Living on a Fault Line

The village of Maligi on the west coast of the Indonesian island of Sumatra seems idyllic—two dozen houses strung along a palm- and casuarina-covered strip of land, on one side the crashing waves of the Indian Ocean, on the other a rippling river mouth. When a rare group of visitors appears in the bright mid-morning sunlight, a dozen children chase after the car, laughing and waving.

"So many kids," American geologist Charles Rubin mutters gloomily as he waves back. "They don't have a chance."

"Nope," agrees fellow geologist Kerry Sieh, also waving and smiling. "They'd all be killed. There's just nowhere to run here. It's water on both sides."

"If they knew what was coming, they might be able to climb the coconut trees and survive," Rubin continues, "assuming the tsunami wasn't too high, say in the four-meter range. They need to build platforms on the trees and maybe cut steps in the tree trunks. They need information. You should give them one of your posters, Kerry."

Sieh nods. A professor of geology at the California Institute of Technology, he probably knows more than any person on the planet about how and why earthquakes and tsunamis happen so often, to such deadly effect, in this part of the world. Sieh and his colleagues on this field trip know how many lives have already been saved by posters and other efforts to educate those who live in a 2,000-km-long danger zone running from Aceh on the northern end of Sumatra to an island off its southern tip called Anak Krakatau, or Child of Krakatau. And they'd like to save some more.

For Sumatra is at risk. In the space of just three months at the beginning of 2005, two giant earthquakes rocked the region. A tremor on Dec. 26 produced a tsunami that knocked the earth off its axis and killed nearly a quarter of a million people. Then, on March 28, came another huge earthquake, this time farther south. There was no large tsunami generated by that temblor—dubbed the Nias quake after the island off the Sumatra coast that was worst affected—but over a thousand islanders died. After two such devastating blows, the inhabitants of Sumatra might be forgiven for assuming that nature will leave them in peace. It probably won't. Sieh, 54, and other scientists are warning that the island's troubles are not over. It isn't as though anybody needed a reminder, but the Oct. 8 earthquake that leveled large swathes of Pakistan and Northern India, leaving some 73,000 dead and millions homeless, could be a small taste of what is to come in Sumatra.