smaller pieces.

I cannot imagine what those last 30 seconds must have felt like.

Once the movement stops, your street is, for a moment, more quiet than it’s ever been. Then, all at once, you realize you’ve survived, you hear muffled cries and you wonder where you put your emergency stash of water and food. Can you reach those people who are now trapped? Can you rescue them? Can you get your emergency water and food? Can you get your clothes? Where will you and your family sleep? Where will you get food, water and medicine tomorrow?

As you start trying to lift concrete blocks to reach the people now trapped, there is only one certainty that survived the earthquake: the world–as you’ve known it–has ended. And you need help.