“Oh,” Cami said, recovering quickly. “Oh, yes—yes, of course, here you go.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking the carts. “I wanna get stocked up before it hits, you know? Heard it’s getting bad in town and figured this was my best shot at finding anything good.”
“Good luck,” Cami said as the man walked off, dragging the noisy carts with him as he muttered about toilet paper.
“Okay, that was weird,” Amber muttered, watching the man head into the store with a small group of people.
“No doubt,” Cami muttered, closing the Pathfinder’s dented rear hatch, eyes still on the people in the parking lot.
A steady stream of shoppers flowed into the store now, while only a few at a time exited. She shielded her eyes from the late morning sun and scanned the lot. It was nearly 3/4 full—hardly worthy of the level of anxiety radiating off the people heading toward the storefront. Horns honked in the distance and the traffic heading west didn’t even look like it was moving, despite green lights.
“Can we hit Bath and Bodyworks now?” asked Amber, climbing into the front seat.
Forgotten in her hand, Cami’s phone buzzed again. She glanced down and her heart skipped a beat. Several notifications lit up the screen. People on the net had finally chimed in to report the announcement of tsunami advisories along the New England Coast. As she skimmed the notifications, another alert popped up -- from a man in Delaware -- who posted a copy of the National Tsunami Warning Center’s advisory for Cape Henlopen, at the mouth of Delaware Bay.
Breathe, Cami told herself. Advisories for New England and the Mid-Atlantic aren’t warnings of imminent danger…and they don’t apply to us.
Cami watched the westbound traffic sit through another green light. The flow of cars heading east had dropped to a trickle.
“Hang on a sec,” she muttered to Amber as she pulled up her maps app. She checked their location and noticed solid red on just about every road in Charleston. Traffic was snarled all over the city. She zoomed in and found a sizable, maze-like neighborhood just south of the Walmart that emptied out at several points onto roads heading west. A few of them showed no traffic—likely because the only time they did have traffic was rush hour.
Cami put the phone away, secure in the knowledge that they had a way west that didn’t seem to be clogged with traffic. She checked her watch. It had taken them about 40 minutes to get to town. They’d spent over an hour in Walmart. It had been almost six hours since the volcano erupted in the Canary Islands. Even if a tsunami had been created, it still wouldn’t be close to the US...yet. Cami figured they had another hour or two at least, before anything happened.
“Come on, honey, we’ve got one more stop to make.”
“Um, why aren’t you getting in then?” asked Amber from inside the car.
“Well, it’s such a nice day, I thought we might walk. It’s not far, and I don’t want to sit in that mess over there,” Cami added, pointing across the parking lot. “We only need to go a couple blocks.”
Amber sighed—loudly—but got out of the car. “I’m not wearing sneakers, you know.”
“You’ll be fine,” Cami said, throwing an arm around her daughter’s shoulder as they stepped into the sun again. We just need to walk over that bridge right there,” she said, steering Amber toward the rear of the Walmart.
“Oh, wait, isn’t that sushi place I like over there?” Amber squinted. “Right next to the marina? Dad used to bring me here all the time in high school.”
Cami grinned. “It might be,” she teased. “I think it’s another block east, but yeah, maybe we could get a bite to eat after I’m done shopping.”
“Sold! So where are we going that’s so important?”
As they walked across the bridge, past two lanes of essentially parked cars heading west, Cami explained. “There’s a camping supply shop…”
“Camping? You think this tsunami stuff is the real deal, huh?” Amber looked at the cars. “I have to admit, this traffic is starting to freak me out…”
“I just wanted to grab a few more bits of gear for my next guide, honey. It’s a few weeks out, but since we’re here...”
Amber crossed her arms and adjusted the strap on her purse as they walked. “Mom, it’s okay—you can tell me you’re worried and you want to top off the hoard.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t call it that,” Cami said as they passed the midpoint of the bridge.
“Sorry...I just never really saw the point in keeping all that stuff in the house when nothing ever happens, you know?”
“It’s not about just keeping stuff,” Cami said, glancing over the railing at the river below. The tide was out. The river flowed southeast, mud glistening on exposed banks. “I just want to make sure my family is safe.”
Amber put her hand on Cami’s arm. “I get it, mom. Look at this traffic...come on, let’s just not spend all day in the camping store.”
Cami stopped and looked at Amber’s back as she continued toward the far side of the bridge. “When have I ever spent all day in a camping store?”
Amber laughed and looked over her shoulder. “Come on! I want some sushi!”
Chapter 3
New England Coastal Waters
South-southeast of Mount Desert Island, Maine
Five hours later, under the bright mid-morning sun, Reese was having the time of his life. Both feet braced against the transom, he sat on a seat mounted to the deck and leaned back, pulling with his whole body against the fishing pole. On the other end of the line was a monster fish. He had no idea what it was, but the thing felt strong enough to rip off his arms.
The crew assigned to the aft deck cheered him on and offered good-natured ribbing and instruction in alternating shouts. The other contest winners from TechSafe stood watching and drinking, cheering him on, or offering to take over for him.
Ben remained at Reese’s side, his own tackle ignored so he could help his friend land the fish of a lifetime. For the past forty minutes, he’d been wiping the sweat from Reese’s face and providing him with beer to drink.
Reese relaxed under the strain at the request of the crew, and let the fish pull him forward, releasing the line just a little. After a few seconds of stretching, he heard the command to pull back. Reese tensed his lower back and pulled with a slow, steady pressure until the rod formed a tight curve.
“Hold it…” counseled one of the crew, drawing out the word and checking the line’s tension with a gloved hand. “That’s it, fight ‘im! Good—now, let it run a little more…okay, pull back. Reel down—pull back and reel down!”
“Beer me!” Reese grunted as he let the rod lower, reeling the fish in before he stopped, then used both hands to pull back and raise the rod.
Ben laughed and reached over, holding a bottle of the local Boston lager to Reese’s lips. He slurped like a newborn, then pulled back on the rod and belched. The crowd cheered, the boat rocked in the slight chop, and life was good under the clear August skies.
“Hey Monty,” a voice from the flying bridge called down to the aft deck. The crew member helping Reese looked up, shielding his eyes in the sun.
“Yeah?”
“Cap’n wants to see us,” the man said, clambering down the ladder from the upper fishing station.
“Uh…” Monty said, looking at Reese. “Fish on, man.”
“Fish on!” yelled Reese’s chorus of partially inebriated spectators as they baked in the sun.
“Hey, I told him that,” the voice called over the noise. “He still said to get you.”
“Sorry, muchacho,” Monty said, turning to Reese with an apologetic look from behind mirrored sunglasses. “I gotta go—duty calls—just keep doing what you’re doing, okay? Be right back.”
And then Reese was alone with the biggest fish of his life, Ben, and a bunch of guys from work. “What’s going on?” he asked, feeling the line tense and tug with the tremendous strength of the still-hidden fish. The thing had to be huge. He wasn’t su
re he’d ever be able to look at a largemouth bass the same again.
“I don’t see Eddie,” Ben said, looking around for their boss while filming with his phone. “You good?” he asked, going in for a closeup. “Say ‘hi’ to the girls!”
“Hi, girls,” grunted Reese. He squinted at Ben’s phone. “Cami, you should seriously try this…”
“What’s taking so long?” asked Ben.
“Go…check it out, man,” Reese replied, straining against the fish.
“Roger that,” Ben replied, putting his phone in his pocket. “Video’s getting boring anyway. You’ve been fighting this thing for like, a half hour already.”
Reese watched the horizon bob up and down as the Charming Betty rode the swells, while alternating his strain-and-release pattern. The fish pulled him forward, then he pulled back. It was a war of attrition—who would tire out first?
When the engines surged to life a moment later, Reese knew something was wrong. Monty rushed back a moment later. “Dude, I’m sorry, but I gotta cut the line.”
“What?” Reese blurted, nearly dropping the rod in surprise. “But—”
“Cap’n’s orders, bro,” Monty said with a hangdog look on his face.
“Why?” Reese asked, his arms quivering from the effort to reel in the monster fish.
“Ahh,” Monty scoffed, “something about some Coast Guard advisory. I dunno—I just know he wants us to rig for the return to port.”
“But…wait, we just…” Reese had to catch his breath as the fish got its second wind. He pulled back and strained for a moment. “We just have to let it go?”
“That’s just wrong, man,” Ben complained, returning to the aft deck.
“Sorry, dude…” Monty said, reaching for the rod.
“But…” Reese argued. “You gotta be kidding me!”
Monty pulled out a knife from his belt and slashed the line. The rod snapped back straight, and the fish vanished into the depths. A collective groan went up from the men on the boat. More than one beer was raised in salute to a fight well fought. As the others moved back to their own lines, Reese accepted the heartfelt sympathy pats and ‘too bad’ comments. He toweled off and stretched his back, glad to accept a fresh beer from Ben.
“Sorry, bro,” Jimmy, the hulking brown-noser from national sales said, smirking. He’d landed a big marlin earlier, the biggest catch of the cruise so far. “Guess my record still stands…”
After draining half the bottle, Reese sighed and looked at the sky, doing his best to ignore Jimmy. The guy was nothing more than a blowhard, but he had Eddie’s patronage and could do no wrong.
Reese watched clouds rolling in on the western horizon, but they didn’t look all that menacing. “I don’t understand,” he complained to Ben. “Why are we leaving?”
Ben shrugged, holding on to Reese’s chair as the deck tilted in a swell. “Eddie’s up there right now, arguing with the captain.”
Reese made his way to the bridge to find out himself. Inside the sheltered enclosure, the air was a little cooler. Eddie and the captain were locked in a heated argument, so Reese and Ben stayed on the periphery, waiting for an opening.
“…don’t understand, captain…” Eddie was saying.
“That’s right, you don’t. Been a charter captain for fourteen years,” the captain said in a thick Boston accent so ‘charter’ came across as ‘chahtah.’ “I’m in charge of this boat, and I say we heed the warning and head in. I won’t put anyone’s life at risk over a fish. End of discussion.” He throttled up the outboards and turned the wheel so they pointed west, toward the clouds on the horizon.
Eddie’s face darkened. “Captain, my company spent a lot of money on this trip—”
“For which you will be compensated when we reach land,” the captain said, not looking at Eddie but maintaining a lock on the water in front of the boat. After a long pause, the captain glanced at Eddie, then grunted. “If you wanna call the main office, be my guest. Sat phone’s over there,” he said, pointing.
Eddie snatched the bulky black phone out of its cradle and stormed off the bridge to stand on the foredeck.
Reese cleared his throat. “Uh, excuse me, captain.”
He looked at Reese. “Oh—you the one with the fish on? Sorry about that—truly. Only ever had to cut ‘er loose three times before. Downright embarrassing.”
“Why are we going back?” Reese asked. “I thought we had several hours left before it was time to return…?”
The captain turned the radio volume up and inclined his head for Reese to listen. “…advisory in effect for the listening area of this station. This is an emergency message for all vessels operating in the coastal waters of New England. Small craft emergency advisory: all small watercraft are advised to seek immediate safety in port. Only large, ocean-going vessels should remain offshore at this time…” Static interrupted the broadcast and the radio fell silent.
“It’s the tsunami, isn’t it?” asked Reese, as he narrowed his eyes at the horizon.
The signal strength returned before the captain could speak. “…this morning, a volcanic eruption was detected, along with significant undersea seismic activity. National Tsunami Warning Center beacons have been activated. This event has a high probability of producing a tsunami capable of reaching the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. All coastal waters are under a tsunami advisory. Anyone near the Atlantic coastline should pay close attention to future updates and comply with official requests.”
A warbling alert signal screeched over the speaker followed by the same monotone robotic voice. “NTWC small craft advisory in effect for the listening area of this station. This is an emergency message…”
The captain turned the volume down. “It’s been loopin’ now about ten minutes. Someone back on land is pretty scared. Either that, or it’s another false alarm like that Hawaiian missile thing.” He shook his head. “Never heard of this tsunami stuff before, though, so that right there’s good enough to make me head back.”
“Cami was right,” Reese muttered. He ignored Ben’s questioning look and pulled out his phone. The link he’d tried to load as they left port had finished at some point in the morning. He’d forgotten about it after Monty had yelled “Fish on!”
Reese shielded the phone’s screen and examined the image, stored in the phone’s memory once it lost all hope of an offshore internet connection.
An animated map of the Atlantic Ocean appeared with concentric red and blue squiggles—like ripples on a pond, spreading out from east to west. He looked closer and recognized Africa. The ripples, he realized, were massive waves, originating just off the northwestern coast of Morocco. He let the little playback loop make a complete cycle and watched the waves—tsunamis—spread all the way across the ocean, eventually crashing ashore on Canada, New England, and the southern states. It even hit the Caribbean and South America.
In the upper corner, a timestamp clicked by in thirty minute increments, documenting the progress of the waves. He whistled softly as the captain increased speed and the bow of the boat lifted, forcing Reese to lean forward in compensation. The waves on his screen moved across the entire ocean in 6-8 hours, with the leading edge of the first wave hitting New England’s shores some six and a half hours after they popped up in the eastern Atlantic.
“Is that what I think it is?” asked Ben, looking over Reese’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he muttered, tilting the screen to make it easier for his friend to see. “This is what Cami sent me as we were leaving port this morning.”
“From the volcano on the news?”
Reese nodded. “Looks like it…a model at least. Captain,” Reese said, looking up. “What if we didn’t have enough time to make it back to Green Harbor?” asked Reese. “What if we needed to get to land faster than that?” He stepped up next to the skipper and showed him the phone. “This is a tsunami model, centered on the Canary Islands. Exactly where that warning said.”
The captain studied t
he phone for a moment, then looked at Reese. “You think the tsunami’s gonna make it all the way across the Atlantic?”
“It’s looking like that.” Reese looked down at his phone. “But this shows the tsunami moving fast. It has the first wave hitting Boston six and a half hours after it started.”
“When did this volcano go off?” asked the captain, his hand hovering over the throttle.
“Around 5 this morning.”
Ben looked at his watch. “It’s almost 11 o’clock. That’s six hours…”
“How long will it take us to get back to Green Harbor?” demanded Reese.
Eddie, looking pale, appeared in the forward opening before the captain could answer. He put the sat phone back in its cradle and dropped his hands in his pockets. Reese couldn’t help but notice the normally unshakable Eddie Morenez appeared ready to throw up.
“We’re three hours out of Green Harbor,” the captain announced.
Ben and Reese looked at each other as the captain said ‘hahbah.’ Reese cleared his throat. “Where else could we go…if we needed to get to shore…like, I don’t know…” he asked, looking at his phone again. “Right now, maybe?”
The captain shrugged. “Easiest thing is head north. Closer to Maine than Mass right now. Maybe thirty minutes.”
“No, we need to get back to Green Harbor,” Eddie said in a firm voice. “Corporate wants us to return to port,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “There’s a jet on its way to meet us.”
“They’re sending a jet to pick us up? Why?” asked Ben. “This is a tidal wave, not a hurricane.”
“Tsunami,” Reese muttered, hearing Cami’s voice in his head.
“Whatever it is, they want to pick me up,” Eddie said, correcting Ben. “But I’m not leaving without you guys,” he added quickly.
“I don’t understand—where would you go?” asked Ben.
“There’s a mandatory coastal evacuation in place for Maine and Massachusetts. Pretty much down to New York,” Eddie revealed.
Broken Tide | Book 1 | Overfall Page 4
