Chapter 1

The town I grew up in wasn't anything special. It was a small town set off from the interstate that rarely got visitors from out of town that were there for more than gas, food, and directions to the nearest larger town. I don't recall ever seeing someone move to Chelsea in all of my life. At least, that's how it started out. 

My parents ran a small cafe in what would have been downtown if there was more than one main road that ran through Chelsea. The cafe itself stood as proudly as it could across from the courthouse-cum-jail-cum-state building. Really, the state building was where everything state oriented happened, be it talking to a judge, going to jail, getting new car tags, etc. Everything happened there because the town only had about 100 people living in it and didn't need more than the one building.

My parent's café - simply named Café - served breakfast, lunch and dinner, so long as you showed up between 9 AM and 9 PM. There were a handful of simple tables with simple chairs set next to them. At max capacity, 40 people could be seated at tables, with another 10 chairs by the glass front wall waiting for a table. There was a small podium by the door where customers told me (generally) how many were in their party.  If the party was bigger than 4, I would then have to go and push tables together to accommodate the larger party size. Then I would sit the party take their order for drinks, and - after a little while - take their order. 

Because Café was really the only restaurant in town, we served pretty much anything that a person could want; from eggs and bacon to hamburgers to pizza, as well as pies, ice-cream, and milkshakes. Fridays saw teens wanting pizza, Sunday mornings saw church goers wanting a "home cooked" breakfast not at home.

About the only thing that Café didn't have was alcohol. This wasn't because my parents couldn't get a liquor license from the state (across the street) or that the county was dry. It was simply because they didn't want to. There wasn't enough call for beer or wine at dinner, and they didn't want to attract the late evening drinkers to their family friendly restaurant. There was no bar to sit at anyway. There were tables in the dining room, a pass through counter for when orders were ready, and a door that led back to the kitchen area. This is where drinks were poured (aside from tea and coffee, which were poured at the table), food was prepared, and dishes were washed. Most of the kitchen was taken up by the large grill and oven combo that allowed us to cook everything on the menu quickly. Pies were made in the morning or the night before (depending on the type). 

Everything was simple and easy. That is, until the earthquake happened. 

In all the records in the State Building (yes, city records were there too), there had never been an earthquake in Chelsea since it was first founded on September 24, 1818. When the people of Chelsea went to the State Building in panic, questioning the earthquake and if there would be more, the record keeper, Clayton Koprowski didn't have any answers.

"There's no records of any earthquakes in this area for as long as Chelsea has existed." Clayton shouted over the mass of people gathered. "I've sent a message to the National Earthquake Information Center, but it could take a while before I hear back. I will call a town meeting when I have answers. In the mean time, everyone should assume there will be more earthquakes. Gather food, water, blankets, flashlights and batteries and put them in a safe place. If an earthquake hits again, stand in a doorway or crouch under a table or counter. Protect your heads!"

Everyone was dismissed after that. With no definite answers, people began guessing and hypothesizing. Rumors began to spread around town like wildfire, until the stories were so wild that people began to forget about the earthquake and return to their normal lives. My own family did the same, keeping Café open and trying to act like everything was completely normal. 

However, everything was not completely normal.