Chapter One:

The First Day

Thingvellir National Park, South Iceland: 8 a.m. local, 2 a.m. CST

 

      The ground trembled ever so slightly. Birds of various sizes and colors suddenly launched skyward, spinning in the cold air. Flying overhead, wings straining with effort, the birds soared north, their cries of alarm largely unnoticed by the tourists below. This was no orderly migration of a flock; these birds flew chaotically, crashing into each other, lost feathers catching gusts of wind. Something unseen had terrified them, yet the people visiting Thingvellir National Park were oblivious to their fear.

       Dr. Helgi Briem, a professor at the California Institute of Technology, watched as one of her geology students, Sandy Lupo, raised her phone for another shot of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, the most famous site in the park. Helgi, born and bred not far from here, always enjoyed sharing the heart of Iceland with others. These annual excursions kept her connected to her home and her family. So far, this year’s trip had been amazing. She loved this park, and sharing it with her students was like giving them the most beautiful gift in the world.

      Most of this ridge stretched thousands of miles under the Atlantic Ocean, reaching from the icy top of the planet almost to its frigid bottom. Shaped like a writhing snake, the fissure was part of the planet’s mechanics, creating a new ocean floor as the Earth’s tectonic plates spread apart. The tiny bit that surfaced across Iceland was the only part of the massive fault sitting above salt water. Seeing it here today was a geology student’s dream come true.

      Helgi’s Caltech undergraduates worked hard to earn a spot on this field trip to Iceland. It was open to a select few second-year geology students, and grades were definitely part of the criteria. Once they made the cut, Sandy and her friends moved Heaven and Earth to arrange the funds and get their parents on board.

      “The rest of our class is going to flip when they see these pictures,” said Kyle Austin beside Sandy.

      “This is great! Makes all those shifts worth it.” Sandy clapped him on the shoulder and then turned around, drinking in all the sights. She and Kyle had worked at the same restaurant for a time, both saving for the trip. “Everyone in our class wanted to come. I can’t believe we are the ones standing here. It’s so beautiful,” she concluded with a sigh.

      Helgi walked on down the path, enjoying the view. Gray and brown walls of rock rose on either side, cracked and broken, chunks of geology caught in sprouts of green grass at their feet. Ahead, the walls leveled out, the ground dropped, and twenty feet further, a pool of bright blue water collected in the faults. It was so clear she could see the broken pattern, the rise and fall of the crevices, and the water at the bottom turning darker the deeper it flowed. Behind her, the kids continued their conversation, comparing photographs on their phones with excitement.

      “Look at this one,” Sandy waved the device so hard the picture was a blur.

      Kyle laughed and tried to catch her hand.

      “Tomorrow, we go to Almannagja.” Becky Pruitt, another of Sandy’s classmates, scanned the pamphlet she had picked up at the tourist center. Her blond hair whipped in the wind. Her blue eyes and pale skin resembled those of the majority of the Icelandic population, and she could have passed for Helgi’s younger sister. Becky was fascinated to read the brochure’s description of how Scandinavian settlers initially populated the island, bringing their genetic heritage with them. There were not many Icelanders with black hair and dark eyes like Sandy.

      “It’s a good thing it’s July and not January,” Kyle commented. He rubbed his scruffy haircut in a mock shiver and pulled his nylon jacket tighter. “I wouldn’t want to make that hike in the snow.”

      Helgi agreed silently, a smile curving her small mouth. Almannagja Gorge, Iceland’s principal dry land rift, presented a challenging trail. Over eight kilometers of ridge coated in lava rocks, you could stand among massive heaps of broken tectonic plate crust with your toes touching the planet’s geology. After all, it was literally the point where Iceland was rising from the ocean.

      Last year, she taught the class about these very cliffs and how these rock faces marked the meeting point of the North American and Eurasian continents. The gradual pull of the tectonic plates allowed for new features up and down the gorge as the process continued. Thingvellir truly was a natural wonder, and it was her favorite place in the world. She glanced back over at her group, keeping an eye on them.

      Sandy was grinning; tomorrow’s itinerary was at the top of her thoughts. The day included snorkeling in the Silfra Fissure, with its crystal-clear spring water, some of the purest in the world. The visibility was touted as being absolutely amazing.

      California natives Sandy, Kyle, and Becky all loved to snorkel, but none of them had ever had a chance to swim in a fissure. Sifra was believed to be the only spot on the planet where you could snorkel between two tectonic plates. The day would end at the spectacular Oxararfoss Waterfall. The professor had told them that the pictures they had found on the internet hardly did such a natural wonder justice. All of the students were quivering with excitement—despite Kyle’s reservations about the temperature.

      At least, Sandy thought it was excitement that was causing the trembling. But, looking down, she suddenly realized that the pebbles at her feet were moving in little jumps, and she could feel tiny movements under the soles of her boots. Frowning, she began to speak when a solid vibration rumbled up beneath the path and through their legs.

      Deep unease filled her, and a glance at her friends confirmed their fear, too. Becky’s smile had disappeared, and Kyle’s forehead was wrinkled in concern. Up the trail, she saw Dr. Briem hurrying back in their direction, concern stamped on her face, and other people pointing ahead and behind her, talking frantically. She didn’t know which way to look and spun around, trying to see everything at once. A grumbling noise started low, and then shouts filled the air. She whipped around as the other tourists on the trail began to run back towards the tourist center, stumbling as the ground moved beneath them. Kyle grabbed her arm, steadying himself.

      “Earthquake?” he exclaimed in astonishment. Even though they were all aware of Iceland’s geological record of thousands of tremors a year, most were small shakes that could not even be felt. The professor had told them they probably would not feel any vibrations their whole visit, let alone experience a real shaker.

      “I think it is,” Sandy stammered.

      Helgi slid beside Becky, pushing the girl towards the Visitor Center. “Go!” she yelled. She didn’t know how bad this tremor would be, but she wasn’t taking any chances with her students.

      The rumbling noise behind Sandy drowned out the words, but she could read her professor’s lips. Shock snapped up through her stomach, making it hard to breathe. Dr. Briem’s fear became her own, and she turned to start running. The noise grew louder, becoming a sustained bass roar in seconds. The ground jolted, and Sandy gasped as she realized this earthquake would be a monster. Kyle screamed just then, a high-pitched shriek of fear.

      Sandy turned back to him, unwilling to abandon her friend. The sight that met her eyes froze her brain. The pretty pool resting at the end of the path was gone. In its place was a hole in the ground, dark sides violently tumbling into a growing maw. She grabbed Kyle and pulled him down the pathway after her friends, now more than one hundred yards ahead.

      A massive section of the path split before Helgi and Becky as they tripped and skidded across the ground, frantically working to stay upright. The professor threw up her arms in a futile gesture to save them both. The piece elevated sharply and slammed into the cliff wall, disintegrating and burying the two women in rubble. Sandy screamed, stopping, clutching a moaning Kyle. More slabs of the ground were torn free, forced into the air, blocking their way.

      The roaring increased to a level that hurt her eardrums, and to her horror, she watched as the Visitor Center toppled and fell, crushing those around it. Car alarms burst into a wail, the mournful cry echoing a warning. Then, even more horrifying, the whole area sank: Visitor Center, buses, cars, people, the walls of the cliffs, and spires of rock all came crashing down before they disappeared into a new hole, one that was eating the earth like a Pac-Man. The ground between them fell away at an astonishing rate as it was devoured. Sick with fear, she could not see the bottom. And suddenly, Sandy knew there was nowhere to run. In just a few minutes, as the ground shook and roared, the two holes met, everything fell into the darkness, and not a trace remained of Thingvellir National Park.

 

Keflavik Airport, Southwest Iceland: 8:30 a.m. local, 2:30 a.m. CST

 

      Alvar Haarde pressed the radio transmit button. “Ground Control, this is Cessna two-six-niner-foxtrot-uniform requesting clearance. The itinerary to Reykjavik Domestic Airport has been filed. The intended altitude is ten thousand feet. The weather is fair, and the winds are to the north. Over.”

      As he waited for a reply, he checked the fuel gauge on his Cessna 172 again. It indicated that the tank was full. Alvar knew—he had personally just finished filling it—but he always paid strict attention to such details. He liked to say that good judgment resulted from meticulous, punctilious, and scrupulous behavior with a healthy dose of double- and triple-checking. That formula hadn’t let him down yet.

      Opening the throttle and turning on the master switch and fuel pump, he eased the gauge to establish a stable fuel mixture. Snapping the beacon lights on, he started the ignition switch and listened to the rumble as the engines caught and fired. Oil pressure was good, and avionics set; he was ready when ground control called back.

      “Cessna two-six-niner-foxtrot-uniform, cleared for runway five. Caution: Wind turbulence, with winds picking up speed north by northeast. Over.”

      “Ah, Cessna two-six-niner-foxtrot-uniform, cleared for runway five. Thanks for the update on the winds. Heading for runway five, over.”

      He started to move the plane forward, a smile on his cheerful face. This was the best part of his day. The short hops back and forth between KEF and RKV might have been annoying for some, but Alvar loved to fly every chance he had. 

      Today, he was picking up a couple of engineers in Reykjavik. They wanted to see the Mid-Atlantic Ridge from the air. This wasn’t the first time he had flown engineers, but these fellows sure seemed to be in a hurry. They called last night and offered twice his usual fare for the experience. Alvar briefly wondered why and then shrugged. It was none of his business, and he did not care.

      He moved up in line on the runway and called to the tower requesting departure information. While he waited, he saw out of the corner of his eye something dark hurtle overhead, and he craned his neck around to peer out the window and above the wing. With a start, he realized a massive flock of birds was driving through the sky to the north. There were so many their shadows cast a gloomy cloud over the tarmac.

      “What the. . .?” he whispered to himself in surprise.

      As he watched the birds, the chatter on the radio took on a new urgency. Voices overlapped, exclaiming about the birds as the other pilots caught sight of the phenomenon.

      Then, in shock, he listened to the panicked cry from the tower as the controller cut into the babble. “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” The controller’s voice shook as he tried to speak quickly. “Declaring an emergency. This is not a test; repeat, this is not a test. A massive earthquake in south Iceland! Get off the ground as fast as you can! Go! Go! Go!” The controller said more, but the plane in front of Alvar jumped forward, seizing his attention. As it gained speed and turned the curve to the runway, Alvar sped up, following the sleek aircraft onto the tarmac, noting a big 747 just lifting off ahead. Behind him, another plane roared forward, moving too fast.

      Terrified of running into the plane in front and equally terrified of being run into from behind, Alvar tried to look across both runways and drive simultaneously. He didn’t feel the Earth shake or see the ground kilometers behind him split and collapse. He hoped the birds would be long gone by the time he lifted, but in panic, he didn’t stop to check the sky. He started down Runway 5 and watched breathlessly as the plane in front of him gained speed taking off from the blacktop with a much shorter takeoff than usual.

      Before its wheels left the ground, his Cessna 172 was moving. Suddenly, he could feel the jolts; the tires lifted and slammed back to the concrete, skidding as they grabbed the asphalt. The earthquake was here! Faster and faster, trying to attain flight speed, he swallowed hard and jerked up on the elevators, pushing the stick forward as far as it would go. Jagged fissures ate up the ground behind him as the Cessna hurtled down the runway. Cracks on the tarmac raced past him, widening as he watched helplessly, and he knew he was out of time.

      The ground bucked hard, throwing his plane at least fifty feet into the air, and suddenly, he was airborne. Frantically, fearing a mid-air collision, he searched for other aircraft, lifting as fast as the little Cessna would go. He saw no birds or other planes in his flight path. His chest straining, he tried to slow his breathing. Blinking at the blue sky, he fought off the panic that threatened to choke him and struggled to get his bearings. Looking down at the ground, he started a turn back towards the airport. The radio had fallen silent, and the cab was now filled with static.

      He gripped the stick, trying to steady the Cessna as the sight below him took his breath away. The airport was gone. Everything was gone or in the process of going. As he watched mesmerized, the land to the north and west crumpled, broke, and sank. Everything to the south and east was already gone, and the ocean had poured into the cavities left behind.

      The last of the land beneath him broke away as he stared, and the Atlantic Ocean rolled over the scraps, meeting itself in a collision of waves. The surface was wild, swells striking from all directions, and the froth filled the air. Debris and flotsam littered the ocean surface, and pieces of wreckage were tossed together and agitated in the roiling foam. A plane wing forced its way up through the mess, then was slammed back down by a vast gray sheet of something else riding the next surge. He could not see any bodies but knew they were there, under the dark green water.

      Barely able to believe what he was seeing, he wondered if the earthquake’s results had pressed into the mainland, or if only this peninsula were now submerged. Then he remembered the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. He imagined it carved through the country. Iceland has been built over the ridge through millions of years of massive magma eruptions. It wasn’t possible to take it all back in just one day—was it?

      He suddenly remembered the engineers he was supposed to be picking up. Shaking, with sweat dripping across his eyes, he tried to pull himself together.

      Muddled with anxiety, fearing the worst but unable to think of any other course of action, Alvar turned the nose of the Cessna to the west and headed for Reykjavik. The sky was free of birds now and still a bright summer blue. No other planes were in the air, not even the 747 that took off just before he did. Fatalistically, he wondered if they made it and, if so, where they went. It seemed impossible for the sun to shine and the sky to be so blue while the land below had just sunk and disappeared.

      More than two hundred thousand people lived and worked between here and Reykjavik. Alvar despaired at the thought as he gazed down. He usually followed the coast on his routine flights, but there was no coast to follow today. Jagged stone teeth split the waves here and there, remnants of the land where little villages and farms had once stood. The beauty was gone; devastation and salt water were all that remained. Even the fishing boats that typically dotted the waters were gone, lost to the giant waves created by the massive earthquake.

      Alvar saw no sign of life, regardless of where he looked. Tears poured down his face, blurring his vision. Suddenly, he remembered the radio. With a yell, he grabbed the device, mashing the transmission button and calling for help. No words came back on the primary air frequency; it was just static and more static. Frantically, he switched channels, trying to rouse anyone, anywhere. The noise rose and faded and rose again. No one answered.

      Finally, though his wet eyes could not believe it, the GPS receiver told him he was over Reykjavik. The city was gone; the ocean stretched as far north, west, and south as he could see. Giant icebergs calved from glaciers sailed over the tumultuous waters of the sea, and flotsam littered the waves. He kept flying west, praying for a radio response. He strained his eyes for even a strip of earth on which to land his plane while weeping for his homeland and all the people who had lost their lives today.

      For the first time, he started to wonder what had happened. How could an earthquake of such magnitude stretch across such a distance? How could the land be sundered to such an extent that the ocean drowned everything? Why did no one know an event like this was possible? And who would help him if he could not find a place to land?

      Fagurholsmyri Airport on the opposite coast of Iceland was several hours from his position. Darkness now covered the sky in that direction, but he could not tell from here if it was clouds, smoke, debris, or something else. He decided to fly in that direction and hope for the best. In the meantime, he watched the sun glint off the giant waves below and cried.