LAUREN MITCHELL HAD BEEN GIVEN A PERSONAL escort to drive her home—four Army paratroopers in two Humvees. In the two hours since they’d left the Golden Orient, they’d covered less than twenty miles on unmarked country roads. Following Lauren’s directions, they’d frequently plowed across sodden fields and pastures to save time.
Lauren had wanted to be back with her grandson when the bomb exploded. She didn’t make it.
Her driver, a nervous but alert corporal, pulled over on the shoulder of a muddy road a few seconds before zero hour.
“Maybe we better get out of the vehicle,” he said.
Unsure what to expect, they were well within the thirty-to forty-mile radius for the bomb’s maximum seismic effect.
“It should hit any second now,” the soldier said, looking at his watch.
They were on a steep hillcrest with a view of Kentucky Lake in the distance, the gray-blue water visible through a gap in the trees. Another five miles, and Lauren would have been home. She wondered how Bobby was doing and longed to be back with him.
“Listen!” one of the soldiers shouted.
The sound of muffled thunder rolled along the ridges. The bomb had gone off.
“It’s gonna wash right over us,” the corporal said, looking back toward a narrow valley they’d just driven through. The hills were swaying. The ground was moving toward them in waves.
“Get away from the vehicles!” the corporal yelled. The Humvees had begun to rock up and down on their axles. They ran, half fell, down a grassy hill that sloped away from the road. The first wave staggered them, then the second wave knocked them off their feet. They fell hard.
“Jesus,” the corporal said, trying to stand and falling on his back as the ground kept shaking.
Lauren sat up and dug her hands into the wet grass, trying to hold on to something, afraid she’d be thrown into the air. She stared out toward the lake. The water momentarily seemed to pull back from shore. She watched big waves whip up as the shaking intensified. Monster waves.
After a few minutes, the ground quieted again.
Lauren picked herself up, got her balance, and hiked back to the road.
The corporal followed her. “I think we can drive now, ma’am,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
Lauren shook her head and said, “Thanks, but I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She could be home in an hour if she put her mind to it. She didn’t want to be caught in one of those Humvees if the road turned liquid or a trench opened up beneath them. Two of the paratroopers followed her on foot. The others drove.
The Mississippi Valley might keep shaking for days, Lauren thought. Sooner or later it would stop for good and when it did, they’d start rebuilding their marina. That was her unwavering plan. This was her country and her grandson’s. They were going to survive this.