It weaved through the handful of still-standing buildings, in broken windows, out second stories. As the water reached a building no more than a hundred feet behind them, the entire structure listed hard, the force of the wave toppling the unsecure stone and concrete. It fell in slow-motion, story-by-story, landing with a splash.

  They were going to die. There was no way to outrun it. Nowhere to hide.

  Pamela said nothing. She stared, transfixed at the devastation unfolding behind them, digging her nails into the seat back.

  “How far away is it?” Daphne nudged her with an elbow. “Can you tell?”

  “What?” Pamela fixed her with a wild stare. Her lips hung open, pink tongue hovering in the dark cavern of her mouth.

  “The water! How far away is it?”

  Pamela turned back to the rear window. “Not far enough.”

  “Is this thing four-wheel drive?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good.” Daphne slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The vehicle bounced over cracks and divots and hunks of torn apart asphalt. Daphne dodged a spill of debris in one lane and the remnants of a car crash in the other.

  A beleaguered woman with a streak of dirt or dried blood running down her face stepped onto the road and Daphne cranked the wheel.

  Pamela screamed.

  They missed the woman by a foot. Maybe two.

  “Can you slow down?” Fear coated Pamela’s question, but Daphne ignored it.

  She blared the horn instead, honking over and over as they neared an intersection. Without a moment’s hesitation, she blasted through it.

  Pamela clutched the sides of her seat. “You could have killed someone!”

  “If we don’t get out of here, the water is going to kill us,” Daphne protested. “It’s gaining.”

  She glanced in the rear view to confirm, even though she already knew the truth. It wasn’t a flood or a breached levee. It was a tidal wave. A tsunami pushed in from the coast. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it. Why reality hadn’t forced its way in minutes ago.

  They were in Bellevue, east of Seattle. It meant the coast, downtown, the heart of Seattle itself was already underwater. Thousands of people were dead, crushed by the force of the wave, or drowned beneath its depths.

  Daphne wasn’t going to be a statistic. Not after surviving the quake. She pushed the pedal down and rocketed through another intersection. Everything blurred beside her. The debris, the damaged cars, the intermittent people. Pamela screamed and squeezed her eyes shut as Daphne took a corner too fast. The Jeep tipped, running on two wheels as it turned.

  As she cranked the wheel back to neutral, the Grand Cherokee landed hard on the ground, bouncing from the impact. Pamala reached for the dash, bracing herself against it as they sped on.

  “Can you see it?’ Daphne cast a quick glance at her passenger. “Have we put any distance between us and the wave?”

  “How would I know? You’re throwing me around like I’m a sack of potatoes. If you would only slow—”

  Daphne struck the side mirror of a car parked parallel on the side of the road, overcorrected, and almost plowed into a disheveled man standing on the sidewalk across the street. Her throat was in her chest.

  “You almost ran over that guy!”

  “I know, I didn’t mean to.” Daphne eased off the gas, her knuckles stark-white gripping the steering wheel. Beside her, Pamela began to hyperventilate. One, one, two, two. Short, sharp breaths. Her whole body bounced up and down.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Daphne didn’t mean it. “Please tell me we’ve gained some space.”

  Pamela dared a cautious glance out her side mirror. She reached for her neck. Covered her collarbone. “It’s closer. How is that possible?”

  Daphne swerved onto the sidewalk to avoid a stalled car in the middle of an intersection. She clipped the side of a trashcan and it flew up and over the Jeep before bouncing off the windshield and onto the road. A crack blossomed across the glass.

  “You’re going to have to pay for that.”

  “Not high on my priority list at the moment, Pam.” Daphne squinted at the road ahead. Cars clustered at the next intersection, clogging the road and blocking their path. She eased her foot off the gas. Was there even a way to get through? She tugged at her lip with her teeth. They didn’t have time to stop and think.

  They didn’t have time to do anything. She risked a glance behind them. So close. The water gained, unrelenting in its ferocity, but was it shallower? She couldn’t tell.

  Daphne turned to her left and right. There had to be a solution. Her heart lodged itself in her throat and she hesitated, the car drifting to a stop.

  “What are you doing? The water is gaining on us!” Pamela practically yelled. “We’ve got to move.”

  Now she wanted Daphne to move. If they ever made it out of this, Daphne was giving this woman a piece of her mind. She held up a hand when the stenographer opened her mouth again. “We need to get to higher ground.”

  She swung her head, scanning the left and then the right. A little blue sign with a white P hung half a block ahead. “There!” She pointed at it before accelerating again.

  “Where? The road is blocked, just like you said.”

  Daphne sped to the parking deck entrance. As she turned toward the ramp, Pamela threw her hands up in disbelief. “Are you crazy? Why would we go inside another parking garage?”

  Daphne angled the Jeep through the narrow entrance and up the first ramp. “Because it’s the only choice we have. If we can reach the top before the water, we might survive.”

  Pamela’s eyes darted back to the street, but she said nothing. Daphne hit the gas, weaving up ramp after ramp after ramp until they crested the deck. It had to be four floors at least, maybe more. Would it be enough? She hoped so.

  Daphne shoved the vehicle in park before throwing open the door.

  “What are you doing?” Pamela leaned over, peering out the opening.

  “We need to get as high as possible. This might not be enough.” She scanned the deck. They were almost the only vehicle. Definitely the tallest. “We should climb on top.” She hurried around to the passenger side and threw open Pamela’s door.

  “I can’t climb anything with this ankle,” Pamela complained.

  “You’re going to have to,” Daphne urged. “You made it all the way from the conference room to the garage back at the law office.”

  Pamela’s jaw tightened in defiance, her eyes glinting with frustration. Daphne felt the frustration too. It coiled around her spine and dripped down her back, mixed with sweat and fear.

  But she couldn’t give up. She had a daughter to live for, a daughter whom she desperately wanted to kiss and hug and apologize to for all the mistakes she’d made.

  If she ever got the chance to see Mika again, she’d make sure the girl knew how much she was loved and wanted. She would put her first above all else. But she would have to survive to have that chance.

  “Come on, Pamela.” Daphne reached for the stenographer’s hand.

  Pamela shook her head adamantly and crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. “I’m not going up there. I’m still trying to recover from the mini heart attack you gave me. You aren’t a race car driver, you know.”

  Daphne ignored the digs. “Pamela, we’ve got to get to the highest ground possible. The water doesn’t care who we are or how we drive. It’s going to cover everything. I don’t want to die here. If you don’t want to drown, come with me.”

  Pamela’s eyes were swollen and her nose red. She’d been through the wringer. Daphne held out a hand. She refused.

  “Fine.” Daphne sucked in a breath. “Stay there if you want, but I’m climbing onto the roof.”

  Daphne hopped on the hood of the car and shimmied to the top. Once she was in position, she carefully stood up and looked all around at the streets below, searching for the water.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CLINT

  Clint shoved open his door and stumbled from the cab. Neither Jack nor Jason followed. He spun on his heel and his expression hardened. “You coming or not?”

  Jason shook his head. “No way. We’re almost to safety. I’m not risking my life for a bunch of strangers.”

  Clint turned toward the Strait, although the water was obscured by buildings. He had to make a decision. “We don’t have much time, but we might be able to get some people out of here. It’s worth a shot. We can’t just run and do nothing.”

  Jack cast his eyes at the road for a long moment before shoving open the door to the truck. “You’re right.”

  Jason followed Clint’s gaze, fear glazing his eyes. “But what if we don’t make it back in time? We could get swept away.”

  Clint exhaled and his shoulders sagged. “I know you’re scared, but if we don’t try, then we’re just as guilty as the wave. We can do this. We can help.”

  Jack grabbed Clint by the arm. “Ignore him. He can help or not. Doesn’t change what we do.” He tugged Clint away from the truck with one hand, cupping the other around his mouth. “You have to evacuate!” He shouted at the crowd. “Move to higher ground!”

  The gaggle of people turned but didn’t break apart. They didn’t understand. Clint pointed toward the Strait. “Water’s coming. We’re going to flood!”

  An older woman waved at the building next to them—a doctor’s office that had collapsed during the earthquake. “We’re safer out here. That building almost killed us.”

  Clint tried again. “It’s a huge, massive wave. If you stay here, you’ll drown.”

  The woman shook her head. “And go where, exactly? We’re safe outside.”

  “No, you’re wrong. It’s coming. You have to get out of here.” He held out a hand and almost pleaded. “Please, we’ve got to hurry.” He raised his voice. “We’ve all got to hurry!”

  A prim, younger woman decked out in athletic gear jogged over. “What makes you think—”

  “We’ve seen it.” Clint cut her off.

  “A wave?”

  “Yes. And the Strait—it’s receded first. That’s what happens before a tsunami. All the water the ocean sucked out is crashing back. We’ll be smothered. Swept away.”

  Her eyes widened and she froze for a moment, horror settling across her features like the dust from crushed debris. “A tsunami? When?”

  “Now.”

  She turned back toward the shop and the gathered people. “Let’s move! Everyone to higher ground. We’re going to flood!”

  Finally, the crowd began to disperse. Clint exhaled in relief. At least these people had a chance. He sucked in a breath, steadied his feet. Only... That rumble. It wasn’t another earthquake. It was water. A massive wall of water.

  The buildings blocked the view, but the ground told the truth. It was coming. Right now.

  “Everyone, run! Head toward the mountains!” Clint screamed and made giant circle motions with his arms like a pair of twin windmills. Jack did the same across the street, shouting at everyone to run.

  It was all they could do. If they stayed any longer... He shook the thought away and hurried to the truck, whistling at Jack as he ran. He jerked open the door and jumped inside. “Jack! Let’s go!”

  Jason still crouched in the back of the pickup bed, face slack with terror. He didn’t make eye contact as Clint hopped behind the wheel.

  “Come on! What are you waiting for?” Clint banged on the truck door with the heel of his palm. Jack picked up the pace, yanking the passenger door open as someone behind them began to scream.

  Clint shifted into gear and bumped off the curb, honking as he picked up speed.

  Jack twisted around to stare out the rear window. “The water! I see it!”

  Clint risked a glance in the rear view. White froth sloshed and rolled down the street, cascading over shop windows and parked cars. The sheer force uprooted a redwood and ripped it from the ground like a giant plucking a blade of grass. It hurtled through the waves, impaling a store window. Clint punched the gas.

  “We need more distance.” Jack, ever the pragmatic voice of reason.

  “No kidding.” Clint hit the brakes, narrowly avoiding a man darting across the street in front of him. The truck fishtailed and Jason slid across the bed. No time. We have no time. Clint ground his teeth together and punched the gas. The vehicle surged forward again.

  He drove past a woman standing stock still, transfixed by the sight. His heart constricted and his foot eased off the gas. Maybe...

  “It’s gaining, man. We can’t stop.”

  Clint glanced at the mirror again. Jack was right. The water surged across the road, inky fingers stretching into every crevice and gap collecting debris like costume jewelry. It swirled toward them. This was it. No more attempts at saving neighbors and strangers. He had to survive for his daughter. He had to save her.

  He stomped on the brake and turned off the main drag onto an empty residential side street running parallel to the shoreline. Waves crested no more than a hundred feet away, lashing houses, topping roofs, consuming everything in its path.

  The sun glinted off the cresting wave in a blinding flash, making it look almost like an image from a dream. The muted roar of water played like a soundtrack outside the truck and the vibration shook harder than the engine. Debris littered the leading edge; chunks of siding, broken trees, a mangled car. The force of the wave hurled a twisted hunk of metal so high into the air it seemed to hang in the sky for a moment before crashing back down.

  The smell of salt water and fear filled the air.

  They were witness to the undeniable power of nature, weather, and the earth. Of something bigger than themselves. It was horrifying and beautiful and on another day, in another time, Clint could have stared at it forever. But right now, he needed to flee. He hit the horn, loud and fast, again and again, hoping beyond hope no one was foolish enough to stay inside their houses.

  Two houses ahead, a woman emerged, pink curlers tucked beneath a canted shower cap, nightgown torn along the bottom edge. A bruise discolored her left cheek. She’d survived the earthquake, but not without damage. He pointed toward the water as he slowed. “You’ve got to run. Now!”

  She turned, brow crinkling in confusion, before her eyes widened in shock and awe. Clint didn’t wait. He punched the gas. Jack turned around, watching as they sped away.

  After a moment, he turned back around, somber and crumpled.

  “Did she run?”

  “Not fast enough.”

  Clint shoved it down—the sadness, the grief, the ferocity of the wave. All of it. He pressed his lips together and forced a scratchy swallow. Images of his daughter filled his mind: bracing as the ground shook beneath her feet, pack on her back, forest all around. She was safe from the water that high up in the mountains. But did she survive the quake?

  What about Daphne? She worked in a high rise. If it wasn’t leveled, she was about to be consumed.

  At the next street, he slammed the brakes and cranked the wheel, making another hard turn out of the residential areas and towards Olympic National Park. Toward his daughter.

  Jack tugged on his sleeve. “You okay?”

  Would any of them ever be okay again? Clint grunted his response.

  “Road’s clear. We should make it.”

  Clint nodded and jerked his head back over his shoulder. “Jason, you still breathing?”

  “I’m here,” Jason croaked.

  “Good.” Clint focused on the road ahead as they sped up. They were almost there. Almost home free. Just a… bit longer. He forced himself not to think about everything they left behind. He could only focus on Mika. On finding her alive. He would worry then.

  A car appeared down the street, tires screeching against pavement, barreling toward them with reckless abandon. It swerved, taking out a telephone pole, clipping it like it was nothing more than an obstacle in its path. The vehicle careened down the middle of the road, headed straight for them.

  Clint gasped and gripped the wheel, yanking hard to the right to avoid a collision. He struggled to maintain control. Jason screamed in the bed behind him. The car side-swiped them, impact jarring their bodies so hard Clint and Jack careened to the right and the driver’s side window shattered. A face pressed into the car’s windshield —a woman screaming as she slammed into their truck. She blinked at Clint, mouth open, eyes wide as she slid across her windshield. She dropped into the front seat before slamming onto the dash. Her head bounced off the steering wheel and her body crumpled forward.

  The car veered left but he’d lost sight of it already. He sucked in a breath to calm his racing heart. Jack sat up, rubbing his temple where he’d slammed against the window. Was Jason... Clint turned, fearing the worst. But the man appeared alive, cowering in a ball in the truck bed, head down between his knees.

  “You all right?” Clint called.

  Jason’s voice came back wobbly and raw. “I think I pissed myself.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jack offered.

  Clint turned back around. “Hold on.” He eased the truck forward again, glancing from one side of the street to the other. The coast was clear. He snorted to himself. Actually, the coast was anything but clear. At the moment, it was buried under the force of more water than they could comprehend. He drove south, gaining in elevation each block away from the Strait they drove until at last, Jack relaxed beside him.

  “I think we’re high enough.”

  Clint slowed and turned around. Sure enough, the water appeared to have reached its end point, white froth licking at the street fifty feet below. He eased the truck into the parking lot of a small community garden and killed the engine. They had survived. But so many hadn’t been so lucky. He hoped his daughter fared better than the thousands of residents of Port Angeles who’d just been swept away.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN