Ring of fire cascadia a.., p.23
Ring of Fire Cascadia: A Disaster Thriller, page 23
Gigi shrugged and forced herself to stand on the two remaining planks near where Reid’s home had once been docked.
Reid got a look at her leg for the first time. Blood still trickled out of the wound. He didn’t bring it up. He kissed her spontaneously and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“No worries, buddy. You owe me,” she said with a playful punch to his arm, causing him to wince. No part of Reid’s body had been spared by the battering.
He turned, leading the way across the first six-foot span between the pilings. This first section was made somewhat easier, as there were a few planks partially in place, leaving them something more than an inch and a half wide to plant their feet on the joists. In the same manner a circus performer walks a tightrope using a combination of balance and focus, Reid did the same, giving Gigi an example of how to follow in his footsteps to an extent. Seconds later, they’d made their way to the next piling with a newfound confidence.
They crossed another joist to the next piling, where they were rewarded with a short stretch of intact decking. After another respite, they continued.
This time the joist had been dislodged from the next pier, but it was resting on a cross support that had fallen without it.
“Let’s crawl on this one,” Reid suggested. “Follow my lead.”
They began to crawl, hand over hand, legs dangling over each side of the narrow, water-soaked wood. They struggled to maintain their balance, as the joist sloped downward somewhat. Once Reid reached the next piling, he hoisted himself onto two intact deck boards. He got into position and prepared to grab Gigi’s arms to pull her upward.
He offered her words of encouragement as she looked up to him for approval. Her face was almost childlike. Looking to a parent or a big brother to tell her she could do it. Something in the back of her mind was doubtful. For a brief second, she allowed the negativity to seep in.
Reid leaned down, waving his hands for her to keep coming toward him. He snuck a glance out into the bay. In the moonlight, Portage Bay was now unrecognizable. Mudflats had emerged where deep water had been. Abandoned hulls sat on their sides like beached whales. The floating houses, what remained of them, tilted grotesquely on their moorings or sat in the muck like tombstones.
And then they heard it.
A deep rumble. The kind of groan that had awakened Reid barely an hour ago. His eyes grew wide as he struggled to see if the water was rising again.
However, it was not the tsunami. It was a powerful aftershock that shook the earth and tossed them both downward into the muck.
Fifty-Five
April 12
0455 Hours
Portage Bay
Seattle, Washington
THE PANIC IN GIGI’S VOICE as she screamed jolted him. Her foot slipped, the joist cracking under her weight. She fell, sliding off the beam, her injured legs plunging into the muddy bottom below. The mud sucked her in, a viscous trap swallowing her calf, her scream raw as she clawed at the joist in a frantic effort to pull her way back up.
“Hold on!” he shouted. He nearly jumped down to help before stopping himself. They’d both be stuck facing a building tsunami that was most certainly coming back with a vengeance. Instead, he positioned himself on the edge of the adjacent stretch of dock and gently lowered himself down the piling until his feet rested on the dislodged joist she’d fallen from.
The mud gripped her leg, a cold, unyielding vise studded with broken shells and glass. Gigi’s face contorted, pain and distress evident in her eyes.
“I’m stuck. Shit, Reid. It hurts.”
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice breaking, desperation clawing his gut. He dropped his body lower. Closer to the mud. Struggling to maintain his balance on the fallen joist held in place by a single bolt. It slowly slipped down under his weight until it found the bottom and a piece of the dock’s plank.
This gave Reid an idea. He looked up, toward the city and Union Bay. Wondering if the water was already on its way back. Knowing, deep down, it was.
“G, please trust me.” Without waiting for her response, he scrambled back upward to his previous perch on the stretch of mostly intact decking.
“What are you doing? Reid, please help.”
“Stay still. Like it’s quicksand. Trust me!”
He yanked and tugged until he was able to pull two more pieces of broken decking loose from their nails. He held them next to one another to gauge their size.
“Coming!” he shouted back, quickly dropping himself onto the angled joist with the planks in hand. At the bottom, he aligned them with the other plank to create a platform. He gingerly stepped onto it and tested it before placing his entire weight on the bay’s muddy bottom.
He studied her predicament. Both of her legs had sunk into the muck. One up to just below the knee, and the other, the uninjured leg, was embedded barely above the ankle.
“Okay, listen. Can you pull your right leg out of the mud and still keep your balance?”
Gigi looked down. “I think so.”
“Good. Do it. But if you’re gonna lose your balance, try to fall forward toward me. Okay?”
She nodded, took a deep breath and pulled her foot out of the murky bottom. The watery mud immediately filled the void. She stood, wobbly, on one leg like a baby ostrich might for the first time. She stuck her arms straight out away from her body to maintain her balance.
Reid wasted no time in pulling away one of the planks under his feet and placing it next to Gigi’s legs. He pointed down to it. “Can you reach?”
She placed her foot squarely on the plank and pressed down. It sank in slightly but held firm. She nodded, slowly gaining confidence. “Now what?”
Reid braced himself on the fallen joist and dropped to his knees. After looking across the mostly empty bay, he dug with his raw hands, scooping fistfuls of sludge, splinters from the pulverized dock slicing his fingers. The muck was thick. It stank of rotten fish, oil, and decaying garbage. Gigi’s leg was bleeding freely and badly in need of treatment. He sighed, stealing a glance toward the near-empty bay. It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t free her.
Reid’s heart pounded. He was losing time. He hustled, digging faster.
Suddenly, she lost her balance and screamed as she fell onto Reid’s shoulders. The impact caused him to fall backwards.
SPLAT!
“Reid!”
He carefully reached for the piling to pull himself upright. He couldn’t afford to wiggle around too much to avoid sinking his own legs and arms in the muck.
He started over, dropping to his knees again, clawing at the muck with his hands. Water seeped in from the sides together with some of the mud that surrounded her leg. Every second mattered.
In the distance, the roar came again. Different this time. Not like the aftershock they’d just endured. A sound like no other. A sound that didn’t belong on Earth.
Low at first. Then rising, swelling, building. A freight train of sound, deep and guttural, like the planet itself was screaming. Yet unearthly.
Gigi’s eyes widened. Her breathing became rapid, driving her to the point of hyperventilating. “It’s coming. I smell it. Salt, kelp, like the ocean.” The wind shifted, carrying the tsunami’s briny stench, a primal scent of churned seabed fueled by strong wind gusts pushing the tsunami waves inland.
He glanced past her. He didn’t see it yet. But he felt it. The air had changed. A sudden rush of wind blew from the west, strong and hot and smelling of salt and death. It shoved them both, nearly knocking Gigi on top of him once again. He dug furiously, frustrated by the muck that seemed to find its way to cover his progress.
Gigi’s head whipped toward the Pacific. Her voice broke. “I can hear it.”
“Me too,” he mumbled.
Gigi froze. “Reid,” she said, her voice cracking, “save yourself.”
Ignoring her, he dug faster, his hands a blur, blood mixing with mud. “Stay with me, G,” he pleaded, his voice cracking, tears stinging his eyes. He clawed at a concrete chunk, its edge cutting his palm, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, he decided to use it for leverage.
Reid stood and stretched his leg across until he had firm footing on the concrete. Now he could wrap his arms under her shoulders. He tugged, but his arms, muddy and wet, slid out from under her armpits.
The roar of the coming tsunami began to echo off the buildings that remained standing following the earthquake.
Gigi’s knee buckled, her body sagging, hypothermia stealing her strength. “Reid,” she whispered, her voice faint, her hand touching his face, “you tried … love you …” Her eyes closed, her body limp, and Reid’s world shattered.
“No, no, stay awake!” He yanked at her leg, feeling a slight give, but the mud held fast, its suction mocking him.
The roar was deafening now, the ground trembling as the tsunami’s leading edge slammed Puget Sound, toppling cranes, crushing piers. The wind howled, whipping Reid’s face with salt spray, the stench overwhelming. Kelp, fish, and something ancient dredged from the deep.
Reid’s heart stopped. He sensed its closeness. Five minutes, maybe less. He dug furiously. His hands bleeding, muscles tearing, but the mud fought back. Then, with one last desperate scoop, as the wall of water loomed in the darkness, his face contorted, and he gritted his teeth.
“No!” he roared, pulling with all his strength. His scream primal, echoing his father’s solemn vow.
Never again.
Fifty-Six
April 12
0530 Hours
Portage Bay
Seattle, Washington
THE TSUNAMI WAS NO LONGER a sound in the distance. It was a presence. It growled and hissed as it advanced. Not just as a wall of water but a mass of churning debris, dragged cars, tree trunks, propane tanks, driftwood, and pieces of homes all accelerated by the full fury of the Pacific.
And the dead.
Reid yanked upward with all of his adrenaline-enhanced strength.
Something snapped. Wood, maybe bone. It wasn’t going to matter in a few minutes.
Gigi slid free. He wrapped her arm around his shoulders and stood just as a long, low horn sounded somewhere up the hillside. Not a siren. A car or truck. But different. A deep, synthetic honk blasted from the shore. Strange and futuristic, like a warning bellow of some kind. It wasn’t the panicked bleat of a city car or the angry bark of a pickup. It was long, flat, and oddly alien. Reid jerked his head toward the sound, momentarily disoriented.
Another burst followed, lower in pitch this time, almost like a distant freighter’s klaxon echoing through fog. He couldn’t place it. Not a ferry. Not a siren. What the hell was that?
Gigi recovered from her defeated state of mind. She too had heard the snap. “I’m good. Nothing broken. Let’s go!”
They climbed onto the dock again. Throwing caution to the wind, they ran toward shore. Toward what looked like a beam of light. Bright and blinding. A single unbroken white beam sliced across the front of the vehicle parked high on the embankment. A puzzling but clean, searing line of LED brightness that cut through the smoke and mist like a scalpel. It didn’t pulse like hazard lights or shine like a flashlight. It stared. Cold. Mechanical. Mysterious.
Reid shielded his eyes, squinting into the glare. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. As they drew closer to shore, the dock was less damaged, and the floating houses were still attached to their moorings despite having bottomed out.
For now.
The roar behind them grew deafening. In the early light of dawn, a black wall of water, studded with ruin, raced across the bay.
Gigi looked back and screamed.
Then a voice shouted, “Reid!”
A woman. Familiar. Barely discernible over the guttural roar of the approaching tsunami.
The horn pierced the chaos again. Followed by another voice. His father.
“Reid! Gigi! Hurry!” he bellowed.
“Run!” screamed Sloan, her voice recognizable as they jumped off the end of the dock onto the pea-gravel path leading up the hill. They raced up the hill, Gigi dragging her bleeding leg, with Reid wrapping an arm around her to help.
Sloan hustled down the hill to join them. “Thank God! You guys are alive. You have no idea what’s coming.” She wrapped her arm around Gigi’s waist on the other side and helped drag her to an awaiting Duke, who positioned himself in front of the Cybertruck, its hulking, angular shadow and stainless-steel exterior glinting like armor. Its fifty-inch light bar easily illuminated the shoreline and the rising water in the bay.
There was no time for a joyous family reunion. There would be time to share stories later.
Sloan helped Gigi into the backseat. Reid, after a brief tear-filled hug with his father, climbed into the passenger side of the truck.
Duke spun the truck around and rushed across the grassy slope overlooking the destroyed neighborhood of floating homes. Lifting the truck’s suspension, Duke was able to cross over curbs and low-lying obstacles to quickly reach where he needed to go.
“We’ve got one chance at getting across the water, or we’ll have to head for Canada,” he said calmly but assertively.
“It may be too late, Dad,” said Sloan.
“I have a plan,” he muttered, gripping the wheel. Now was not the time for self-driving.
Duke raced across the lower end of the University of Washington campus toward Husky stadium, which sat on the shores of Union Bay. While Reid peppered him with questions, Sloan quietly tended to Gigi’s injuries.
“How bad is it, Dad? We never had a chance.”
“Bad, son. Big. Nine-point-oh.”
“That explains the S-waves that destroyed my house and everything around us.”
Duke glanced over at Reid as he continued driving through the grass until he bounced across the sidewalk onto Boat Street.
“Easy, Dad. She’s pretty banged up!” Sloan admonished.
Duke glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry, Gigi. You okay?”
“I’ll be fine now. I can handle being bounced around. A tsunami is coming, right?”
Sloan replied, “It is. Thirty, forty feet if not larger. This quake was strong and spread out over a long stretch of the megathrust fault. Surprisingly long.”
Duke cut through the UW Medical Center, twice avoiding panicked students rushing an injured person inside. A huge crowd had gathered around the emergency room entrance, trying to get care in a facility that was mostly without electricity.
“Don’t they need to leave?” asked Reid. “They’re not that far above the water level.”
Duke tilted his head and nodded. “Yes, they should.” He whipped the truck onto Pacific Street and then immediately turned right onto Montlake Boulevard to cross the bridge at the Montlake Cut. He accelerated, showing off the immense power of the Cybertruck. Reid’s head snapped back as Duke sped toward the new cloverleaf at the Portage Bay Viaduct. Once there, Duke made a puzzling turn toward the east. Again, as traffic allowed, he accelerated to dangerous speeds.
“Why this way? Why not a straight shot toward Tacoma and then Vancouver?”
“If the highway is still there following the quake, then it might be underwater. We have to move as far inland as possible before we head toward the house.” He raced across the Murrow Memorial Bridge, where the water levels were already lapping at the bottom of the bridge abutments. Traffic slowed half a mile short of dry land, causing Duke to lean forward and grip the wheel.
Twenty minutes later, they were racing through Bellevue along with thousands of other evacuees. Nobody was willing to slow down as the earthquake and coming tsunami possibly ran them out of Seattle forever.
Reid asked one more question, and the answer he was given cut off his curiosity. “Don’t you wanna go to the CVO?”
Duke gulped, and Sloan suddenly stopped bandaging Gigi. He grimaced as his fingers flexed on the steering wheel.
“Your mom’s gonna need us. Vancouver is destroyed.”
Fifty-Seven
April 12
0600 Hours
Home of Duke and Betsy Mercer
Washougal, Washington
THE MERCER HOME HAD always whispered to Betsy. There were floorboards that creaked in a familiar spot. Cabinets that stuck just so. Windows that sighed when the winds passing up the Columbia Gorge pressed against the glass. But that morning, the house didn’t whisper.
It moaned and groaned.
The quake that morning had left its fingerprints everywhere. Cracks spiderwebbed across the plaster ceiling above the dining room table. A picture frame had fallen off the hallway wall and split clean in two, joining others throughout the home. One of the kitchen windows, the one overlooking the trail over to Cape Horn Falls, had fractured from corner to corner. It hadn’t shattered yet, but the next tremor might be the proverbial straw that broke that camel’s back.
Still, Betsy Mercer moved with purpose, constantly wearing shoes, a necessity due to the relentless shaking and breaking of their belongings. For comfort, she wore Duke’s old Stanford Cardinal red hoodie over black yoga pants. She paced the house across the cold oak floor with a mug of strong coffee in one hand, her fourth, and a yellow legal pad in the other.
She paused only long enough to make a few notes or snuggle Winston behind his ears as he snored in the exact middle of the hallway like a sentry who’d given up his post.
He cracked open one eye, let out a long exhale to protest another small tremor, shifted his bulky midsection, and began a fresh round of sleep-breathing that sounded vaguely like a leaky accordion.
Betsy stepped over him, smiled, and whispered, “Some guard pup you are.” He rolled onto his side, his nails scraping the hardwood floors as he stretched, uninterested in her comment.
Her coffee was already lukewarm. She set it down beside Duke’s laptop, which she’d relocated from his study onto the breakfast counter, and tapped the trackpad. She missed him terribly, and being in the empty study made her melancholy mood get in the way of the task at hand. She picked up her cell phone for what seemed like the forty-ninth time and saw the display was empty. She furrowed her brows as a frown came over her face.
