The First 15 Minutes After the Big One

To be able to help, Brett and Renee Asolas have been trained to adopt a mind-set that may sound strange: "I am No. 1," Renee explains. "I am the most important person because only when I am safe can I help others. I think of me first, then family, then friends, then neighbors, then strangers."

"You have to imagine the unimaginable," Brett says. "It's like you are hardening your heart, but that is what you have to do."

ILLUSTRATION BY PATRICK FARICY

PHOTO BY STEVE APPLEFORD

Brett and Renee Asolas, disaster volunteers in Norwalk

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In the first seven or eight minutes, the Asolases grab flashlights and follow procedure. Brett smells a gas leak and runs to the shutoff valve while Renee hurries over to the circuit breaker to turn off each circuit one by one to avoid an overload if the power comes back on.

Renee pulls out the couple's prearranged supply of bottled water, canned beans, power bars and other nonperishables. If he can get through, Brett will call a friend in New Mexico to inform him that he and Renee are OK. He's their designated "distant friend."

Renee grabs a bag of CERT vests and hard hats, flashlights, walkie-talkies, and a hand-crank radio — a crucial Red Cross device with a cellphone charger and LED flashlight. She turns on one of two official emergency radio stations, KNX 1070. Both flip on their walkie-talkies, giving them direct communication with Norwalk first responders. Renee grabs some white paper and markers, too.

As they hurry to nearby Zimmerman Park, where they will act as information experts for their neighborhood, Brett spots a fire and tries his walkie-talkie, but the channel is jammed.

He sees why: The dark sky is filled with pale towers of gray smoke, and to the southwest an eerily illuminated, giant stack of onyx smoke climbs to the atmosphere.

A refinery near the ports of Long Beach and Los Angeles has caught fire, a scenario cited in Scawthorn's fire chapter in the ShakeOut study. Sloshing gasoline and oil caused a leak in the seal of a big tank, and friction from a loose metal device created a spark. A chain reaction has erupted.

7:10 p.m., 10 minutes after the quake

At Zimmerman Park, the Asolases run to the baseball bleachers, where Renee scrawls "Information Booth" on her paper and posts it on the chain-link fence. During disasters, local parks will act as communication stations.

"Go home if your house is safe," Renee tells a group of rattled residents. "If you want to leave a message for someone, you can post it on the fence."

One middle-aged woman writes, "Jason, meet us at the fire station, love Mom."

Renee tells her she should include her last name and the location and number of the fire station.

Over the hours, the chain-link fence will become thickly covered with paper. Most notes will be practical announcements to family members, letting them know they are safe. Some are exclamations about surviving "the Big One!" A somber few are tributes to fallen loved ones.

Brett and Renee Asolas provide help where they can, to anyone who asks.

7:15 p.m., 15 minutes after the quake

In the Inland Empire, one man has long been ready. After all, he lives and works just yards from the fault itself. "If an earthquake happened, people here would not panic," says Anthony Perez, who runs the Victory Outreach Christian rehab center in Cajon Pass, which links the Mojave Desert to urban Southern California at the western edge of San Bernardino County. "We do not fear death."

Yet death might come. The small camp of bungalows rests perilously atop the invisible San Andreas. Nearby, miles of power lines, fiber-optic cables, gas pipelines, train tracks and highways snake through the economically vital, narrow corridor that is Cajon Pass.

During the growth of the 20th century, Los Angeles and the Inland Empire were in constant need of more resources, water and power. Because of multiple mountain ranges to the north and east, aqueducts, power lines and train tracks are squeezed through slim canyons and must traverse earthquake faults.

Cajon Pass is just a gash in the Earth's surface caused by shifts along the San Andreas Fault. Another huge set of shifts could dramatically alter it.

Some half-dozen areas like the Cajon Pass surround Greater Los Angeles. Information compiled by the USGS shows that, in the event of a giant earthquake on the San Andreas, six railroads, nine highways, 12 gas pipelines, nine fiber-optic cables, 19 aqueducts and 29 power-transmission towers will be "offset" — by an average of 20 feet. Almost all will snap, collapse or otherwise break. Some aqueducts have a fail-safe system, but most don't.

The region has just been cut off from basics it will need to survive.

Anthony Perez and his 33 rehab patients grasp hands and pray inside the camp's "sanctuary," which is nothing more than a folding table and an old wood stove in an empty room. Framed paintings of Jesus Christ lay smashed on the floor, littering the hardwood with glass. The building has shifted on its stone foundation.

Perez, a large man from Pomona, leads the prayer, his black hair falling over his eyes. Despite the unearthly sounds and bright explosions in the night sky from felled power lines and what he suspects is a train derailment, he remains exceptionally calm.