FOR POPS

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  MAP

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  KEEP READING!

  MY JOURNEY TO ALASKA

  MORE FACTS ABOUT EARTHQUAKES

  HOW TO STAY SAFE IN AN EARTHQUAKE

  SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

  FURTHER READING

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE I SURVIVED SERIES

  COPYRIGHT

  To eleven-year-old Jackson Barrett, it seemed like the world was ending.

  He was caught in the middle of the most powerful earthquake in United States history. Across Alaska, the ground shattered like glass. Buildings fell to pieces. Icy cliffsides crashed into the sea. Giant tsunami waves smashed into towns and villages along the coast.

  Just moments before it started, Jackson had been at the waterfront in the small town of Valdez. The docks were crowded with families and happy kids. Suddenly, a strange roar filled the air. Jackson’s body shook. But wait … it wasn’t just his body that was shaking. Everything around him was shaking, too.

  And then a woman screamed.

  “Earthquake!”

  The roaring got louder, hammering Jackson’s ears. The ground shook harder, knocking him down to his knees. The freezing water in the harbor seemed to boil like an evil witch’s brew. On the streets, cars swerved and spun. Trees and telephone poles swayed.

  The roaring got louder. The shaking got harder.

  Louder. Harder. Louder. Harder.

  Jackson tried to stand up, but it was impossible. The ground seemed to have come alive — rising and falling, twisting and rolling. For Jackson, it was like riding on top of a giant squirming snake.

  He clawed his way forward on his hands and knees, inching his way across the shaking ground. He had finally made it out to the street when …

  Crack!

  A massive gash opened in the ground right in front of him.

  Jackson turned around, but …

  Crack!

  An even bigger gash tore open behind him.

  A sickening stench rose from the darkness below. Jackson tried not to think of what could be waiting for him down there.

  Boiling lava? Shooting flames? The slobbering mouth of a hungry beast?

  The ground under him started to crumble apart.

  “Please, please, nooooooooooooooooo!” Jackson screamed.

  But down he fell, helpless and terrified, into the darkness.

  “I don’t think we’ll be having fish for dinner tonight,” Mom said, flicking a small icicle from her eyelash.

  Jackson peered down into the hole he and Dad had chopped through the thick river ice. They’d been fishing for hours. So far, not even a nibble. Needles of cold jabbed at Jackson’s toes. It wasn’t too cold today — around 5 degrees. But he still should have worn a third pair of socks.

  Jackson stared down into the dark water. “I know you’re down there, fish!”

  Dad chuckled, and Mom let out one of her famous barking laughs. She sounded like a seal. “A very jolly seal,” Dad always said.

  It was that laugh that had caught Dad’s attention all those years ago, when he and Mom were in college in Ohio. Back then, Dad was already dreaming of living on his own in the Alaskan bush. That’s what people called the wild parts of Alaska that were far from roads and towns. It turned out Mom was ready for an adventure, too. They came up here after college, found a patch of land near the river, and started building the cabin.

  What a disaster!

  Eying his parents, Jackson thought of all the horror stories they’d told him about their first year in the bush. They ran out of food halfway through the winter. They got lost in the forest and nearly froze. Mom ate a poisonous mushroom and puked her guts out for a week. Finally, it was summer — and they were practically eaten alive by swarms of bloodthirsty Alaska mosquitoes.

  “We were idiots,” Mom liked to say. “We had no idea what we were doing.”

  “We almost died ten times,” Dad would add, shaking his head.

  But each mistake taught Mom and Dad something new. And when they weren’t hungry or freezing or being devoured by bloodsuckers, they were falling more and more in love with each other — and with the wild land around them. Jackson was born two years later. He’d spent his whole life in the tiny cabin Mom and Dad had built about two miles from the river.

  Lucky me, Jackson thought, smiling to himself and giving his freezing toes a wriggle.

  “So, what should we have for dinner?” Dad asked.

  “How about moose stew,” Mom said. “Or we could have moose burgers or moose meatloaf … or moose meatballs.”

  “Or moose chili?” Jackson asked.

  “Oh, that would hit the spot,” Dad said.

  “Moose chili it is,” Mom said.

  By this time of year, they were all sick to death of moose meat. It was their main food in the winter. Most other animals they could eat were hiding underground or hibernating during the coldest months. One male moose had six hundred pounds of meat. They’d hunt one down, butcher the animal, cut up the meat, and preserve it in jars they sealed shut in boiling water.

  By now Jackson had eaten so much moose meat he was surprised he didn’t have antlers. But he never complained. Three years ago, they couldn’t find a moose before winter blasted in. They barely had any meat all winter. Luckily, they had their winter supply of rice and beans and noodles.

  But they had to be careful. Because if they ran out, they couldn’t just drive to a store. They had no car. There were no roads in the bush. The nearest store was in a town about twenty miles away.

  No, living here wasn’t always easy. Their cabin had no electricity or running water; their toilet was a hole in the ground. The forest was filled with grizzlies and wolves.

  A person had to be tough to live in the bush — Alaska tough.

  Jackson looked around now, shivering a little. His toes were numb. But he smiled to himself as he looked up the river. It curled like an icy blue ribbon through the thick green forest. He’d always felt lucky to live in such an amazing place.

  Mom led the way on the two-mile journey back home. The sun was starting to go down when the cabin finally came into sight. It was small and plain — just four walls made of logs, with moss stuffed into the cracks to keep out the cold.

  They were a few steps from the front porch when Mom stopped short.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

  Mom pointed at something in the snow: huge paw prints, scattered all around them.

  Jackson’s stomach clenched as Dad slid his rifle off his shoulder.

  Only one animal left a track like that.

  A grizzly.

  Jackson dropped to his knees and studied one of the paw prints. It was massive — bigger than his own two hands put together. The toes were spread about an inch apart. Above each toe print was a dot. Those were where the tips of the bear’s slashing claws dug deep into the snow.

  Grizzly for sure. Jackson had learned to read animal tracks before he’d learned his ABCs.

  “This makes no sense,” Jackson said, standing up. “How could a grizzly be here?”

  At this time in March, bears were supposed to still be hibernating.

  During the fall, they gorged themselves on roots and fish and whatever food they could find. Then they curled up in hollow trees or beneath rocky ledges and went into a kind of sleep. They stayed hidden away until at least late April.

  That was one good thing about winter in Alaska — not worrying about grizzlies.

  “It’s a winter bear,” Mom said in a low voice.

  The two words — winter bear — turned Jackson’s blood to ice.

  It was what they called a grizzly that came out of hibernation before it was supposed to. Winter bears were rare — Jackson had never seen one with his own eyes. But he’d heard terrifying stories about bears that crawled out of their dens way too early, desperately hungry.

  But where could a bear find food in the winter? Fish were sealed away under the thick ice. Small animals were tunneled into winter dens, deep below the frozen ground. Berry bushes were bare. That’s why winter bears found their way to cabins, to humans. It was rare for a grizzly bear to attack a person. But winter bears were different. They would eat anything — or anyone — they could find.

  “Stay close together,” Mom said now. Dad clutched his rifle. He’d never shoot an animal unless he had a good reason. Jackson hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

  Jackson narrowed his eyes, searching for the bear in the gathering darkness. He saw a pile of its scat — grizzly poop — and more huge paw prints. But he couldn’t see the bear anywhere.

  “Could it be gone?” Mom asked.

  Jackson’s hopes rose.

  But then came a loud crash from inside the cabin.

  Jackson’s heart stopped. The winter bear … that beast was in their home!

  “We have to stop it!” Mom cried, lunging forward.


  “Deb!” Dad barked, grabbing Mom’s arm. “You know that’s too dangerous!”

  “But, Bruce, all our food …”

  The jars that filled their kitchen shelves — the preserved moose meat, jams, and berries. The can of salmon they were saving for Dad’s birthday next month. Bags and boxes of rice and beans and noodles. The grizzly would knock all the jars onto the floor, shattering the glass. It would slash through the bags and boxes, bite through the cans. The bear would eat all it could. What it left behind would be filthy and ruined.

  Jackson took a breath, trying to calm himself. But then he heard other sounds.

  Crackle. Pop.

  Jackson’s eyes widened as smoke started seeping from under the front door of the cabin.

  “Fire!” Jackson shouted.

  Dad whispered a curse. “The bear must have knocked over the stove!”

  Their heavy metal stove, which kept them warm, where Mom cooked their food. They always tamped down the fire before they left the cabin. But a grizzly could have knocked it over, scattering glowing embers, bits of wood that could ignite a fire.

  Whoosh!

  Jackson leapt back as flames shot through the cabin roof. The darkening sky glowed bloodred, and showers of sparks filled the air. Panic shot through Jackson’s body. But there was nothing he — or anyone — could do. There was no fire department here. No neighbors to rush over with buckets and hoses.

  Suddenly, the cabin door burst open. The grizzly staggered through a curtain of smoke. The bear was small and thin. One of its pointed ears was ragged and torn. It looked at them and let out a weak, rasping cry.

  Dad aimed his rifle, but the bear vanished into the darkness.

  Jackson stared ahead as the cabin crumbled away inside the orange, twisting flames. Everything he and Mom and Dad owned was inside — not just the food, but clothes, Jackson’s homeschooling books and supplies, quilts Mom had sewn, furniture Jackson had helped Dad build.

  Soon it would all be gone.

  And what about Mom and Dad and Jackson? What would happen to them?

  How would they even make it through this freezing night?

  Jackson fought tears and tried to steady his heart. It was beating so hard he could hear it pounding in his ears.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Mom must have heard it, too.

  “Hey,” she said, gripping his shoulders. “We’re going to be all right.”

  Jackson wanted to believe Mom. But how would they be all right? Without their cabin they’d freeze. Without their food they’d starve. And what if the winter bear came back? Jackson stared at the burning cabin, as if the answer might appear through the flames and smoke.

  “You know what we have to do,” Mom said in a low voice. “We have to get to work.”

  Get to work.

  That was a Barrett family saying, almost like a prayer. It was what they said when something bad happened, when all you wanted to do was curl into a ball and give up.

  It meant, Get a grip on yourself. Stop whining. Get busy staying alive.

  Like that day last winter when Jackson was out rabbit hunting on his own. He’d been about a mile from the cabin when suddenly the sky got dark. Gray clouds cracked open. Snow poured down in thick sheets. Jackson couldn’t see two inches ahead of him. There was no way he’d make it home.

  Jackson was so scared he couldn’t think straight. He’d run through the trees, slipped, and then bam! Down he went, hard, onto his back. He’d struggled to his feet, then stomped around blindly until he tripped again. Bam! This time he fell flat on his face. He bit his tongue so hard his mouth filled with blood.

  He lay there as the snow poured down. I’m done, he’d thought.

  Dad once told Jackson that there were a thousand ways to die in Alaska. He’d meant it as a kind of joke. There definitely weren’t one thousand. Probably more like fifty. And freezing to death in a blizzard had to be in the top five. Blinded by snow, people roamed around and around in circles until they were too exhausted to take another step. Finally, they dropped to the ground and gave up. Their bodies disappeared under a blanket of snow until the spring, when the wolves and vultures found them … and picked their bones clean.

  Jackson had imagined his own shining bones. That’s going to be me! he’d thought.

  And then a voice had whispered through his mind.

  Get to work!

  And then louder …

  Get to work!

  His mind suddenly cleared. He’d stood up and slipped off his beat-up army backpack, which was packed with emergency supplies.

  A compass and flashlight in case he got lost. Emergency matches for building a fire. Moose jerky and dried blueberries for energy. A whistle to scare away threatening animals. A rope to lower himself down from cliffs. And a shovel … in case he ever got caught in a blizzard.

  Jackson had used the shovel to dig himself a big hole under a spruce tree. When the hole was good and deep, he’d climbed inside. He’d tugged his parka hood over his head and pulled his knees to his chest. Huddled in his little snow cave, he’d stayed surprisingly warm and dry.

  After two hours, the snow stopped.

  Jackson would never forget the looks on Mom’s and Dad’s faces when he walked through the cabin door, how quickly their worry turned to pride. That was the moment Jackson knew he was tough. Alaska tough.

  And right now, as the hissing fire destroyed their cabin, Jackson dug deep for that feeling again.

  Yes, it was freezing cold. Overnight it would get even colder. The winter bear was still out there. That’s why he couldn’t waste time standing around whimpering.

  Jackson took a big breath and stood taller.

  “Okay,” he said to Mom. “Let’s get to work.”

  About twenty yards from the cabin were two big steel drums, each the size of a large garbage can. Dad used his knife to pry open the bear-proof lids. Inside was everything they needed to keep from freezing and starving to death: a sturdy tent, sleeping bags, flashlights, a first aid kit, a camping stove, and a pot to melt snow for water. Plus, there was enough moose jerky to feed them for a few days.

  Of course Mom and Dad had made sure they were prepared — even for this.

  The sounds of the fire filled the air.

  Sizzle. Crackle. Hiss.

  Boom! A window shattered. The thick smoke burned Jackson’s nose. Falling embers sizzled as they brushed against his face.

  But Jackson ignored the sounds and the smells and the pinpricks of pain. He barely glanced at the fire’s twisting flames. He kept his mind focused on the work of loading the supplies onto the sled. When everything was piled on top, they dragged it to a spot far from the cabin. That way they’d be safe from flying sparks and embers.

  As they set up the tent, Mom and Dad worked out their plan.

  “We’ll stay here tonight,” Dad said, grabbing a tent pole. “At sunrise we’ll leave for Glennallen.”

  That was the closest town, twenty miles away. In the summer, they’d take their canoe down the river and get there in a day. But it was winter, and the river was frozen. They’d have to walk — a three-day journey.

  If they were lucky.

  Jackson tried not to imagine what could happen to them on such a long trek in the winter. They could get slammed by a blizzard. They could fall through river ice. And that winter bear …

  But he understood why they couldn’t just stay here and live in their tent. It was too cold. And just like that winter bear, they wouldn’t be able to find enough food. The calendar said that the first day of spring was only a couple of weeks away. What a joke. Here in Alaska, the freezing weather could stick around for months after that.

  “We’ll call Uncle Solly from the general store,” Mom said, spreading out a tarp over the snowy ground. “He’ll drive up to Glennallen to get us.”

  Uncle Solly. Just hearing that name helped Jackson relax. Uncle Solly was Mom and Dad’s best friend — Jackson’s, too. He lived in Valdez, a busy town on the sea about one hundred miles south of Glennallen.

  Jackson, Mom, and Dad stayed in Valdez with Uncle Solly every summer. Those three-week trips were a chance to take a short break from the wilderness. They’d stock up on food for the winter, see the doctor and the dentist, and go on adventures with Uncle Solly.

  Uncle Solly lived in a small cottage not far from the busy Valdez waterfront. Jackson felt like a prince as he took hot showers and used the toilet — which was inside the house! And the store-bought food! Milk. Eggs. Chips. Cookies. Ice cream. Jackson stuffed himself at every meal.