I’ve been dependent on others my whole life. Hell, if Brent were to drop down in a helicopter right now, I’d probably run back into his arms—even after the terrible way he treated me. I just don’t know how to make it on my own.
Being around Vincent was different, though, short as our time was together. He made me feel like I was capable of things, like I didn’t have a choice but to press forward. Without his guidance and force of will, I’m just a woman who tried and failed to reclaim her dignity. A victim of wrong place, wrong time.
“Hold on…" Vincent’s voice echoes in my ears.
He genuinely seemed like he cared then. His stoic mask had slipped for the briefest of moments, and I caught a glimpse of the man he could be—or maybe was at one time. I want to see that face again with a desperation I don’t understand. Are other people this introspective on death’s doorstep?
After a while, my adrenaline gives out, leaving me melted to the side of the roof. My muscles tremble and burn, and it’s all I can do to keep my grip. Every time the debris shifts, every time I start to slip into the surge, it’s a jolt that keeps me on edge. Awake. Waiting.
A bark rips me from my thoughts, and I scan the jumbled mess around me. Am I hearing things now? Hallucinating? Another bark has me tilting my head back, curious. It sounded like it was coming from the remains of a house to my right, but it’s hard to see. The sun has all but set.
Was this house even here before?
The first story is completely submerged, but the second is still bobbing along, following the rushing tide. I squint at the roof, and then survey each broken window left visible. Sure enough, there’s a fuzzy little face peering back at me.
Bark!
My ride bangs against the siding, as if taunting me to do something—not that it hasn’t played bumper boats before. If I survive the night, I’m going to be covered in bruises. Probably every shade imaginable. Then there are the cuts, the scrapes, and—even worse—the pains I can’t see. It’s a wonder my lungs are still functioning at all.
The dog gets my attention again, poking its precious little face around the jagged glass.
My heart picks up a beat, and I hold out one arm. “Jump.”
It blinks.
Okay, scratch that. It was a stupid idea, anyway. Can I pull the dog down? If I stand on the roof, I can probably reach the open window…
But then what? It would just get bruised and battered like me, and it’s not like it can hold on. No, it’s probably better off where it is. The structure caging it in will protect it better than I can.
I settle back in with a sigh, and try to tune out its howls. “It’s safer there.”
A slow creeping realization taps me on the shoulder and wisps away. I knit my brows and try to think. “It’s safer there…”
Why am I clinging to a roof, when there’s a fairly intact house beside me? Without thinking a plan through, I scramble to plant my bare feet on the shingles. The rushing current makes it impossible to balance, so I brace myself on the house. If I stretch on tiptoes, I can almost reach the windowsill.
The dog cheers me on. Or maybe it tells me to screw off. I don’t speak arf.
“Hold on, buddy,” I tell it, finally grasping the wood frame. Ow! I forgot the glass. Crimson races down my forearm in a thin trail, as the roof decides to slip away from me.
My heart nearly explodes again.
I shriek and curse and pray in the same breath, closing my eyes. There’s no way I have the upper body strength to pull myself up like this. I was going to use the roof as a springboard. Where the hell did it go? It’s not as if I can look behind me.
Ragged breaths press my chest against the broken siding. This is my spot now. I have to hold on, or… I struggle to pull myself up, but it’s not enough. I go lax with a defeated sigh, still gripping the splinters and glass now embedded in my skin.
A wet little nose nudges my fingers. I hope it’s support and not a bid to claim territory. Where was its family, anyway? Did the assholes evacuate themselves to safety and leave their pet behind?
I try to readjust my grip, gritting through the pain, and the dog whimpers.
“I’m sorry,” I tell it, craning my neck. “I can’t do it.”
Tears spill as I stare up into its sweet little eyes and soft-looking mottled fur. “I tried to do something. You saw me, right?”
The dog looks past me and barks. High alert. I can’t help but wonder if it’s moving on to the next rescue candidate. After my complete and utter failure, I can’t exactly blame it. It barks again.
Before I can even attempt to glance over my shoulder, something slick and solid rams into my bare calves. Following the water, it retreats only to do it again. The hell? Like I don’t have enough bruises? I peer down and nearly let go in shock.
It’s Lewis and Clark!
Not the real, very dead, explorers, of course. It’s the statue from the center of Seaside’s iconic turnaround. The dog barks in what sounds like excitement, and I don’t waste time trying to analyze it.
Finding the bobbing shoulders of the town’s famed visitors under my feet, I push off hard and use the momentum to propel myself over the ledge. Oh, sweet… hell… shit! The glass rips through my t-shirt, through my stomach, before I crash onto the floor.
The dog gets out of the way, barking, tail wagging. It runs in circles around me, taking a few seconds to sniff my neck before resuming its dance.
If I could move to greet it, I would. I’m too busy lying on the floor, dripping water everywhere, trying to hold my guts in. Seriously, how am I still alive? I roll over, wheeze to catch my breath, and survey the damage.
Thankfully, it’s not as bad as I thought. My stomach, that is. My fingers are a bloodied mess, stinging to the point that I don’t even feel my other injuries. A quick glance around tells me I’m in what’s left of a bedroom. Maybe I can rip up a sheet, like Vincent did Naveen’s shirt, and make some bandages.
My heart catches at the thought of him, of both of them, but I can’t let myself spiral now. They’re okay. If I’m still here, they have to be, too.
The dog barks and rushes over to the other side of the bed. I don’t know how it’s moving this easily when it feels and sounds like we’re on the Titanic, but I don’t begrudge it its freedom.
I carefully rise to my feet, grasping for anything still standing, and follow it across the swaying floor. Maybe it peed or something. I snatch a pillow on the way and start jerking it out of its case. “Sh-Shh… it’s okay.”
I get to the other side of the bed, where it’s pacing, and freeze dead in my tracks. There, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, is its owner.
CHAPTER 6
I fall to my knees, dropping the pillow, and reach for a pulse on the woman. It doesn’t look like anything fell on her during the earthquake or aftershock. Did she pass out?
No.
My blood stains her neck as I move my fingers around, trying to find a pulse that’s not there. No heartbeat. This woman is… gone. Did she have a heart attack?
The dog whimpers and curls up beside her, looking up at me with the saddest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Ugh. Okay, first things first, I’ve got to stop my own bleeding. Then I’ll tend to the dog. Then I’ll… I glance at the woman.
I’ll figure something out.
Unfortunately, ripping a pillowcase with mutilated hands is harder than it seems. The blood keeps pouring, hot and slick, and I’m afraid to look for glass shards in the cuts. The last thing I need is to faint and wake up in the middle of the Pacific.
Or not wake up at all.
A fresh wave of panic-induced adrenaline gives me the strength to rip the strips of fabric. After several curse-worthy attempts, I tie the ends off as best I can and take a deep breath. That’s one thing down. Now if I could just block out the heartbreaking whimpers coming from beside the bed.
Even though my brain is stuck on an endless loop of deadbodydeadbodydeadbody, I try to pretend the woman is sleeping—fo
r my sake and the dog’s. Speaking of which, I gingerly hold out the back of my bandaged hand and allow it to take a few more delicate sniffs. “Come here, sweetheart…”
When the dog rises, taking a tentative step forward, I sneak a glance beneath its hindquarter. Aha! My it is a she. Now for the tag…
The house rams into something solid, jarring everything inside before coming to a buoyant stop. I grasp for the bed, swallow, and try to pretend I didn’t come close to wetting myself when the room dimmed from an eclipsed window. Everything terrifies me now. Everything. It’s like I can’t trust the world to keep turning anymore. It’s breaking down, and we’re all just along for the ride.
So, what’s next?
Rushing water from downstairs slips past the doorway, having overtaken the first floor. It taints the scent of old lady perfume with something oily and putrid. We have to get out of here.
“Gizmo,” I read the tag aloud, trying to keep my terrified voice under control. “That’s a pretty name. Do you want to come with me?”
She gives the woman a longing look, and then barks at me like I don’t understand. There’s something wrong with her human. I need to fix it.
“I know,” I tell the sweet pup, scooping her into my arms without permission. “And I’m sorry, but it’s not safe here.”
Am I rationalizing my actions to a dog? Just how hard did I hit my head when that bridge collapsed?
I hold her close to my chest, zip my jacket as far as it will stretch around her trembling body, and cram the bottom into the waistband of my leggings. With the makeshift kangaroo pouch, I can at least somewhat use my arms. Maybe I can climb out and get us up on the roof. That should buy us at least another ten feet over the swell.
For now.
Gizmo gives a triple howl, pain emanating from her tiny frame, and I get it. Her human doesn’t deserve to go out like this, but neither do we. I cross myself Abuela-style and move back toward the window, muttering, “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo…”
I never learned anything beyond that, so I leave it alone. It’s the most respectful send-off I can manage right now.
Along the windowsill, my blood stains what’s left of the glass. Beyond it, all I can see are leaves and limbs. Another debris straggler catching a ride. I push back what I can and stick my head out… only to find more limbs. More green. A hasty, heart-quickening glance down tells me these trees are still firmly rooted in the ground.
The water is churning, but it’s not moving along. This is the bottom of the hillside. It has to be!
“Close your eyes,” I tell the little dog, fighting to snap off the end of a branch. This time, I knock out the remaining glass around the window. It feels wrong to damage someone else’s property, especially with the owner about to be overtaken behind me, but I make sure I’m thorough. My bare feet are about to go on that sill.
Reaching back into the scraggly limbs for a more stable hold, I try to get my heart rate under control. With all of these surges in panic and adrenaline, I’ll probably keel over dead the second things settle down. Not that it’s looking likely any time soon.
Gizmo squirms in my jacket as I duck to climb through. We’re higher up than I anticipated, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I tighten my grip around the rough bark, grating it against my bandages, and jump.
❇ ❇ ❇
Who the hell tries to climb down a pine tree?
I should’ve grabbed a sheet to use as rope before we made our escape, but it’s too late now. I’m having to find shaky footholds while forcing my way through tangles of branches, ripped to shreds from every angle.
I bet Katniss never had this problem.
My back scrapes against the house, where it’s gotten itself wedged, and all I can hear is the water beating against it. Come to think of it, maybe climbing down all the way isn’t such a good idea. They say it only takes, like, six inches of water to sweep your legs out from under you.
If the initial wave was forty feet, and I’m at least a mile and a half inland, then… I still don’t have a math problem. I’ll just assume the water’s deep.
Gizmo takes the opportunity to bury herself in my jacket. Maybe we should rest here for a few minutes, see if there’s any change in curren—
Snap!
My heart takes off with a new rhythm, and I kick until I find a new branch to stand on. “Scratch that. We’re going to keep moving.”
Gizmo yelps.
Dragging deep breaths through my nose, I stretch to climb from one tree to another. Then one more. A different kind. The further uphill we get, the greater our chance at escape. I squint to check our proximity to the road’s incline.
Shouting voices race the wind, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Hell, maybe I’m hallucinating. Either way, I take it as encouragement. We’re not alone out here. It’s enough to turn me beast mode, pushing muscles I didn’t know existed. We break through the edge of the tree line and overlook a house—a stationary house!
Yes!
I grasp the furthest limb with burning palms and test it against my weight. It bows at the end, but it might be enough to position my feet over the roof. Given our proximity to the finish line, I’d say the risk is worth it. “What do you think, Gizmo?”
She stares.
“Right,” I say, psyching myself up. “We have to try.”
Dusk isn’t the best time for visibility, but at least it’s not dark. I inch, hand over hand, to the end of the branch, blindly feeling around with my bare feet. I know somewhere in the next step or two, my footing will drop off. Then it’ll all hinge on the upper branch.
The roof is in clear view now, maybe four feet away and a decent drop below. If I can get this branch to swing a little, I might be able to make the leap. Might. Is this the kind of thinking that precedes death?
I draw in a deep, lung-grating breath and force myself past my comfort zone. Gravity hooks around my waist and tugs down with all its might. My arms tremble.
The stunt is far less appealing now that it’s real, dangling me God-knows-how-many-feet above the ground, but it may be our only chance to reach high ground. At some point, the water is going to retreat before returning with a vengeance. Probably in the pitch-black dark. When that happens, we cannot afford to be caught in the swell.
I’m starting to sound like Vincent…
Something cracks overhead, surging energy to my arms to keep going. I scramble out across the branch like I’m back on the playground, struggling with the monkey bars, and kick my feet out. So close. I can’t tell if we’ll catch the edge of the roof from here or not.
More voices call out, but I can’t pay them any heed. There’s no time.
I arch my back and thrust my bent legs behind me, gathering momentum. Gizmo burrows down again on instinct, and I mouth another SOS prayer. Here goes…
The second I thrust my weight forward, the limb cracks, and the world pitches back in a blur. There’s no time to panic, no time to scream as my lower back skids against the angled rooftop, ripping the back of my jacket away from my waistband. I cradle Gizmo’s warm little form and squeeze my eyes shut against the wind. The possibility that we’d go over the other side of the roof never occurred to me. It’s all fast-forward, but I have enough presence to dread the pavement below.
Wait. Pavement? That means the tsunami hasn’t reached this side of—
My feet catch the air a fraction of a second before hands grasp my bare ankles. Lots of hands. They’re pulling us down. But how did they… ? My heart pumps so hard it stings in my throat, blocking my words.
“Easy there,” an older gentleman in a bright yellow vest coos, as others try and get me upright. “You okay?”
All I can do is nod stupidly, clutching on to Gizmo.
“Crazy stunt you pulled there.” He nods toward the branches seen peeking over the roof and taps the binoculars strapped around his neck. “Lucky we saw you.”
With relief cooling my adrenaline,
my pain receptors are reigniting one at a time. My lungs, my head, the bruises and scrapes all over my body, my hands, my back, my…
“Watch her. She’s not too steady on her feet.” He’s speaking to someone behind me. More than one someone. They grasp my shoulders, and it’s all I can do to stand.
“I’m wet,” I finally manage, in way of apology. The area around us is getting darker, webbing at the corners. Gizmo pokes her head out around my protective embrace and barks, startling Vest Man.
“Oh my. We better get these two topside.”
I wonder if that’s the top of the hill. I wonder how I’m going to get there. My knees finally give out… and it all goes black.
CHAPTER 7
“They don’t sell these in big girl sizes?” Brent asks from somewhere within the recesses of my subconscious, fighting with the zipper at the back of my dress.
I know us standing in my bedroom isn’t real—it can’t be—but the memory has already surfaced, dragging me back under its influence.
“It fits,” I grit out. “I just can’t reach behind me.”
“You trying to convince me or yourself?” He gives another sharp tug before I can hold my breath, and it catches my skin.
“Ow!” I pull out of his reach and rub my back. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”
He mutters something under his breath and turns to his dresser. “So are you going to tell me where you’re headed dressed like that or not?”
Heat slashes my cheeks. I count to ten. “My fifteen-year reunion is tonight, remember?”
“Aw, shit,” he groans, and fishes around for a clean shirt. “I told you I didn’t want to go to that. It’s not even a thing.”
“No one wants to go.” I reach behind me and struggle to pinch the material together while contorting to zip it. Frustrated tears brim my eyes. “That’s not the point.”
He crosses his arms. “Then what is? Masochism? ‘Cause at your ten-year, all you did was sit in the corner and host a pity party. Like you’re the only chick who’s gained weight since high school.”
As We Know It Page 4
