We know this much: Earthquakes strike along faults—fractures in the planet’s crust where plates of rock are thrust into a sort of geological gridlock. The difference between a tremor and an earth-shattering 8.0-plus-magnitude quake depends on whether the plates slip when the tension between them is still relatively low or if they snap after enduring millennia of mounting strain.

Calculating exactly when this might happen, however, is no easy feat.

Take a scenic flight over the summit of Mount Vesuvius in Italy, and the view below is chilling. A dense patchwork of urban sprawl from the nearby city of Naples laps at the flanks of one of the most violent volcanoes on Earth. Since A.D. 79, when Vesuvius exploded with little warning and entombed Pompeii and its 3,000 townsfolk under 15 feet of scalding ash, the volcano has erupted at least 30 times.