7:22AM PST, Wednesday June 11th, 2025
Sally Birmingham fitted the key into the front door of the Pacific Coffee House that resided on Jefferson Street. She didn’t want to open the shop today, but since she had forgotten to take the bank deposit after closing yesterday, it was necessary. The Pacific Coffee House, or PCH as the locals called it, wasn’t usually open on Wednesdays so Sally was free to take her time. She left the sign on the door that read Sorry, we’re closed, in place and letting it clank against the window of the door as it shut behind her.
The floor was spotless during openings and this morning was no different. Sally strode behind the main dining counter, past the cook’s window where Jeremy would toss out small orders of breakfast eggs and pancakes that had no business being as good as they were. When she entered the main office beyond the counter, she flicked on the lights. They came alive with a faint buzz that would drive Sally to the brink of madness, but she didn’t intend to stay here long.
“In and out,” she had told herself when she stepped out of her Jeep Compass.
Sally moved along to the back cabinet where she left the heavy stitched bag that held some four thousand dollars in cash, check, and coin, locked with a steel padlock. Yes, for a small independent business, it couldn’t be said that Sally Birmingham was too poor off for herself.
She undid the padlock with the small key she kept on her keyring, undid the brass locks that held the zipper in place, and opened the bag. Her thumb ran along the bills and checks. She zipped it up, bounced it three times- no more or less- to hear the chatter of coins, and tucked the bag under her arm, the logo of Pacific Bank of Washington facing outward in worn white letters.
She had only just reached the front door when she realized the lights still hummed away in the office. It was advised long ago that she get timers and sensors placed on those lights and she would have done just that, was going to do just that, but life kept strolling away and it slipped from mind and time.
Sally stood at the front door of the cafe, one hand on the door’s handle, the other securing the bag and her car keys. Her arm pushed the door open and then froze in place. She let out an exasperated breath and walked back into the cafe. She was already late for breakfast in her second cafe across town, but she didn’t want the lights burning all day. The last thing she needed was to be called on an electrical fire or have her work flow interrupted because the damn flickering tube light had finally gone out.
Her fingers reached in the office door frame and she slapped the light switch off.
Sally turned around and started towards the door when the first tremor began. It felt as though a large animal had been walking down the street just outside the cafe. Sally stood stock still behind the counter, her eyes darting one way and then the other.
“Earthquake?” she asked the absent ghosts of customers. She could see Dale sitting at the counter, raising his thick ceramic cup in the air, ready for a refill. Darlene on the other side scrolling through indeed.com as she paid for a breakfast with money she really didn’t have. But the ghosts kept their peace and the cafe stayed silent.
The second tremor hit and the Earth jumped as if it was dodging a meteor. Plates and cups fell from shelves in the kitchen, crashing through the dining area in a deafening roar of sound. Sally fell to her knees as her balance was taken from underneath her. The keys escaped her hand and jumbled across the tiled floor. The money bag that should be on its way to the bank by now laid on the floor only a few feet from her face.
Sally began to work her way up to her feet. She finally got a hold of herself and looked around the dining room. All was still as it had been. She glanced into the kitchen and cursed at the fallen plates and cups.
She bent low to pick up the bag and her car keys and that was when she noticed the sound that had always been. It came down upon her like a distant thunderstorm. A roll of clouds that moved with a sullen vengeance and sent their crashes to the beings below. Outside the window, she could see people running. People she knew, people she loved. That’s how it is in a small town. Everyone gets to know everyone.
She opened the door to the cafe and almost opened it on a person that was running down the Jefferson Street sidewalk.
“Oh God,” Sally said, pulling the door back a little. “I’m so sorry, Jim, are you ok?”
Jim McGivens looked at her. His eyes looked void of life, pitted like dark holes that led into coal mines. He said nothing, pushed her to one side, and kept running down the street. Sally looked up and down the road. Other people were running in the same direction as Jim was. Sally glanced up beyond them and as she looked further North, her eyes widened and her heart stopped as the smoke pillared and rose.
#
7:22AM PST, Wednesday June 11th, 2025
“When does your husband come home?” Jeremiah asked, stepping out of the bathroom. He was still drying his hair with Kelly’s husband’s towel. Kelly herself laid in bed, propping herself up with one elbow, letting the topsheet flow along her curved figure.
“I told you,” she said, laying back down on her back. She began to spread her legs under the sheet. Jeremiah felt another bout of warmth course through his body at the sight of her. “He gets done with work at nine. He’s been moved to the night shift. Now come here, and lay down. Do you wanna go again, or keep talking about my husband?”
Jeremiah slid into the bed, his back still moist from the shower. Kelly wrapped her arms around his neck and moved her legs around his waist as she smelled the intoxicating odor of the bourbon bodywash her husband used.
She had been seeing Jeremiah for the last few weeks now and things were beginning to get serious between the two. Kelly had said she was going to break it off with Tom at some point and Jeremiah believed her.
“Just a little longer,” she had told him in bed a few nights ago as she ran her fingers along his legs under the sheet. “Just a little longer and then I’ll be all yours.” Kelly had emphasized the all yours that night with an extra sway of her hips against his, causing Jeremiah to lose his mind and sexual control all at the same time.
The morning sun casted a warm glow across the top of the bed as Jeremiah and Kelly worked each other into a steaming frenzy. Groanings filled the bedroom in the otherwise empty house. Their rhythm was compatible and in sync. He had begun to feel his way from her shoulders to her torso when the first tremor hit.
“What was that?” Kelly asked, stopping almost at once. Jeremiah couldn’t stop. Kelly began to hit Jeremiah’s shoulders repeatedly. “Stop. Stop it! What was that?”
Sweat had ran down Jeremiah’s forehead now. Gonna need another shower, he thought. He looked down at Kelly. There was panic in her eyes. Could her husband be home? He thought. No. No he doesn’t get off work for another hour and a half at least, then he has to drive home.
He looked down at her. “What?” He asked. “What’d you say?”
“I said, What was that? That big boom. Didn’t you feel that?”
Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders and shook his head a little. “Construction?” He said. “They’re working up the road a little, maybe they-”
The second blast shook the house in a violent wave that rippled down the street. Outside the house, car alarms had gone off. People stepped out one by one on their front porches to see what was happening and a sudden clamor of confusion and panic began to take hold.
“Get off,” Kelly said. “Get off me.” She got to her knees and peeked through the blinds. “Your damn car’s blaring its horn. Shut it off before someone sees it.”
But Jeremiah didn’t say anything. He was on his knees on the bed, looking out the window beside Kelly. The sight of it made his stomach rumble and he jerked once to keep his panicky vomit at bay. He swallowed it back down, letting the acid burn the inner lining of his throat. He jumped down from the bed and ran to throw his jeans on.
“Hey,” Kelly called after him. “Whe’re you going?” But Jeremiah was already out the front door and running to his car.
She watched him open the door and shut it behind him. He was just starting the engine when she finally looked a little further north.
Her mouth hung open as if she was about to welcome her lover. She uttered a small cry. “Oh my God,” she said, and picked up her cell phone to call her husband.
#
7:22AM PST, Wednesday June 11th, 2025
Tilly had just put her five month old baby underneath the mobile that laid along the living room floor. Baby Sal had been a big boy at birth, all of eight pounds, but he had slowed down a little. He was a good eater most times, as long as the food wasn’t green. Already at five months, the boy was picky about his veggies.
Tilly’s husband Jack was determined his boy was going to be a future lineman with the Seattle Seahawks. He even went to the lengths of improving his own throw so he could be sure to toss the pig with his son when he was older.
Once the boy was down, reaching with chubby arms and hands to the stuffed elephants and lions that hung suspended above him, Tilly was able to sit.
But she wouldn’t.
Tilly never minded that the piles of laundry grew and grew in the bedrooms. She never minded if the living room was a bit cluttered, to her it was a memory making space with her boy. But what Tilly couldn’t abide by was the dishes. Those damn dishes needed to be washed and no one else was going to do it. Jack was good about his fair share of household chores but dishes was not one of them. And if they sat in soaking sink water long enough, then the damn fruit flies would come from nowhere, bouncing from plate to plate above the scum lined water.
Tilly had made traps out of vinegar and dish soap before. She had bought store made traps and tried baiting the bastards til she went mad. Nothing worked. The only thing that helped keep the little buggers at bay was preventing them in the first place. So it was the dishes she went to.
The kitchen offered a great open view to the living room so she could finish her work and watch her boy at the same time. The television was running with the likes of Elmo and Big Bird and her boy was cooing at their educational stimulation. Tilly liked Sesame Street. So did Jack. They both grew up on the street and were happy that their little boy might grow with the same wonderful programming as they did.
She was loading the dishwasher when the water glass she placed on the counter’s edge fell to the floor. Tilly jumped back as she felt the ground shake under her and shards of glass ricochetted to every different direction.
In the living room, Sal began to chortle a cry.
“It’s ok, baby,” Tilly said as she walked over to the broom cabinet. “Mommy just dropped a glass. Shhh…There’s nothing to worry about.” She reached for the broom and thought about what she just said as she swept. She had told her boy she dropped the glass.
But I wasn’t holding the glass, so how could I drop it?
Tilly closed the cabinet door, leaving the broom where it was, and walked over to Sal. She picked up the crying babe and held him to her breast, one arm under his bottom, the other supporting his head.
She pressed her forehead to his and began to sooth the child when the second wave hit.
It sent Tilly sprawling for balance as she struggled to stay on her feet. Her boy let out another round of cries from the sudden blast that shook through the early morning skies. Tilly felt her legs give out and she contorted her own body, falling on her own bottom and wrapping her arms ever tighter around her son.
“Oh Jesus,” she cried as her butt came into contact with the carpeted floor.
But the violent boom was over almost as quick as it began. Sal continued to wail like a lead singer at a rock concert. His chubby arms shook in front of him as he struggled in his own confusion.
“Hold on, sweetie,” Tilly said as she carried the boy to the back yard.
She slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The air was still cold but it was becoming warmer as the day came on in full stride. Tilly looked to her right and then to her left.
She had to double take as she stood there, frozen to the wooden planks of the deck, mesmerized by shooting lines of red and orange.
In her arms, baby Sal, future Seattle Seahawk lineman, cried on.
#
Unknown time. Base of the mountain where the grassland meets the water. Mid daylight.
The deer lifted its head from the water and began to walk along the stream. It liked the stream. The stream was home. The stream was nourishment. Still, the deer knew that you don’t get to reach as many warm seasons as he did without being careful.
He stepped along the water’s edge, moving bit by bit and stopping every few steps. The beast would stop, lift its head, turn its proud antlers from one direction to the other and sniff. He sniffed the pure and clean air, happy to relish in its delight. The animal was content. The animal was at peace. The animal was free.
The mountain had been declared by the humans to be safe. Almost what they called protected, but that meant little to the deer. All he knew was that he wasn’t bothered in this area and that was well enough for him. He moved with calm sureness along the water, stopping once or twice to quench his thirst or to satisfy his peckish stomach with a few mouthfuls of grass.
A burst of wings sprouted from the trees to his right and the winged creatures took to the sky in a cloud of chaotic nonsense that wasn’t always like them. The deer stood and stared at their flight patterns, watching them move this way and that. Then the water jutted with ripples from the edge of the creek inwards and then out again.
The deer felt its body jolt and freeze as his nose sniffed into the air.
Everything was calm and in order. But with the sixth sense known only to the beasts of the Earth, the deer let out a bellowing huff of air. He wasn’t sure there were any other deer around him but he didn’t care. He shot out his warning of imminent danger and took to a gallop away from the mountain.
#
The mountain had been deemed safe by volcanologists, practically dormant. In another twenty to forty years they may have even ventured to call it extinct. But deep in the mountain’s crater, pressure had built over the course of a thousand years, most likely more. Pressure built like covered water left too long to boil on a stove. Hot molten magma beat against the solid rock of the Earth’s crust, punching and kicking to get out as baby Sal had done only a few months before at his mother’s womb.
Rock had sat for hundreds and thousands of years along the danger zone of the volcano’s crater. The volcanologists had given the mountain a name, but such things didn’t matter anymore. Such trivial things as names didn’t matter to rock and soil that packed along the crust of the crater, because when the Earth shook, and the heat rose from the depths, the only name that mattered to any living being within range, was destruction. And destruction is what the mountain knew. It knew no borders. It knew no currency. It knew no discrimination for man or beast, plant or stone. All it knew was destruction and turmoil. And when it came to destruction and turmoil, the mountain was an equal opportunity employer.
Yes, the mountain was deemed safe by man. But the magma underneath pushed and pushed and pushed. The town to the south, the forest and vast wilderness to the north. The magma pushed.