The End of San Fransisco

[Sabla]

The End of San Francisco

The sun was baking hot, glaring down on the land with no remorse for the beings who dwelt there. Though there was one, basking in the heat, lying on the side of a sand dune. All around him was sand, sand that could burn unprotected flesh, or flesh that had not been hardened with age or wear and tear. The marram grass rustled in the slight breeze that offered little respite from the heat, and the only nearby escape from the blistering temperature was to dive into the cool ocean. If you could trek across the baking sands to get to the water.

It was the height of the summer, yet the beach that would normally be swarming with masses of people was as barren as the Sahara desert, and this came as no surprise, considering the circumstances…

--

It was July, Independence Day, to be exact. And Frank and his family lived in the suburbs of San Francisco. For the Fourth of July, they had planned a day at the beach, where his kids could swim and make sand castles all day long. Then they’d have a big cookout before they would watch the fireworks bloom out over the ocean. That was the plan.

But someone had something else in mind…

For a millennia the pieces of the Earth’s crust had been locked together, the friction building until the rock strained under the thousands of tons of pressure against it. This pressure, called a fault, would push until something ruptured. So much so, that a strong vibration could set off the most catastrophic natural disaster known to man. And when it did, what was left of the crust would collapse into the Earth’s molten core.

A fault along the California coast, the San Andreas fault, had went through this deadly cycle since the beginning of time, shrinking the Pacific Ocean ever so slightly. Like a pattern, this fault has caused a huge earthquake every millennium. And like Old Faithful, never failed to go off.

Until now.

It’s been over a hundred years since the San Andreas’ due date and the fault has been hiding it’s display of friction from the scientists. They’re not sure if the past millennia has had little effect on the fault, or if it’s about to blow any second. No means of scientific technology can help. And to make matters worse…

It cuts right through San Francisco.

America, still mad over 911, had declared war on Iraq some time ago. And the enemy had claimed more than once they had weapons of mass destruction, and troops immediately searched the country for any means of an atomic bomb. But all they found was little artillery supply, nothing close to what they needed to properly fight back and knock America off their towering throne. …Or so the U.S. believed.

A large cargo plane was flown into Mexico. [No threat was detected.] And nestled in the plane’s vast load of firecrackers (made in Iraq), lay three bombs, disguised as super-sized fireworks. They were smuggled into the U.S. by simple, everyday-looking Iraqi spies. [Again, no threat was detected] It was set up on the Fourth of July to avoid suspicion. And the men who took it were on a kamikaze mission, ready to die for their country.

--

Frank unloaded the last of his kids’ toys for the beach, shaking his head at the variety of animals and bright colors. His wife had taken the kids out for lunch while he was supposed to save a spot for them on the crowded beach. “They better bring something back…” he grumbled, Frank switched his hold of a pair of hot pink flippers to his mouth. And he gripped it with his teeth as he shut the back of his SUV. Though as his fingers jerked to shut it, half the floaties dropped from his grasp, nearly blowing away in the sea wind.

He grunted as he bent over to grab them, chasing each one down before they could go too far. Frank looked around to see if anyone was watching him, thinking how stupid he must look. With a sigh, he headed across the street to the beach, grumbling as he got sand in his ‘mandals.’

Once he crossed, he looked back to the city behind him, not exactly sure why. Just a feeling… Then it happened. It started with a low rumble, and then grew into a growl, then it was a gut-wrenching wail of twisted metal. A ripple of sound hit him as a thunderous boom filled the air. A ball of fire erupted in San Francisco’s skyline. He gaped at the sight, watching the flame tear through the sky. A plume of black smoke arose, but that wasn’t it.

His eyes widened as it slowly sank in at what this could mean. His family, in the midst of San Francisco, could be in that blaze. His two little girls screaming as the flames engulfed them. And his wife, clinging to them as she helplessly looked around for any escape.

“No!!” he screamed.

The ground then started to shake, everything suddenly liquefied into Jell-O. And all he was carrying flew from his arms. The palm trees about him shook, the leaves and coconuts falling all around him. Then the shaking got worse. The trees themselves was pulled from the ground, falling about like a giant game of pick-up-sticks. Frank jumped out of the way from a falling tree, the sharp leaves like razors as they had cut into his arms. Everything was chaos, the sand dunes shifting and burying everything that didn’t move away.

But he ran for the city, desperately hoping his family survived the explosion. Frank’s heart pumped, injecting adrenaline into his veins as he ran back to the parking lot and into the crowded city streets. Car tires squealed as the drivers wrecked off the road, most jumping out and struggled to run, while others didn’t survive their reckless driving.

People were running, screaming as they went. But everything seemed to be in slow motion to Frank. His footsteps too small, his pace never fast enough. His throat was on fire, feeling as if he had swallowed a knife. With every breath it seemed like it was tearing through his esophagus.

Then the Earth rocked beneath him, like a deadly creature under the surface, angered at the mysterious explosion. A screech so powerful blasted through the smoke filled air, threatening to blast through his eardrums. Then the screech lowered, into what sounded like a snarl, then a growl turned into a roar.

A shock wave, so forceful that it snapped Frank’s neck back, giving him whiplash, thundered across the ground. The earth was pulled out from under him in only a split second, sending him sprawling. Then the ground beneath him tilted upward into a slant that seemed to rise and rise to each degree. Frank skidded on the pavement, crashing into cars, shattered glass, and any other means of debris from the surrounding buildings, as they all seemed to tumble down into a freefall. Men and women screamed in terror, children crying out, suddenly silenced as they hit into a building with a sickening thud.

Frank saw this danger, and scrambled to gain some kind of purchase in the street he fell from. He saw his chance and grabbed at a passing stop sign, but pain shot up his arm as the post sliced through his hand, and he immediately let go. And as he tumbled, his fingers clawed at the ground, finding purchase in a rain gutter. They threatened to give, but miraculously held. He pulled himself up, his arms gripping the inside of the gutter and his shoulders resting on the curb. He panted, trying to catch his breath. Frank looked up, remembering the deadly debris that could snuff out his life.

Cars plummeted down, what was left of them looking like a flaming heap of twisted metal. Buildings started to crumble, the walls of the skyscrapers falling like a hail storm from hell. They smashed into the pavement, a crater left from their fall. Glass rained from the sky, some reaching Frank and burying into his skin. He quickly shielded his eyes, wincing as they hit his back. And he looked about frantically, searching for any means of shelter.

Then the heat hit him. Waves of it erupted from the now exposed molten core. Papers from the destroyed offices caught flame. Where smoke once was, was now was a bright orange, looking as if the sky itself caught afire.

Frank grappled to keep his grip on the gutter as the heat spread, melting all the metal close. His eyes widened as he watched the molten mixture creep closer to him, fire reflected in his eyes. Frank made the only decision he could. And though all his instincts told him to hold on, he let his fingers slide from their grasp.

With a scream, he fell, struggling to keep himself from hitting anything. He passed the parking lot he had once staggered across, skidding against the rough ground. The world seemed to be crumbling, all in disarray in his ever-changing view. Then with a thud, he cracked his head on a light post. His vision blurred, black spots swirling in his mind. Then he realized it wasn’t spots.

Cars were raining from the sky. They were black with soot and twisted from their fall like a bad accident. Windows were busted out, tires were blown or missing altogether, and pieces of them hung off like a door not supposed to be there. Sparks flew as the metal grated against the pavement. In their freefall, the cars knocked into each other, twisting and turning on their way down.

And they were headed straight for Frank.

With no time to lose, he leapt out of the way, just as a truck smashed through the light post. The post snapped like a twig, shattering its bulb as it hit the ground. The glass started to float downwards just as the truck barreled past.

Frank stole a glance at the ground, turning from the horrific scene above. Below, the ground was rapidly coming toward him, the scattering of palm trees growing bigger and bigger. And Frank knew his life was going to end. He clenched his eyes shut and prayed it wouldn’t be painful.

--

Frank shot up, eyes wild and breathing hard. He looked around, eyes taking in his closet, the armoire, and a picture he got his wife for their anniversary. He calmed as he recognized their master bedroom, dark from the wee morning hours. Frank took in a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Then he rose from bed quietly so not to disturb his slumbering wife. He crept out into the hall.

The wooden floor was cool under his feet, the walls familiar and dear. Up ahead, nightlights marked the entrance to his girls’ room. They were lit up like lanterns on an airplane runway, signaling the way to the bathroom across the hall.

Frank peeked into his daughters’ room, needing to make sure. He saw them, and let out a sigh of relief. He knew what he had was just a bad dream, but he needed to make sure so as to soothe his nerves.

Then quiet as a mouse, Frank slowly shut their pink door, and tiptoed across the rug. He walked to his bedroom, never making a sound. Frank crept back into bed, wincing as his wife awoke.

“Dear, why were you up?” she mumbled, still half asleep.

“I just had to go to the bathroom, hon,” he said, making a quick excuse.

She nodded, yawning, and then she turned over and was quiet for so long that Frank thought she was asleep. She spoke up again, surprising him, though this time her voice was muffled from beneath the covers.

“Well you better get to sleep soon, we’re going to the beach tomorrow.”