One person held up a hand. Derek Tupper, the Assistant Director. “I’ve got City of Seattle’s emergency management office on the line. They’ve confirmed loss of power and displacement. They lost their whole office! Complete collapse.”

  “Put it on speaker.”

  Derek hurried over, cell phone in his outstretched hand. “I’ve got the director here; can you tell us a little about what is happening in real time?”

  “It’s a mess,” the man yelled on the other end of the line. His voice crackled and broke apart.

  Derek met Cherise’s eyes. “Talk fast in case we lose you.”

  “I’m surprised there’s a cell tower still standing,” the man continued.

  “You said you lost your office?”

  “We lost the whole building. The ground just wouldn’t quit shaking. First the lights went out, then the windows blew. Our receptionist was hit by a huge shard of glass. Blood everywhere. She was, oh, God—”

  “Okay, focus,” Cherise cut in. “We need data. How are the roads?”

  “What roads? Everywhere I look, the asphalt is torn apart. Huge cracks everywhere, chunks sticking up here and there. Monstrous holes where lanes used to be.”

  “What about landslides?”

  “Not right here, but we’re in a congested area. Mostly buildings, or what’s left of them.”

  “You need to try and get to higher ground. You don’t—”

  A frightened scream echoed across the line, followed by garbled static. An exploding boom ruptured through the phone speaker. The line went dead.

  “He’s gone,” Derek’s voice flatlined. “We lost the line.”

  Cherise pressed her fingers against her lips. There was nothing their office could do for all the people suffering right now. The ones injured, trapped, half buried in debris. Those who survived the quake unscathed but didn’t know to run. If they were anywhere close to sea level—like much of Seattle, the coastline, and countless tiny towns—they were about to be buried in a tidal wave of water.

  It wasn’t FEMA’s job to protect people or to save them. It was FEMA’s job to recover. Render aid to those who survived and get the affected areas back on their feet. It was a strange business; witnessing destruction and standing by, waiting until it was over to spring into action. But it was their job and they would do it to the best of their ability.

  If their work over the next few weeks saved even a few lives, it was worth it. It would all be worth it. Cherise sent up a silent prayer for all those in the tsunami’s path and returned to her job. There would be no sleep while all those souls perished and suffered. No breaks. No relief. They would help as many as they can for as long as necessary.

  She dialed the next number and waited for it to ring.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CLINT

  “Are you sure everyone is here?” Jason ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair as he stared out at the congregation of terrified employees.

  “We’re missing Sydney. She should have been at reception, but when I checked she wasn’t there.”

  “I thought I saw her?” Jack spun around, picking off each employee in the air with his finger as he spotted them. “Guess I was wrong.”

  Clint brushed a clump of dirt off his shirt and turned to Jack. “We can do a walk around. Maybe she went straight to her car.”

  “Maybe she took off. Doesn’t she have a little one with a sitter?”

  “Ever since her mom passed away last year, yeah. One of the women I crochet with runs a daycare out of her house. I recommended her.” Mary pressed her lips together. “She’s right on the coast.”

  Jack’s expression turned grim. “Let’s check for her car.”

  Clint nodded and they took off, both looking for Sydney’s small gray sedan. It didn’t take long to confirm it was missing from the lot. “She must have left as soon as the quake started.”

  “Let’s make sure.” Jack pulled out his phone and brought it to his ear. A moment later it connected. “You all right?” He listened. “What about Addie?” His shoulders slumped in relief. “A text would have been nice.”

  A small voice echoed on the line. Clint closed his eyes for a moment. Everyone survived. It was practically a miracle.

  “I’m sure he will be mad, yeah,” Jake offered to Sydney on the phone. “You broke protocol. He’ll probably put it in your file.”

  Laughter crackled.

  “Well, I’m just glad she’s safe.” Jake waited. “You, too.” He ended the call and turned to Clint. “Just like we thought. She bailed as soon as the pens on her desk started vibrating. Addie is fine. A little bit shook up, but the house made it through. She said the garage is toast, though.”

  Clint ran a hand through his hair and bits of dirt and grit clung to his palm. “At least she’s okay. I can try to smooth it over with Jason. No need for her to get in trouble for it.” They headed back to the group and confirmed Sydney was alive and well.

  Other employees were marveling over the quake.

  “I can’t believe the warehouse survived.” Mary covered her collarbone with one hand, overwhelmed by the experience. “It’s a miracle if you ask me.”

  “It’s steel beam construction,” Clint offered. “If it didn’t survive, nothing would.”

  Beth, the woman from the Port Commission office, held a broken high heel in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She pulled it down long enough to address the gathered Port employees. “Until we check with the businesses, yacht club, and marina, we won’t know if everyone survived. The Commission is responsible for everyone operating on government-owned property.”

  Jack turned to their boss. “We aren’t responsible, though, right?”

  Jason pinched the back of his neck. “Not for evacuating, surely. But since we’re mostly fine, Beth’s right. We should fan out, start canvassing. Emergency services will have their hands full.”

  “Give me five minutes, will you?” Clint stepped away and called his daughter. If the troop van left on time, the girls should be near their camping area by now, over 4,000 feet in elevation. Straight to voicemail. Panic swelled momentarily until he remembered. Right. He forgot about the no phone policy.

  Clint searched his email for the number of the troop leader, Ms. Rogers. He dialed and waited. It rang and rang until her voicemail picked up. Maybe they were out of cell range. Or she might be on the other line, calling worried parents. If she approached the task like Clint would have, then the Redshaws would be far down the alphabetical list.

  He pulled up the Find My Phone app and waited for it to load. Nothing. He tried again. Maybe the cell towers were overloaded, or the troop was out of range. Cell service in the Park was spotty at best.

  He shoved the phone in his back pocket as his thoughts hung for a moment on Daphne. With her new place in Bellevue and a fancy big-city job, she didn’t have time for Clint and their small town. She hardly had time for their daughter. He kept hoping it was a phase—a mid-life crisis she would snap out of eventually—but now…

  Was she even alive? How far did the quake spread? How many buildings in Seattle and Bellevue were now rubble? He shoved the thoughts aside. He didn’t have time to worry about Daphne now. He had to think about Mika and the Port and ensuring everyone was safe.

  He turned to Jason. “I can take a walk and start canvasing the logging companies. As soon as we’re sure there’s no emergencies, I’d like to head out. Find my daughter.”

  “Isn’t she at school? I’m sure they did their earthquake drill and are going to notify parents about pickup soon. That place is fortified like Fort Knox.”

  “School’s out.” Clint grimaced. “Three-day weekend for teacher in-service. She’s on a Girl Scout camping trip just up Hurricane Ridge.”

  Jason’s eyes widened. “Gotcha. You can head out now if you need. We can handle the rest.”

  Clint exhaled in relief. Now that the immediate disaster was over, at least for their facility, he wanted Mika by his side. “My truck’s on the other side. I’ll swing by the dock and make sure there’s no visible emergency and head out.”

  Jason nodded his thanks.

  “Don’t fall in. I’m not rescuing you again.” Jack grinned at him and Clint rolled his eyes.

  “Sure thing.” He wasn’t planning on another death-defying stunt today if he could help it. He pulled up his recent dials on his phone and called Ms. Rogers again as he walked. This time the call failed to connect. He shoved the phone in his pocket and picked up the pace.

  The Strait of Juan de Fuca glistened in the distance as he approached. Ninety-six miles in length, the Strait connected the Salish Sea to the Pacific Ocean. Thanks to the landslide, the new coastline wasn’t visible: the ground abruptly ended short of the destroyed dock. Chunks of concrete and asphalt towered above the land, their bottom halves presumably wedged deep into the sand.

  The log barge listed hard to port but it didn’t appear beyond repair. With any luck, the timber company would successfully navigate the barge to a functioning port somewhere nearby, Vancouver perhaps, and recover most of their investment. Clint hoped the men working took heed of his warning and sheltered somewhere safe.

  As he approached, a frown tugged his lips. What the—? The ship tipped, leaning even farther to port, as if the strait were pulling it away from the shore. Logs slipped through the metal supports holding them in place and splashed into the water. He quickened his steps, half jogging toward the new cliffside.

  Five feet from the edge, he stuttered to a stop. With the collapse of the land, he’d expected some muddy debris, maybe some residual waves from mild aftershocks peppering the area. But he didn’t expect this.

  It was as if the entire Strait were being sucked out to sea. Waves of water slammed against the barge, pushing it further toward the Pacific Ocean. Half of the concrete piers still standing were bone dry with bits of seaweed and plant life clinging to their bases.

  Clint blinked. Water used to crest fifteen feet high in the same places. The collapsed dock wasn’t submerged in water but sticking out of the sand in jagged clumps.

  What was happening? Had the earthquake rended the ocean floor apart? Was water being sucked to a new depth? He’d never heard of such a thing.

  Then it hit him. Oh, no. Oh, God, no.

  Horror rushed over him, not in a creeping mist, but in a giant, rolling wave of water.

  The ocean floor hadn’t opened up. The water was being sucked out to sea to create something that would destroy not just the Port, but the entire town. A tsunami. They had mentioned such a possibility in passing a few times during earthquake drills, but the possibility was so remote, they hadn’t prepared. Only an earthquake of unimaginable magnitude spawned tsunamis. They’d all assumed if a quake like that occurred, they’d all be dead.

  But there it was: undeniable proof. The water of the Strait pulled farther and farther away from shore, sucking at the sand, and exposing buried rocks and crabs and flopping fish. If this was happening in the Strait, then the coastline further south must be rapidly retreating.

  Sandy beaches where tourists flocked during days just like this one were doubling, tripling in size. Would anyone there even know what was happening? Would swimmers be able to make it back to shore?

  He thought about the house boats in the bay. The people who lived full-time on the water. Were they suddenly beached? Would they know to run?

  Clint shook his head to clear his mind. Running. That’s what they all needed to do. He turned on his heel and took off, heading straight back to the parking lot. No getting caught this time, struggling for his life, while the rest of his coworkers went about their business unaware. He would warn them. He would get them out.

  He thought of Mika. If his daughter survived the earthquake, then she was far safer hiking to a campsite over 4,000 feet in elevation than anyone in Port Angeles. At only thirty-two feet above sea level, the entire town was about to be consumed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MIKA

  Every muscle in Mika’s body ached. A thick, throbbing pain radiated across her scalp and neck, as if she’d slept wrong. Her eyelids sagged, weighed down with grogginess. After several failed attempts, she peeled one eye open and then the other.

  Something wasn’t right. “Hamp?” She called out. “Hampton?”

  Blood coagulated in a small pool beside her head, soaking into the fabric ceiling of the van. Pockets of memory returned. The earthquake. The landslide. The crash.

  She struggled to push her body off the ceiling, but a wave of dizziness forced her back. Air rattled into her lungs as she sucked in a breath. Her ribs ached with effort. She laid there, scrunched in an awkward ball in the rear of the upside-down van, for what seemed like forever. At last, her vision stopped spinning.

  A branch pierced the van’s destroyed side window and Mika reached for it, using it as a support to drag herself to a sitting position. The van spun, but only in her mind. She closed her eyes to steady herself and beat the nausea back down. I’m alive, and that’s something.

  She called out again. “Hampton? Ms. Rogers?” Her voice echoed in the silence. Straining to listen, she waited, breath held, for any response. When none came, panic rose in her chest. She opened her eyes, blinking hard against the pain and terror.

  A shaft of light lit the front of the van where an arm dangled loose and limp. Mika’s mouth fell open in shock. Ms. Rogers. Her body hung from the driver’s seat, blonde hair matted dark with blood.

  A scream shot through Mika but died in her throat. “Hello? Is anyone alive? Can anyone hear me?”

  Nothing. She crept forward, inching through twisted hunks of metal, ripped apart seats, and broken glass. As her knee slid forward, the van shifted, ceiling buckling beneath her weight. She stifled another scream.

  Tears burned behind her eyes. Swallowing grew labored and painful. Don’t lose it. You’re going to be okay. She sucked in a lungful of air and eased forward again, reaching for the last row of seats.

  Two girls hung from the seats, seatbelts working overtime against their lifeless forms. Brown hair hung in clumps, obscuring their faces, but Mika recognized the clothes. “Julia? Emma?”

  She reached out, fingertips brushing Emma’s arm. No response. She fumbled for the girl’s wrist, searching for a pulse. Nothing. She dropped the arm. It fell like a hunk of meat, swaying in the dust-filled air. Mika steeled herself and reached up, pulling the girl’s hair aside. A pair of lifeless blue eyes stared back at her, clouded over like those of a dead fish.

  Shrinking back in horror, she let Emma’s hair fall. Her back brushed something warm and she turned in a panic. Another Girl Scout. Another dead body. Blood oozed in a slow trickle down the girl’s arm, dripping onto the ceiling.

  Mika swallowed a thick wad of bile and kept moving, mouth mumbling words of some incoherent prayer as she reached the bench she’d shared with Hampton. She ducked forward, a quick check in case she couldn’t bear the sight.

  The seat was empty. No sign of her best friend.

  Relief filled her, followed almost immediately by guilt and shame. Hampton might be alive, but no one else appeared to be. She checked the other girls, one by one, avoiding the obvious deaths—one girl with a compound leg fracture so severe a chunk of bone protruded from her thigh, one with a tree limb protruding from her chest like an alien explosion—until she reached the front.

  Ms. Chalmers hung, arms twisted back behind her, neck at an angle Mika knew was broken. A deep gash in her forehead had already clotted, the blood dried and caked to her skin.

  How long was I knocked out? Mika tucked her head between her knees and breathed, relying on the technique her father taught her years before. If you’re ever lost or hurt out in the woods, don’t panic. Take a moment, center yourself. Focus on your breath. She repeated his words in her mind, struggling to comprehend the situation.

  She lifted her head at last. “Hampton?” Her voice sounded foreign. “Hampton, are you here?” With no reply, Mika crawled toward the shattered windshield, scooting between the dead troop leaders.

  Mangled branches clogged the opening and Mika tried in vain to push a clump aside. She tugged and pulled and worked up a sweat, but it was no use. The van must have landed upside down in the middle of a thicket of dense, leafy bushes. She twisted around, steadfastly avoiding staring at the dead bodies beside her.

  There had to be a way out. She searched for sky, finally catching a glimpse halfway down the van. In the row with Madison and … the tree.

  She pinched her eyes shut. I can do this. I can do this. Fear crackled in her chest, spreading like wildfire through her body as she thought of approaching the seat. She swallowed down a sea of nausea.

  Inching closer, she reached out to grip the seat and pull herself between the rows. Madison hung upside down, pinned to the seat, eyes wide open and vacant, mouth in a perfect O. If it weren’t for the six-inch wide tree trunk piercing her torso and the seat in front of her, Mika could pretend the girl was playing that face-freeze game they used to love as kids.

  Only it wasn’t a game. Madison was dead. Impaled as the landslide flipped the van off the road and into the forest.

  Tears slipped down Mika’s cheeks, softening dried tracks of blood as she crawled beneath Madison’s lifeless legs dangling toward the ceiling. The tree had pierced the body of the van and broken when it flipped, ripping open a seam in the fabric and metal. She eased over jagged bits and chunks of foam, past Madison’s blood-coated Converse, and toward the window.

  The van shimmied as she crawled, an aftershock bouncing the wreckage to and fro. Mika bit her lip to keep from crying out. If she didn’t get out of that van soon, she might not survive. A strong enough aftershock might send it careening down the mountain, dead Girl Scouts, Mika, and all.