In the early morning hours of April 7th, 1990, most of the people onboard the MS Scandinavian Star were fast asleep in their cabins, resting as they traveled from Oslo to Frederikshavn. But at least one person on the ship was not only awake, but plotting something which would leave hundreds of people fighting for their lives.

You're stuck inside, unable to leave where you are and growing more frustrated by the day. But it's not quarantine, it's 1910 in the Cascade mountains, and you're stuck in a train that's been snowed in beside a small Washington town that's little more than a speck on the map. And as the snow falls for the sixth day in a row, the steep hillside above you, packed with heavy snow, silently threatens to fall. All it needs is one tiny push for disaster to strike.

The city didn't have to burn. Looters didn't have to break windows and rob businesses of everything that wasn't tied down. People didn't have to die. But in certain circumstances, when there is no justice, there will be no peace.

Please don't store all of your explosives in one place. Particularly if there are thunderstorms in the weather forecast.

The congregation of St. Mark's Lutheran church in New York City's Little Germany had been waiting for the Sunday school picnic excursion all year. Mothers dressed their kids in their best clothes and packed up good food in baskets to bring with them on the trip up the East River and out to Long Island. On June 15th, 1904, thirteen hundred people would be aboard the General Slocum as it left the pier near the Williamsburg Bridge. Within two hours, over a thousand of them would be dead.

You're at a midsummer evening party at a friend's beach house, enjoying a cocktail or two as the sun sets, when a loud noise draw everyone's gaze to the skies above the ocean. Something has exploded up above - a plane, raining down in fiery pieces on the water below. The sight is already terrifying enough until the whispers start. Did anyone else see something arcing up toward the plane before it blew up?

It was just supposed a late-night birthday party on the Thames - a little drinking, a little dancing, and a lot of fun with all their friends. But in the early morning hours of August 20th, 1989, the 131 people onboard the pleasure boat Marchioness found themselves at the mercy of a ship three times her size.

It spewed smoke and ash that destroyed crops and killed livestock, and yet they stayed. It caused earthquakes that damaged buildings and mudslide which killed hundreds, and yet they stayed. It sent insects and venomous snakes fleeing down into the town, and yet the people of Saint Pierre on the island of Martinique - or more specifically, some of their political leaders - refused to listen to the wordless threats issued by Mount Pelee. 

It came out of nowhere, flowing in waves throughout the world during a time of great international upheaval. Some did what they could to fight it. Some were struck down, and tragically lost so quickly it was hard to believe they were gone. Some were careless about the whole thing, refusing to wear masks or continuing to gather together for parades and parties. But in the end, what mattered was the virus, and the damage it wrecked.

The gathering was just a union meeting, the Black sharecroppers of Phillips County, Arkansas, banding together and trying to get a fair pay for their work in the cotton fields. But when the night ended in bloodshed, the county's white citizens thought it was something more. Then the posse formed, and all Hell broke loose.