Tsunami Blue

by Gayle Ann Williams

  After a minute, maybe two, and I wiped them away with the sleeve of the black fleece Gabriel had given me. I vowed those were the last tears for Gabriel Black, my dark angel, my delivery boy, I would ever shed.

  Blood still marred the teak where the two thieving Runners had met with their little accident. The “little accident,” of course, being me. I had waited to throw the bodies of the two men overboard until just past the breakwater. Not that anyone would have noticed. Around Runners, bodies went into the water all the time. No one noticed anything out of the usual. The unusual would have been if someone didn’t try to steal Gabriel’s beauty of a boat at morning light. I was so happy to beat them to it.

  I suppose I should have spent more time contemplating the undeniable fact that I had just taken two more human lives. I should have felt bad, prayed for forgiveness, something. But I felt nothing for the men I had killed. In fact, out here on the water, with only the wind and waves for company, I was damn glad. Glad I had ended their miserable lives. I felt relieved. Relieved that they would never rape and murder a young girl again. Or cut off her ear. The left one, with the tiny diamond in it she had gotten for her birthday one week before.

  “In the wind” works both ways. People listen to me. And I in turn listen to them. I’d heard about the little Uplander girl. And Max and I had vowed revenge if the killers ever crossed our path. At least, I was sure Max would have if he could people-speak. Who knew that would be today, on a beautiful little sailboat that I was stealing from the man I loved? Crazy.

  Leaving the harbor behind, and with the guidance of the moonlight, I hugged the craggy shoreline of New Vancouver Island, looking for a small point of land. It looked like an arrow pointing inland. Inland to a small, hidden bay. A bay Seamus had told me about when I was young: close access to shore, a back way into New Vancouver, and loaded with sea piranha. Don’t dip your toes, Blue, he had said. They’ll eat ’em and come back for more. Eat right up your leg, they will.

  I saw it. It seemed so obvious, but that was the beauty of it. Unless you knew what to look for, you’d see nothing. Nothing but a craggy, unwelcoming shoreline that screamed, Go away.

  The bay was perfect: sheltered and hidden, and, man, did I need to take precautions. A boat like this would be missed in the harbor by the right men—men like Trace. Or, as I preferred to call them, monsters like Trace. I had no doubt that he would be looking for this boat, maybe within hours. I didn’t even know what he looked like. He was only a voice on the airways to me. I guess we had that in common. I shuddered. Just thinking about him made my ears burn.

  Still, if I could steal this boat, someone else could too.

  Dropping anchor was easy. Securing the sails, coiling lines, stowing the gear…well, that was flat-out exhausting. I hated to admit it, but it took me twice as long as it had Gabriel. Oh well, he had lots of practice. And I’d get better with time.

  All of a sudden I wasn’t thinking about the efficiencies of sailing. Practice, getting better, lying in Gabriel’s arms—which would never happen again—that was what I was thinking of. My body ached. Not from the work, but for him.

  Enough, Blue. Enough.

  The next few hours passed quickly as I made ready for my late night visit to New Vancouver. I readied the dinghy, the same boat the two dead Runners didn’t need anymore. So nice of them to loan it to me.

  I checked supplies to see if I needed to steal anything, um, that is, buy anything. Providing I could figure out how. Come on. I was a girl. How hard could shopping be? And I spent some time with the shortwave, memorizing every nuance of Gabriel’s tweaked and buffed-up model. Impressive as it was, he had put lots of gadgets on it that weren’t necessary. High-grade chrome, polished brass, racing stripes. Okay, so there weren’t really any racing stripes. But what is it with guys and their toys? Bigger is not always better.

  I flashed on Gabriel naked in my sleeping bag. His sexiness, his size, intimidating and intriguing. Was bigger better? I guessed that remained to be seen. And as it stood, I would never find out. Sighing, I got back to the job I deemed the most important. I hadn’t been on the airwaves for a few days, which by itself wasn’t unusual. There wasn’t a Tsunami Blue show every night. But a killer wave was coming, and I was gonna be ready for it.

  I thought of Nick and Alec, with their hazel eyes and freckles sprinkled across their nose. Yeah. I’d damned well better be ready.

  Lastly, I armed myself.

  Gabriel had quite the arsenal of knives and weapons. You just had to know where to look.

  It was like an Easter-egg hunt without the chocolate. I actually enjoyed ripping into floorboards and prying out false ceilings. Gabriel would not have approved, but this was my boat now, and I would put it all back. If I got around to it. I hated to admit it, but I was kind of a slob. That’s what happens when you live alone. Still, if I had to point fingers, Max was way worse.

  I did not find guns. Salt water was hell on weapons. Salt was in the mist, the wind, the spray, everywhere. Barrels and chambers and any moving parts corroded and froze. And though handguns used to be the deadly norm, it was a world of blades now. When your life depended on it, not many wanted to risk a gun malfunction. But a blade? Well, what can I say? They always worked for me. Every time. I loaded up. I’d never been shy that way.

  I was ready. Gabriel had at least until one minute after midnight to live. I say that because the festivities started at the stroke of twelve. And all bets were that he wouldn’t last much longer. What the hell was the cage? And why did my heart pound and my palms sweat at the thought of Gabriel facing death?

  I had to get going. I had to see for myself. As I climbed into the dinghy, I searched the water for the piranha my uncle had warned me about. But the tiny bay was calm and clear in the moonlight as only salt water can be.

  I started to row, slow, exacting strokes, and fell into an easy rhythm. I’d be at the shoreline in minutes. But then, out of nowhere, the sea started to whisper.

  I rowed faster. The sea whispered louder. “Not now,” I said, and my voice echoed across the water.

  Now, Blue, it whispered back. Tonight.

  “No,” I breathed. Not tonight. My stomach lurched and I got that sick feeling I always do when the sea wants to fuck with me. Not tonight. I hadn’t broadcast, hadn’t planned, hadn’t warned, hadn’t prepared. I hadn’t saved Gabriel.

  The sea caught my little dinghy and started to spin it slowly. I smashed an oar into the water out of frustration and it resonated like a rifle shot. The boat circled faster, and I knew enough to pull the paddles in or else they’d be lost. There was nothing I could do now but hang on.

  The dinghy picked up momentum and suddenly the waters teamed with sea piranha. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them surrounded the boat, broke the surface, and, with rows of fangs gleaming in the moonlight, they snapped and bit at vacant air. As if they knew I was only inches away.

  The boat spun faster. “Not fair!” I screamed. “Not fair.”

  The sea laughed.

  I felt like Dorothy in a spinning house, like a teacup in underwater Disneyland gone insane, like a hurricane on the old Gulf Coast. A coast that didn’t exist anymore. I felt sick and mad and scared all at the same time. And then I heard it. The wave would come ashore tonight, at the cage, just after midnight.

  “The monster?” I whispered as I collapsed in the boat, weak from the force of the motion.

  Nah, the sea said. Just a little one, Blue. A little monster.

  Chapter Twenty

  I woke up ten minutes later in the bottom of the dinghy. My eyes were greeted with the familiar sky and a bevy of stars that seemed to wink, Welcome back.

  Much to my amazement, the little boat was beached safely on the shore, hidden even, with the oars neatly stacked alongside. Hadn’t I had them stowed in the boat with me?

  I stood and stepped out of the boat, checking for weapons, and yep, all accounted for, even the switchblade taped to my wrist with pink duct tape. That had been ano
ther surprise. Who would have thought that a man as dangerous-looking as Gabriel Black owned pink duct tape? The way I had been spun, I would have bet that the knife would have been dislodged. But duct tape was duct tape, pink or industrial gray. It held.

  Looking to the moored sailboat, I chewed my lower lip. What to do? Row out and broadcast the impending wave? Or forget it and just get to New Vancouver and try to save the day—the night-that is—by rescuing Gabriel? Of course, after saving him, I might just turn around and kill him. Wait, hadn’t we been here before?

  If I did get a broadcast off, would anyone believe it? I always gave more notice. Always. Hell, I’d always had more notice. Always. “What’s up with that?” I asked the sea, as if it could read my mind.

  Switching it up, the sea answered.

  Well, that was spooky. But I couldn’t worry about it now.

  If I really hurried, I could row out, broadcast, row back in, beach, walk the mile into the town, save Gabriel, kill him or not, outrun the wave, and be back at the boat before dawn. Drinking Starbucks. Hey, if I pulled this off, I deserved a little downtime. Okay, that was a plan. I pushed the dinghy back into the water.

  “So, my friends, believe it or not. But as always, I beg you to believe. The wave comes at midnight or shortly thereafter. Go to high ground, New Vancouver, go to high ground. Please. This is Tsunami Blue signing off on a night when a wave is coming. I’m sorry, my friends, but please, please believe it.” I held the mic to my lips and prayed as I always did when I had a broadcast like this. And then, “Please, folks. Listen. Believe. Run.”

  I dropped the mic and ran up and out of the boat. I knew what was most likely waiting for me in the city. The protests, the insults, the accusations. And I didn’t have the time or the stomach for it tonight.

  Still, as I rowed my heart out to make up precious time, I could only hope that some would listen and lives would be saved. Especially those with children.

  Gabriel was right: New Vancouver was a dangerous and ugly place. Ugly because of the rotted hulks of buildings and the trash and the graffiti. I mean, I’d never minded tagging. Some of the work I’d seen in the early days after the first waves had been beautiful, artistic, hopeful, even—like my tattoo.

  But now it had changed. As people lost hope and desperation set in, so too did the messages on the walls. They were full of hate and venom. There were threats, and most disturbing of all was the ugly taint of racism, creeping back like a serpent.

  Then there were the ones about me.

  People fear what they don’t understand, Blue. Gabriel’s words came to me softly, calming my nerves. A little. Even after learning of his betrayal, his association with the devil Indigo, I still held on to his words. To him. How sad was that?

  I pushed Gabriel out of my mind and focused on the crowd. A crowd that intimidated me.

  Through the smoke of torches and the smell of rancid oil burning in barrels, I could see the mass was easily a hundred times larger than the number of people I had seen altogether in the last ten years. They pushed, shoved, and plowed their way to wherever they were going. No one made eye contact. Unless you were targeted for theft. Or worse.

  I watched two nasty-looking men eye a pretty young Uplander of about sixteen. They followed her for a block or so and I followed them, fingering a blade that I had slid down into my palm. I so did not want to get involved.

  But I would.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her rush into the arms of a young man who just happened to be built like a black bear. Luckily, he had two friends about the same size. The creeps backed off, but not before they made obscene gestures of masturbating behind the backs of the retreating youngsters.

  I wanted to stick them. Just a little, to make them bleed. But in the forty minutes or so I’d been here, I realized I wanted to stick half the population. And as for the rest? Well, I wanted them to bathe.

  The stench of human waste and filth filled my nostrils. I wanted to gag. People were ragged and filthy and, well, gross. At least with my black-on-black clothing, skull boots, pissed-off disposition, and a black eye that even the shades couldn’t hide, I belonged. Kind of.

  I mean, I did smell better, which set me apart. I smelled of vanilla and almonds and honey. The thought reminded me of Gabriel, which reminded me of why I was here. I moved on.

  Rotting teeth, foul breath, filthy clothes—how was it possible that cows and cream and fresh vegetables came from a place like this? And potatoes? What about those spuds in Gabriel’s hold? From here? Not possible. Not even.

  Seamus hadn’t lied: Uplanders were a lot like the Runners. At least in appearance. And as Runners mingled with the Uplanders, they mostly blended in. To a novice they might all look the same, but I could tell them apart instantly. It was the pure Runner evil showing in the eyes.

  New Vancouver, which had once been a beautiful, gleaming city by the sea, was now a vipers’ nest full of misfits and opportunists and worse. How had Gabriel gotten caught up in this? How?

  “Tsunami Blue.”

  I gasped and made a critical mistake. I turned, acknowledging my name.

  Relief swept over me as I saw the man was not speaking to me. It was then that I realized that my name was on the lips of the crowd everywhere. The broadcast had gotten out. Thank you, God.

  “She lies.”

  Well, there you had it. Maybe I hadn’t done much good.

  “She’s a devil. That much is for sure.”

  Um, no. The guy standing next to you about to steal you blind…now, him, the Runner, he’s the devil.

  “She’s a witch. If I got my hands on her, I’d burn her.”

  How nice.

  “Good idea. It ain’t natural, someone seein’ the future. She’s unholy.”

  No. I’m not, I wanted to say. Now, vampires…

  I kept walking.

  And then, “She’s never been wrong.” I stopped. I recognized that voice. Didn’t I?

  “And she saved us. The wave would have gotten us.”

  Okay. I recognized both voices. And it scared me. Not for me. For them. What were Nick and Alec doing here?

  “Now, you boys don’t know what you’re talking about,” said an older man. “But we can sure educate ya. Why don’t you two come with us? We’ll fill ya in.”

  “You know her?” Nick asked, not able to hide his excitement.

  “Tell us.” Alec sounded equally excited.

  “They call me good old Uncle Sam, boys. And I’ll tell ya all about it.”

  I turned to see the boys talking to two men who were unshaven, unclean, and decisively unholy. I could tell by the way the older man licked his lips as he studied the boys. Uncle Sam hid his intent better, but not by much. I’d been raised in Runner camps until Seamus had stashed me on an island. I had seen this look too many times. These men were perverts. And I wanted to kill ’em.

  My blood heated and I had to restrain myself from just gutting the two of them right there, leaving them to die in the filth of these streets. Just where they belonged.

  I walked over and stood behind the boys.

  “Gonna show them a puppy, Uncle Sam?” I drew out the uncle, long and soft, just to show him my disgust. And to show him I was onto him. Big-time.

  The boys turned at the sound of my voice.

  “Bambi,” they said in unison.

  I couldn’t help it. The boys had me grinning in under a second. In under two, they both had me in a bear hug. I wasn’t used to public displays of affection. Hell, I wasn’t used to displays of affection period. But I found myself hugging them back and enjoying every minute of it, even as I felt color climb into my cheeks.

  When they let go, both boys were beaming. Beaming with excitement at seeing me and beaming with the excitement of thinking they had a lead on Tsunami Blue.

  “Hey,” Alec said. “These guys”—he hooked a thumb over his shoulder—“they know about Tsunami Blue.”

  “Where’s Just Gabe, Bambi?” Nick asked. And then, �
�What happened to your eye?”

  How could I tell them that Gabriel wasn’t with me, had never really been? And how could I tell them about Gabriel and the cage, when I wasn’t even sure what it was? All I knew for sure was that it wasn’t good. Not on any level. And as for their newfound friends? That was ending. Now.

  “Now, the boys and me, we’re havin’ a right nice conversation, girly.” Sam pulled my attention away from Nick and Alec. “Why don’t you just run along and find some ice for that eye of yours. Don’t know what happened to ya, but”—he pulled his jacket back to reveal a knife bigger than any I had on me—“you probably deserved it. Now just shoo.” He motioned at me with the back of his hand like he was batting at a fly.

  I wanted to remove my sunglasses, to raise an eyebrow in warning. I wanted to show him that I indeed was Tsunami Blue. That the boys need look no further. And then? I wanted to kill him. But I kept my cool, and the shades stayed on. No sense inviting even more trouble.

  The boys looked at me with wide eyes. I think they were amazed at the way Uncle Sam had talked to me. They looked around past my shoulders, clearly searching for Gabriel. Like he would put these guys in their place. Like maybe I couldn’t. Oh, but I could. Still, I looked at their young faces… No, it was time to move on.

  If I didn’t, the boys would see the ugly side of me, and I didn’t want that. I’d spilled enough blood today, and the night wasn’t over yet. There might be more to come.

  I put my arm around each boy protectively. “Let’s go, boys. I have a lot to tell you, including”—and I glared at Sam and his dirtbag friend—“how Gabriel and I met Tsunami Blue.”

  “What?” Nick all but screamed.

  “Tell us!” Alec added, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  “The bitch lies.” This time it was from Sam’s buddy in perversion.