MIKA

  “Come on, Hamp. I know it’s hard.” Mika hoisted Hampton up higher and took another step. “It’s just a little farther.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Hampton stumbled and Mika fought to keep her upright. “My f-f-feeeeet are numbbbbb. ’N my fingerssssss are alllll tin-tin-tingly.”

  Mika clamped her jaw tight and kept going, tearing through the forest understory, and trampling the ferns. On a normal hike, she would take care, avoiding damage to any plant life. But now? With her best friend barely coherent and unable to stand without assistance? It took every ounce of inner strength not to give up and sag to the ground.

  But the sun was setting and sooner rather than later they would be in the dark, on their own, with no shelter. She shoved the panic down and kept going, sights set on a rocky outcrop where she hoped they could tuck in for the night. Something poked her through the thin layer of hiking pants and she shifted Hampton’s weight.

  “W-wh-why are there t-t-two of youuuuuu?” Hampton almost giggled as she swatted at the air.

  “It’s just me. Same old Mika. Only one as far as I know.” Mika tried to smile, but it came out in a grimace. How hard had Hampton hit her head in the crash? She wished she knew more about concussions.

  In sixth grade, one of the boys in her class took a baseball to the head and was on a strict concussion protocol for months—staying home from school, no bright lights, no sudden movements. He couldn’t even do homework for the first week. Doctors said his brain needed total and complete rest.

  Was that Hampton’s problem? Was Mika taxing her too hard when she should be lying down and taking it easy?

  Mika hauled her friend out of the bushes and ferns and over to a large hunk of rock. Vertical striations ran the length of the rise and Mika nestled Hampton down beside the smoothest section. With a ragged exhale she slid the cooler and both backpacks off her shoulders before collapsing beside her.

  Sweat slicked down Mika’s back and she forced herself to slow her breathing. Hauling all the gear and half of Hampton’s weight took its toll. She closed her eyes for a few minutes and exhaustion tugged at her, pulling her down toward sleep. But she couldn’t risk it. Not yet. Not with Hampton so…

  She turned to her friend. Hampton held one hand out, turning it back and forth as she squinted. Mika leaned closer. “Is your hand okay? Did you hurt it somehow?”

  “I t-t-ried to p-pick up a leaf. It’s slllllippppery.”

  Mika frowned. There was nothing slippery in the vicinity, just a trampled-on branch with a few crunchy leaves clinging to the bark. “You mean these?” She plucked one and it crumbled in her fingers.

  Hampton nodded, but the movement must have hurt because she cried out and reached for her head.

  “Shh. It’s okay.” Mika rubbed her friend’s shoulder. “Maybe you should take it easy. Close your eyes for a little while.”

  Hampton tried to respond, but the words came out garbled and thick.

  Mika glanced around at the ground for something, anything, to distract them both. “Here. I’ll go through these packs. See what we have.”

  She dragged the first one forward, a tan rucksack she believed belonged to a troop leader. “I bet those ladies stashed some candy in here, I just know it.” She smiled at Hampton, but her friend didn’t respond. Mika unclasped the buckle and pulled the top of the pack wide.

  She set aside the wrinkled collection of maps she’d grabbed from the glove box and shoved inside before digging around to find what remained. “A flashlight, very practical.” She held it up before setting it on the ground between them. “A backpacking first aid kit. Fantastic.” She waggled it, too, before moving on. “Rolled up raincoat, a change of clothes. Soccer slides.” She checked the sizes. Ms. Rogers, for sure.

  Hampton grunted beside her and Mika took it as a good sign. She kept digging through the pack, pulling out everything from folded bandanas and spare wool socks to a dog eared paperback. “Ah-ha! I knew it!” At the bottom of the pack, stuffed into a small pouch, was a handful of Hershey kisses. She held one out to Hampton. “Here, I know you’re not a huge chocolate fan, but I think in this case indulging is a must.”

  Mika waited as Hampton struggled to pluck the candy off her open palm. She watched with trepidation while her best friend picked at the foil wrapper, trying and failing to tear it off. “Here, let me help.” Mika unrolled the wrapper and handed the little hunk of chocolate back to Hampton. The other girl took it and brought it up to her lips, but she didn’t bite.

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “I—I’m soooo tired. Can I sa-save it?”

  Mika smiled. “Of course. You just lay back and rest and I’ll take a look at these maps. See if I can plot a route home.”

  She reached for the maps, discarding the irrelevant ones, and settled on a trail map of the area. She unfolded it before spreading it out across her lap. Resisting the urge to snuggle next to Hampton and point out every landmark, she instead satisfied herself with checking on her friend every minute or so, confirming her chest rose and fell in regular rhythm while she rested. She remembered that now sleep was recommended for concussions—that boy in her class had to nap multiple times a day. So, she didn’t worry when Hampton slipped into sleep. It was good for her. What she needed.

  And it gave Mika a chance to study. She focused all her attention on the map, struggling to place them on its topographic ridge lines. She glanced up at the darkening sky. Sunset was coming, fast. If only she knew where they were when the van crashed. But she hadn’t been paying attention. She scanned the area, hoping to find something, anything, that looked familiar. But it was all the same—lush greenery, tall trees, rocky outcrops. Nothing to signify elevation or location or even proximity to town. They could be one mile or ten miles away and Mika didn’t have a clue.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away with the back of her hand. She couldn’t afford to have a meltdown now. Her father would be coming, of that, she was sure. All she had to do was keep herself and Hampton alive until then.

  She turned back to the map, tracing her finger from the beginning of the National Park towards the interior, attempting to distinguish the main road from the litany of trails. It appeared as if Ms. Rogers had marked their campsite with a bit of yellow highlight. Mika chewed on her lip as she studied it. They had to be at least halfway there, right?

  Glancing up again, she tried to gain her bearings. Assuming they were halfway, then maybe, just maybe, the dotted black line curving up the ridge was the road. And if so, Mika guessed they were somewhere within a zone on the map about fifteen miles away from town.

  The more she studied the map, the more sure she became. She remembered the hook in the road just before the tremors started. And how Ms. Chalmers mentioned a scenic overlook not that far away. If she was right, and they could find the road, it might only take a day to reach town. Two if they took it slow. She glanced up, excitement lighting up her face as she turned toward Hampton.

  “Hamp, wake up. I think I know where we are. It’s not so bad. We sleep here tonight and in the morning—” She cut herself off. Hampton wasn’t waking up. She nudged her friend’s shoulder. “Hamp?”

  Nothing.

  She nudged harder and Hampton slumped over, sliding into a heap against the rock. Fear bloomed in Mika’s chest. She shoved the map aside and crouched in front of her friend. “Hampton, please. It’s Mika. Can you wake up for me?” Scared of shaking her in case it made the concussion worse, Mika tapped Hampton’s hands and then her legs before pinching her bare arm.

  Still nothing. Mika swallowed and leaned closer, jabbing two fingers into Hampton’s neck to find a pulse. Relief flooded quick and hot when the steady beat pressed against the pads of her fingers. Hampton was alive.

  Maybe the concussion was even worse than Mika feared. Maybe rest was the best thing for her. Mika twisted her fingers around each other as she stared at Hampton’s slack face. It had to just be a concussion, nothing more. She forced her runaway imagination to slow, banishing all thoughts of catastrophic injuries she couldn’t name.

  Hampton would be fine. She needed rest and recuperation, that was all. Mika was exhausted herself and she hadn’t been thrown from the van. It made perfect sense when she laid it all out. Especially when she refused to consider any alternatives.

  With a deep breath, Mika settled herself down beside Hampton and pulled her friend closer to rest on her shoulder. If she couldn’t wake Hampton up, then she would at least sit beside her. Keep her company while she dosed.

  After plucking the map off the ground, Mika spread it back out on her lap, intending to peruse it while Hampton slept.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CLINT

  Water. Everywhere. Clint’s eyes fixed on the horizon as the tsunami crested in the distance. The water was a murky brown, churning with debris swept up in its current. A fridge rolled in the waves. A smashed car slid to a stop at the edge of the road, pushed forward by the force. A body hung limply over the ruined roofline of a flooded home.

  The parking lot of the community garden remained clear, but froth clung to the low-slung library across the street. How many people up and down the coast just died? A thousand? Tens of thousands? More?

  “Are you okay?” Jack called out.

  “Is anyone?” Clint couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  “No, them.” Jack nudged his shoulder and Clint turned. A bedraggled group of survivors edged around the library. A man carried a toddler, her blonde hair falling over his shoulder. A woman held the hand of a little boy. Dried blood clung to her forehead and the boy limped, obviously injured.

  “Survivors.” Clint’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Are you all right?” Jack spoke louder and the man jerked his head in their direction.

  His face was streaked with dirt and sweat, eyes red-rimmed and haunted. Shock and chaos and the threat of death aged him, although he must have been a decade younger than Clint. The woman stepped forward, her voice shaking, “Our house is flooded. Four, five feet of water inside. We barely got out.”

  The little girl winced and wriggled in the man’s arms. “Daddy, I’m cold.”

  “I know you are, baby.” He hoisted her a bit higher in his arms. “Do any of you have a blanket we could use? Or a jacket?”

  Clint strode back to the truck and flipped the seat, rummaging through the small storage space in the back. He pulled out a wool blanket he kept for emergencies and held it out to the man. “Take it.”

  “We can give it back as soon as—”

  Clint waved him off. “No need. Are you injured? None of us are doctors, but I’ve got a small first aid kit.”

  The woman spoke again. “I think we’re okay. Billy here twisted his ankle running, but...” She trailed off.

  Face pale with shock, the little boy clung to his mother, silent and still.

  “He’s okay?”

  She swallowed back a sob. “He tried to get our cat.”

  Billy tugged on his mother’s pant leg. “My cat.”

  “Any luck?”

  The woman shook her head. “No sign of poor Fluffy. One minute, we were playing board games in the living room, all enjoying the day off, and the next thing I knew, the floor started to shake. It was small at first, you know? But it kept going on and on. The pictures fell off the wall, the mirror toppled over with a crash. Dishes bounced out of the cabinets.”

  “We made it to the hallway, thinking we’d be safe there. But then a crack formed along the wall and every shake pulled it farther apart and smashed it back together. The floor rose and fell, I swear more than a foot.” The man shook his head in disbelief. “I thought it was the worst few minutes of our lives. We were so thankful when the shaking stopped. We thought it was over.”

  “So did we,” Clint offered. It wasn’t much consolation, but it was true. None of them thought about the potential for a tsunami, even though most people who lived in the area knew the odds. But in the moment, after you’ve just survived something so terrible and vicious, well, Clint didn’t give much thought to anything. If he hadn’t seen the Strait, understood what the receding waves meant...

  He glanced at Jack. They’d be dead.

  “When the water came, we—” the woman faltered. “We weren’t prepared. All of a sudden it washed in over the broken front window, into the entry, the dining room, lapping at our feet in the hall. We had what,” she glanced at her husband, “seconds before it was knee high?”

  “By the time we made it out the back door, the couch was floating. I’ve never...” The man ran out of words.

  “We ran this way as fast as we could.” The woman managed a grim smile. “Bella isn’t the quickest, so—”

  “Am too,” the little girl protested, rising off her father’s shoulder to scowl at her mom. “But up is hard.”

  Clint smiled at her. With any luck, she’d only have vague memories of this day as she grew up. “But you all made it. That’s the important thing.” He glanced at the truck where Jason still sat in the back, refusing to take part in the conversation. Refusing to do anything except keep himself together. At least he hadn’t completely fallen apart. Not yet, anyway.

  “Is there somewhere we can take you? Somewhere not flooded?”

  The man focused somewhere over Clint’s shoulder, searching for answers. “Maybe the elementary? Franklin, you know it?”

  Clint nodded. It’s where Mika went all those years ago. “It’s on a rise, should be dry.”

  “I’m guessing it’ll be a rally point, right? Maybe a shelter?” The woman offered.

  Jack spoke for the first time in a while. “It’s a warming shelter in the cold months, so that’s a good guess.”

  Clint motioned toward the truck. “You’re welcome to climb in the back. I can ask Jason to cram in the front with us.” He turned toward the vehicle, but Jason was already moving, hoisting a leg over the side as the family approached. He settled in the front, taking up as little space as possible and Clint and Jack crammed in on either side.

  Clint managed to shut the driver’s door as the man eased his daughter over the side of the pickup and into the bed. The woman reached out, steadying her daughter as her husband handed the blanket over. She wrapped her daughter in it before pulling her close.

  Once they were all situated, Clint turned to Jason. “You okay?”

  Jason nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about all the people.” His voice was low and shaky. “All the people we just lost.”

  “Hopefully this family’s the rule, not the exception.” Clint started the engine and eased out of the parking lot.

  The road leading to the elementary school was littered with debris. A single-story home stood alone on the nearest corner, surrounded by tall pine trees, half toppled, branches and needles strewn about the lawn. At first glance, the home appeared unscathed, but as they neared, scattered bricks from the broken chimney clogged the road. Part of the foundation gaped and crumbled, revealing hints of the basement below. Was any house in Port Angeles intact and livable?

  Clint eased around the bricks and other debris and headed away from the flood water and the closest east-west road to the school. He made it only another block before a downed tree completely blocked their path. With a frustrated sigh, he turned the truck around and headed back toward the water.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Peabody Creek runs right through this area, remember? If we can’t cross on Lauridsen, we’ve got to circle back to Eighth.”

  “But that’s where we were. When the wave came.” Jason looked like he might throw up.

  “We don’t have a choice.” Clint kept driving, inching around debris and clumps of mud and bracken washed up with the now receding water. Cars and trucks sat smashed against one another where the wave propelled them like pinballs. Trees leaned drunkenly from their roots, snapped like toothpicks by the force. In some places, houses stood mostly together, but others looked as if they’d been torn apart, leaving only splintered wood and shattered glass behind.

  After another twenty minutes of stops and starts and backtracks, they finally reached the elementary school. Thanks to the three-day weekend, they were spared the chaos of several hundred terrified children waiting for their parents, but the parking lot appeared congested all the same. People milled about, some wrapped in blankets, others wet from the ankles, or knees, or waist. One man held a towel to his forehead, blood dribbling down his cheek.

  Clint pulled the truck up on the side of the road and shifted into park. “We can walk up from here. Stay out of the parking lot in case anyone is trying to stage a relief effort.” He flashed a tight smile at Jason and Jack before hopping out of the truck.

  The family did the same, woman helping her daughter over the edge and into her father’s waiting arms. He nodded at Clint. “Thanks for the ride. And the blanket.”

  “I’d say anytime, but hopefully nothing like this ever happens again.”

  The man smiled in agreement and Clint walked on, bypassing a small gathering of locals who appeared scared, but unharmed. It didn’t take long to find someone he knew.

  He clapped an older man on the back. “Bill, how are you?”

  The man turned around and smiled. “Clint, thank God. Did everyone make it out of the Port?”

  “Think so.” Clint ran a hand over the back of his head, rubbing up and down as he thought it over. “Not sure about the marina or the businesses down the way. But the Port offices, yeah. All accounted for.”

  Bill nodded. “Good. Good.” Principal of Franklin Elementary, Bill Patrice was one of those men you used to say came from good stock. A Port Angeles family for multiple generations, his father was a logger, his grandfather before him. Bill was a kinder, gentler soul and preferred the education of little ones. But it didn’t make him soft. No, he was the best principal the town ever had. It made sense he was here, overseeing recovery efforts.

  “How is it going?”