A profound, furious roar. A heaving jolt. And just like that, Charleston crumbles into chaos. Buildings collapse like Jenga towers one level too tall – the rubble plummeting down onto the sidewalks and into the streets, crushing pedestrians, trapping drivers and knocking over the tourist-filled carriages that panicked horses frantically drag through the wreckage.
A confused racket builds up out of the mayhem, blaring out as the trembling ground triggers the alarms of safely parked cars and leaves the drivers enduring the writhing, twisting sway of the Ravenel Bridge – not to mention the cars sliding, one after another, into Colonial Lake – without any distress signal at all.
There’s nothing that can be done. There’s no time to stop the cruise ships and container vessels from being thrown about the Charleston Harbor like bathtub toys – losing pieces of their respective cargo in the thrashes. And it’s too late to keep the Joseph P. Riley Jr. Park from disintegrating into the marshes or to prevent the windows from peeling away from the round frame of the Holiday Inn across the Ashley.
Piece by piece, the Holy City’s saintly skyline comes crashing down. St. Matthew’s soaring spire topples, St. Philip’s famous steeple tumbles and St. Michael’s clock tower staggers, its eight imported bells clanking in protest until it finally crumbles into the intersection of Meeting and Broad – the center of the now-derelict Four Corners of Law.
Lest we forget: As long as we’re here on earth, the law of nature has the upper hand.
It’s been a while since Charleston’s last wakeup call – and firsthand memories of the 7.3 earthquake in 1886 died with its survivors. But the South Carolina Earthquake Education Preparedness Program is here to remind us: It’s only a matter of time.
“There will be another one,” says Erin Beutel, the associate professor of geology and environmental geosciences who heads up SCEEP, which is co-funded by the College’s Department of Geology and Environmental Geosciences and the South Carolina Emergency Management Division. “All we can do is prepare.”
To help get the general community and local and state emergency management personnel ready, Beutel and the other geology faculty members that make up SCEEP share their research about South Carolina earthquakes, train emergency management personnel and community emergency response teams and prepare what-if scenarios for various seismic events, including present-day versions of the 1886 earthquake.
Generated by FEMA’s GIS-based hazard-analysis program, these disaster reports show everything, from which utilities will be out to how the previous week’s weather will affect an area’s resilience.
“We can change different variables out to come up with these different situations,” says Norm Levine, assistant professor of geology and environmental geosciences, whose advanced graduate students in the environmental sciences program worked to annotate the reports’ maps, which FEMA requires in order to release 10 percent of emergency funds at the time of an earthquake. “Our reports predicted the devastation in Port-au-Prince within 10 percent of the numbers it saw in January, so it’s pretty accurate. Here we can almost pinpoint which buildings are going to be demolished, which ones should hold up.”
In some ways, the reports make earthquakes seemingly more predictable than hurricanes, which are known for duping one community into evacuating only to hit another and for leaving one house in shambles and the next untouched. Still, it’s always nice to have a timeframe.
“The warning you get with earthquakes is just that they’re coming: Whether it’s within this lifetime or within the lifetime of the city of Charleston is yet to be seen. It could happen tomorrow, but it could happen when the sea level is already up in Columbia,” says Beutel. “Our best educated guess is that there’s a 7.0 or larger magnitude quake in Charleston every 400 to 500 years, but it’s one of those things where we just don’t have enough data to be sure that it doesn’t happen more frequently.”
Also unclear is how often smaller-magnitude earthquakes might occur.
“We don’t have long-period geologic records for quakes with a magnitude of 5 or 6, and they can be just as catastrophic and devastating,” says Briget Doyle, assistant professor of geology and geological geosciences and another member of the team. “Smaller quakes can have a giant impact – and they happen more often.”
Charleston lies in one of the most seismically active areas in the eastern United States. Known as the Middleton Place–Summerville Seismic Zone, its fault is different than those in California in that it’s in the center of a large plate, causing shocks to radiate out for thousands of miles in all directions. Even though the MSSZ fault line is actually in Summerville, a greater amount of damage will occur on the Charleston peninsula, which is not only made up of older buildings, but is also largely built on marsh or swamp deposits and artificial fill (which didn’t even exist at the time of the 1886 earthquake).
This “made ground” is highly unstable and will act as a liquid during a high-magnitude earthquake. The buildings erected on this land will be more susceptible to complete destruction, and the entire shape of the peninsula will change as a result of such a quake. Every year, Charleston typically gets 10–15 tremors of magnitude 3 or less, usually going unnoticed, but sometimes startling unsuspecting citizens.
“Some people are just more sensitive to them,” says Doyle, “but there are a lot of factors that go into it: Are you sitting down? Walking? Are you on the first or second floor? If you’re driving, you might think you have a flat tire – but when everyone pulls over to check their tire, you’ll know. It’s actually called the ‘Flat Tire Effect.’ The type of soil you’re on has the biggest effect. The marshes are like a bowl of Jell-O, whereas if you’re on hard land, you might not feel it at all.”
Of course, it’d be hard to miss a magnitude 7.0.
DAY 1*
47 of 2,232 hospital beds (2%) are available
1 of 58 fire stations are functional
369 of 727 bridges are functional
0 of 594 waste water facilities are functional
0 of 29 communication facilities are functional
152,805 of 207,957 households are without electrical power
*numbers based on Charleston, Dorchester and Berkeley counties
The ground shakes and, before you know it, you’re on the floor, being clobbered by books flying off the shelves and then by the bookcase toppling over. The big, heavy antique mirror slides off the wall, splintering glass smithereens across the floor before the wall itself starts cracking and then crumbling down around you. Your windows shatter, and it sounds like a dump truck is unloading concrete blocks in your attic – and they could fall through the ceiling any second.
“During this, you should not be trying to go outside,” says Beutel. “Once the shaking is over, get out of the house. The plaster, veneers, wall: That’s all falling at this point. So wait under a table or desk until the shaking stops and materials stop falling, then go outside and get to a clearing. What you’ll be facing once you’re out of the house is continued destruction.”
Some homes are reduced to rubble, others survive. Yours, you notice, is missing its chimney. Broken gas lines and downed electrical poles spark a fire down the road, and, as the screech of smoke detectors and home alarms pierces the dusty air, you can tell there’s inferno all around.
“The water mains are going to be broken, so there’s no way to control the flames. That’s what’s going to be really bad – and, of course, the human reactions: rioting and looting, especially if there’s not a very rapid response,” says Doyle. “And a rapid response would be very difficult in the Charleston area – even if some bridges look like they’re structurally sound, nobody’s going anywhere right away.”
Your neighborhood looks like a warzone. Your shoulder throbs where the bookcase hit it, but you manage to climb over the shredded sidewalk and cross the street to check on a neighbor, when: BOOM. You’re on the ground again as the road buckles and loose debris tumbles toward you.
“The aftershocks you’ll feel can be as severe as the initial quake – sometimes they’re as high as 6.5 and continue for days, weeks even,” says Doyle. Indeed, in the 1886 quake there were 300 aftershocks reported over two and half years.
It’s going to be a long, scary night. You pull your cell phone out and try to call your family – to feel the comfort of a familiar voice – but the line’s dead.
“Cell towers may be down and communication will be spotty, at best,” says Beutel. “The main thing is that you will be very isolated. You will feel completely cut off from the world. Help will be on its way, but you won’t really have any way of knowing that – and you’re possibly looking at 72 hours to a week before they can get to you.”
“As soon as the initial quake is over, that’s when we go into action here,” says Levine, explaining that the second floor of the new earthquake-resistant School of Sciences and Mathematics Building will be the logistical hub for the response efforts first on campus and then throughout the Tri-County region. “SCEEP oversees the mission prior to the earthquake, but once it hits, we’re in the Lowcountry Hazards Center.”
Emergency response teams and essential personnel gather in the center’s Incident Command Room, assessing the damage, analyzing models and contacting the SCEMD.
As soon as the governor announces the natural disaster, relief money is available.
“Our hazard plan is included in the country’s funding model, so the funds are there as soon as disaster strikes,” explains Levine. “That’s why we have to be in contact with local and state officials from the very beginning. You have to keep communication open and clear.”
The main order of business is initiating lifesaving operations – including coordinating rescue and response efforts, determining the structural safety of the roads and bridges for the transportation of victims and resources, providing medical care and broadcasting safety information for the public.
It’s easier said than done.
DAY 3
126,138 of 207,957 households are without electrical power
Almost 32,000 households have been displaced and more than 23,000 people have yet to find shelter. They live among the rubble of their homes, their offices, their schools – wherever they were when the disaster struck. The thousands of people in critical need are still depending on the help of neighbors and the sheer will to survive – trying to hold on longer than the 55 fires that have ignited, smoldered and burned out over the past 72 hours.
And still, no public shelter has opened, only one fire station is operational and there are no medical services available.
“Many of our important structures downtown, like hospitals and fire stations, are built on artificial fill, which means they’re very likely to collapse,” says Doyle, explaining that the soft ground of artificial fill and riverbanks is highly susceptible to loosening, or liquefaction. “When you build on that marshy sediment, which is artificial fill to begin with, there’s nothing to keep things together when the earth is moving.”
So local emergency workers are not there to help, and, as time goes on, even the healthy people are getting dehydrated and hungry.
“Federal relief should arrive within 72 hours of the quake,” says Beutel. “But there are only so many ways in.”
Bridge damage is still extensive – especially on the access ramps. The people who’d been driving and jogging the Ravenel Bridge, for example, are fine – but they’re still trapped above the Cooper River, unable to escape the overwhelming panorama of the damage. And the roads all over the Lowcountry are still precarious, as sand blows – geysers of water and sand shooting out of the ground – die down and the ground settles.
“It could take weeks to get the roads and bridges repaired,” says Steve Jaumé, associate professor of geology and geological geosciences, and the fourth member of the SCEEP team. “And it’s going to be very hard to get around until then.”
Flying relief in is a possibility – though not at the Charleston International Airport because its runways are crippled by the effects of the trembler.
“The airport is on the site that saw the most heavy liquefaction damage in 1886: Ten-Mile Hill,” says Doyle. [A photo of the sand blow at Ten-Mile Hill appears in The Charleston Earthquake, 1886, with a caption reading, “The water and mud boiled up from 20 to 30 feet in height and threw out during the night 7 different kinds of Sands varying in Color and Shade, which can be had by applying to the publisher. … Price $1.00 per set of 7 bottles.”] “We have to assume no runway will be available.”
And waterways are no better: Cranes from the ports have slid into the river, blocking access to the rivers.
“But even if they could get through, there’d be nowhere to unload the supplies,” says Doyle. “The damage to the ports is a major concern for relief efforts.”
Fortunately, however, Doyle, Jaumé, Levine and Beutel have thought of everything – and the SCEMD is therefore prepared. It isn’t long before some basic resources are delivered to the eight predetermined incident command posts that the team has defined as “safe, accessible islands of hard land where we can place containers of emergency supplies that everybody should be able to reach,” says Levine. “I call them islands of hope.”
DAY 7
476 of 727 bridges are functional
26 of 67 ports are functional
8% of hospital beds are available
237 of 594 waste water facilities are functional
21 of 29 communication facilities are functional
84,032 of 207,957 households are without electrical power
The islands of hope are helping. The dark cloud of desolation that hung over the Lowcountry for the first days after the disaster has begun to clear as the presence of the relief workers and the support they’re providing become evident. Basic medical attention becomes available, families are reunited and survivors begin to pick up the pieces of their lives as, slowly, the shock subsides. But for those still looking for loved ones, the hopeful buzz of the generators powering the neighborhoods still without electricity can’t drown out the despair that intensifies with each passing day of the search-and-rescue effort.
DAY 30
25% of hospital beds are available
28,461 of 207,957 households are without electrical power
Bridges and roadways are being repaired, some schools are being reopened and utilities are being restored. The full extent of the damage starts to sink in as people, businesses and services begin to pick themselves up, turning from relief to recovery. More than 320,000 trucks swarm around the Charleston tri-county area, ultimately removing eight million tons of debris.
Sixty-six percent of the region’s buildings are moderately damaged – 30,000 of them beyond repair – totaling $1.9 billion in building-related losses alone. And, yet things somehow don’t seem as bleak as they did when the total damage was unknown.
“It’s important to remember that you’re not looking at total damage – it’s not like everything around you will be flattened,” says Beutel, explaining that the most damage will be done to older, brick and stucco homes. “Some things will be destroyed, yes, but a lot of things will still be standing, though they may be damaged. Newer buildings and wood structures will hold up well. But, really it all depends on the land it’s built on.”
The most precarious land, of course, is that artificial fill – ironically made largely of debris from the 1886 quake – such as that underneath Charleston’s 500 acres of port terminals.
“That land actually has to be rebuilt before the ports are fully operational again,” says Doyle. “It could have huge economic repercussions for years to come.”
All told, the 7.0 quake will cost the region $2 billion in losses (including building damage, direct business interruption, transportation damage and utility damage).
Says Levine, “The overall cost will be staggering.”
DAY 90
476 of 727 bridges are functional
It’s been three months, and – although all the ports are functional and bridges continue to be repaired – many schools, hospitals, fire stations and police stations still aren’t up and running. The impact will continue to tremor through the region for years to come – with full recovery from the economic loss estimated to take 15 years. The lives lost, of course, will never be recovered.
The majority of the 1,015 casualties of a midday high-magnitude earthquake would be schoolchildren. In that worst-case scenario, 543 people suffer life-threatening injuries, more than 3,000 are in need of hospitalization and more than 11,000 need some medical attention.
“The best-case scenario is for it to occur at 2 a.m., when everyone is sleeping and fewer people will wake up and run out in the street,” says Levine. “But even then, we’re looking at 500 casualties and almost 8,000 needing medical attention. And, remember, that first day, no one’s getting to a hospital.”
There are a lot of scary numbers in the wreckage– a lot of horror, destruction and pain – and yet, when all the rubble is cleared away, Charleston will emerge stronger than ever.
“This city is known for coming out OK,” says Beutel. “The recovery plan the city created after the 1886 quake was held up as a model for earthquakes to come – including in San Francisco. Even then we handled it well.”
When faced with its next natural disaster a century later, Charleston once again used the experience to its advantage.
“Think about it, when people talk about Hurricane Hugo, they don’t just talk about how bad it was – they talk about how they recovered. They look at Hugo as a positive thing, something that brought the community together,” points out Beutel. “Charleston is a resilient place, and it really has a way of turning disaster into a positive outcome. In many ways, Charleston is more equipped for this kind of disaster than any other city.”
“This is one area where Charleston is actually ahead of the rest,” agrees Levine, speaking specifically of the City of Charleston Hazard Mitigation Plan. “Even New Orleans uses our plan.”
And, that plan wouldn’t be what it is without Charleston’s resilient spirit and proud determination – not to mention the SCEEP team’s research, preparation and communication in the Lowcountry Hazards Center.
“If you’re going to be in a city with a disaster,” says Beutel, “Charleston is the place to be.”
And so, as the chaos calms and the dust begins to settle, the people of Charleston know there’s only one thing they can do: Put this Holy City back together again, piece by piece. Because self-preservation is the first law of nature.
