They were all gone. Never coming back. A sob rose inside her, but the sound of retching pulled her back. Hampton hunched over, heaving into the moss.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her friend looked up, vomit dribbling down her chin. “I don’feelso… gooooood.” Hampton’s words came out slurred and thick.

  Mika crouched in front of her and stared into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, but not the same. One was fat and thick, almost eclipsing her iris, the other, half the size. What did that mean?

  “Can you stand?”

  Hampton didn’t answer.

  They needed to get away from the smoldering van, the smoke, and the debris. Find some place to shelter. Mika glanced up at the sky. With night rapidly approaching and Hampton so discombobulated, she needed to face the facts. They were roughing it in the woods tonight.

  She chewed on her lip as she glanced at the spot where the van had been. The corner of the cooler popped out of the expanse of green and she spied a troop leader’s backpack beside it. With any luck, they would have food and shelter and a means to camp for at least the night.

  Mika tightened the straps on her backpack and smiled at her friend. “You stay right here while I go get the gear. Then we’ll find a good spot to hunker down. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

  She said the last bit more for her benefit than Hampton’s. Her friend’s condition worried her. Was nausea and confusion a side effect of a concussion? What about her pupils and the slurred words? Mika sent up a quick prayer, begging for Hampton to be okay, but deep in her gut, her unease deepened.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TASK FORCE

  A hastily made infographic of the Pacific Northwest filled the screen and Michael Urston, the 13th Administrator of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, ran the red dot of a laser pointer along the coast. “As you can see, the areas shaded red are those we believe suffered the worst damage in the quake, although reports are coming in off social media that areas as far south as Sacramento, California and as far east as the Idaho state line felt the tremors.”

  The President of the United States leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Casualty estimates?”

  “From the quake itself? Unclear at this time.”

  “Give me a ballpark.”

  Urston glanced at the ceiling. “Anywhere from ten thousand to hundreds of thousands, sir.”

  Anger flashed across the President’s face. “Why so broad?”

  “We’re without comms. Without any means of assessing on the ground. A military drone flew over the area, but due to the incoming tsunami, sir, we haven’t been able to do much more.”

  “There have to be scenarios written up for this. Some general ideas. I can’t believe we’re this unprepared.”

  Urston nodded in agreement. “There are, sir.”

  The President stared at him like he wanted to stab him with his signature pen. “And what do they say?”

  “As you may be aware, sir, no area in the impact zone had a seismic code appropriate for a magnitude 9.0 earthquake until 1994. The vast majority of buildings in the area were built years, if not decades before then. Estimates out of Oregon put it at seventy-five percent.”

  “That are sound?”

  Urston grimaced. “The opposite. According to our worst-case scenarios at FEMA, a million buildings have most likely collapsed or been compromised.”

  Someone seated at the table swore.

  “How many are government?”

  “Almost all government buildings will be affected.” Urston paused. “And three thousand schools, sir. But that’s not the worst of it.” Urston paused again. “Fifteen percent of Seattle is built on liquefiable land, sir.”

  “What?” The President’s tone shifted from one of annoyance to one of disbelief as the horror set in.

  “It’s ground that starts behaving like a liquid in a quake, sir.”

  “I know what liquefaction means, Urston. I meant, how was that allowed to happen?”

  Urston shrugged. “Not my purview, sir.” He cleared his throat and kept talking. “As a result of the liquefaction, we expect up to thirty thousand landslides of various proportions in the Seattle area alone.”

  “You’ve spoken a lot about Seattle.” The Head of Homeland Security spoke for the first time. “What about Portland?”

  Urston flipped a page in his notes. “The majority of Oregon’s liquid fuel flows through a six-mile section of Portland which we anticipate has suffered catastrophic damage. Combining pipe failures with damage to the electrical grid and natural gas terminals in the area, we could be looking at anything from fires to hazardous-material spills, to dam breaches.”

  Silence reigned around the table until the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff spoke up. “What were the warnings like? Are we looking at clogged roads, mass evacuations?”

  “No, sir.” Urston stared at his paper rather than meet the General’s eyes. “Unlike Japan, we don’t have an established early warning system that shuts down railways or power plants or opens elevators. The states on the West Coast did roll out a warning system in the last few years, but it’s in the early stages, still. People may have been warned on their cell phones, but not until the ground started shaking in earnest.”

  “What a lot of good that did, I’m sure.” The Vice President tossed his pen on the table and leaned back in a huff. “So how soon can we deploy to the area?”

  Urston managed a conciliatory smile. He hadn’t even explained the worst of it. “Not until the tsunami retreats, sir.”

  Color drained from the Vice President’s ruddy cheeks. “Tsunami?”

  Urston nodded. “We expect—” he paused to glance at his watch, “the tsunami to be hitting momentarily.”

  “So, it’s like a flood?”

  “A massive, fast-moving wall of water, actually, sir. Our estimates put the tidal wave thirty feet high, at least.”

  “Will buildings withstand the force?”

  “The ones still standing? Possibly. But the water will be moving unbelievably fast. No one will be able to swim or dodge. The ocean will swallow the land.”

  “So, your estimates of casualties—” The President began.

  “Could go over one million when you consider the tsunami, sir. Six million people live in the combined metro areas of Seattle and Portland. If the water rises as quickly as it might, all those people will be trying to escape simultaneously.”

  Once more, the room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. After a prolonged moment, Urston spoke again. “As soon as the water stabilizes, FEMA will be on the ground, bussing in food and water and coordinating with the National Guard of Washington and Oregon to triage medical care.”

  “What about search and rescue missions?” The Vice President, again.

  “We’re talking almost five hundred miles of coastline. Thousands of square miles underwater, potentially for days. Obviously, National Guard and police forces will be combing the viable areas for survivors, but we’ll have to wait for trained dive crews to recover many of the deceased.”

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff leaned toward the President and spoke in hushed tones. Urston couldn’t make out the words, but he assumed it dealt with calling in active-duty military to assist. He waited until the conversation seemed to end before speaking. “FEMA is already in contact with our military liaison officers in the Army and Marine Corps. We’re preparing to work with military bases in the area to stage supplies and possibly lend recovery assistance.”

  The President nodded in appreciation. “Once the rescue-missions are underway, what are the next steps?”

  “Restoration. It will be slow. Estimates put electricity grid repair at three months.”

  “Three months?” The Vice President practically shouted.

  Urston kept his voice even. “Maybe longer, actually. Think about all the flooded substations and downed power lines. All the destroyed transformers and collapsed buildings. Unlike a hurricane, where the area affected is relatively small, this is massive. It’s not as easy as diverting or rerouting electricity from one area to another. The entire grid will essentially have to be rebuilt.”

  The President’s eyes glazed over. The magnitude of the situation overwhelmed everyone who thought about it, Urston included. But they lacked the luxury of time to process and understand. Decisions needed to be made. Now.

  He clicked to another slide where a set of bullet points outlined the major facets of FEMA’s recovery efforts. “As I mentioned, we’ll start with search and rescue, food, and water. After initial recovery efforts are undertaken, the electrical grid will have priority. Followed by the water system. Initial estimates put the ability to pipe safe drinking water to most residents of the affected area at a year, maybe more.”

  He glanced around the room. Gone were the cries of outrage and disbelief. In their place, a gathering of resigned men and women faced with a situation the magnitude of which none of them truly understood. No one made eye contact or even appeared as if they wanted to ask a question.

  With a deep breath, Urston plowed ahead. “Tents will be set up at strategic locations throughout the impact zone. We plan to provide food and water for a minimum of three months. Busses will run continuously to transport most people out of the area and into neighboring towns where larger shelters will be established. Our goal is to essentially relocate most refugees within the first several weeks.”

  “Refugees.” The word slipped from the President’s lips, but he stared past Urston to the screen.

  The Vice President leaned forward, drawing the room’s attention away from the shattered President. “What about medical care? I’m assuming that’s high priority as well?”

  Urston nodded, grateful for the interruption. “It is, but we’ll be needing to import most of that as well. Most local hospitals will be damaged, many completely destroyed. It will take years to bring medical capacity back to what it was before.”

  “But eventually, with concerted effort, it’s possible, right? We can rebuild Seattle and Portland, at least. If not the small towns in between?”

  Urston thought it over. “Everywhere except the inundation zone.”

  “The what?” The President cradled his head in his hand, staring at the desk as he asked the question.

  “From the shoreline, inland, about twenty miles, we’ll have what’s termed the inundation zone. It’s basically ground zero. Everything there will be destroyed. The coastline will be forever changed. For people who lived or worked in those areas, it will take years traversing the court system to become any semblance of whole. And their properties? They’ll probably be beneath the ocean water forever.”

  The President held up his hand. “All right. I don’t think any of us need to hear any more.” He straightened his posture and tugged on the lapels of his suit jacket. “I’m declaring a major disaster right now. Let’s provide assistance to individuals and households—I’m talking disaster unemployment, legal services, SNAP, anything and everything we can do for these… refugees.”

  He turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Then I want the Army Corps of Engineers out there rebuilding roads and bridges and working on the water supply. Let’s get all the military support we can muster—I don’t care if we’re stepping on State government toes—our men and women in uniform can help.”

  The Chairman nodded in agreement.

  “Everything from distributing necessities, to running shelters, to search and rescue. We can’t let our people—our citizens—die out there because they’re trapped or without food or water.” He thumped the table. “This might be the worst national disaster our country has ever faced, but we won’t throw up our hands. We’ll do our best to save as many people as we can.”

  The President’s impromptu speech buoyed everyone in the room. Even Urston puffed his chest out in anticipation. He waited until the President turned his way. “If that’s all, sir—”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure you’re needed in a million places.”

  Urston nodded his thanks and strode from the room, phone already to his ear. With the full support of the Federal government, he hurried back to his office and the overwhelming job before him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DAPHNE

  “We’re almost there, Pamela. Come on. You’ve got this.”

  Daphne clutched Pamela’s waist, encouraging her to keep moving as she gently guided her down the aisles of parked vehicles. Her left hip screamed in protest with every step, Pamela’s weight wreaking havoc on her joints.

  “Which car is it?”

  “That one, right there.” Pamela pointed straight ahead as she gritted her teeth in pain. “It’s that maroon Jeep Grand Cherokee.”

  Daphne inhaled. It was only another fifty feet or so. They’d already managed to escape the office and half stumble, half scoot down the stairs, but limping down the ramp of the parking garage meant Daphne was Pamela’s only source of support. No handrail, nothing. Daphne took another step, but her knee threatened to buckle as Pamela shifted more weight toward her. She winced.

  “I’m sorry, can you just—” With her free arm, Daphne reached for the trunk of the first car in the row, a low-slung sedan, and leaned against it. Pamela huffed herself onto the bumper and the entire rear of the vehicle lowered a few inches.

  Daphne sucked in a breath. “I need a minute, that’s all.”

  “It’s okay. I know I’m heavy.” Pamela dabbed at the thick sheen of sweat coating her forehead. Her chest heaved from exertion, blouse billowing up and down with every labored breath. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t going to leave you on your own.” Daphne stared down the ramp, past the Jeep, toward the exit. Cracks lined the concrete piers and a few cars suffered damage from falling debris, but the deck appeared sound. No heaps of rubble or collapsed ramps. At least not that she could see.

  She sucked in a breath. Fifty feet, and then a vehicle. They could make it another fifty feet. Each step they took bridged the gap a little nearer. She shoved off the sedan with a smile. “At least the garage is still intact. We may have a real shot at getting out of here.”

  Pamela nodded as she prepared to push herself up to stand. “We have to count our blessings, yes.”

  Daphne resumed her spot beneath the larger woman’s armpit and braced her one leg as she hoisted Pamela upright. “We survived a monster quake. We can survive the walk to the car.”

  One step at a time, they closed the distance, finally reaching the dust-coated Grand Cherokee as Daphne’s back spasmed in protest.

  Pamela pressed the unlock button on her key fob and the vehicle's lights blinked on and the locks released. She held the keys out to Daphne. “Thank you for driving.”

  Daphne took the keys and waited as Pamela half-fell into the passenger seat before hurrying around to the driver’s side. She pressed the start button and the vehicle revved to life. It took all her self control not to cry out in relief. They were going to get out of the city. They were going to be all right.

  She shifted into reverse, backing out of the parking spot before driving down the ramp. More debris greeted them on the lower levels, chunks of concrete huddled together like still lifes at the corners of each ramp. But Daphne navigated them all without issue, bumping over the metal grate dividing the deck from the road, before braking to scan the street.

  Daylight streamed across the dash and Daphne forced all the air from her lungs for the first time since the quake. She stared out at the scene before her in a combination of shock and disbelief.

  Dust hung suspended in the light, drawn up from the ground and hurtled skyward. Buildings leaned over the road like menacing ogres, stone and brick shifted into haphazard stair steps before tumbling off the sides into heaps. What used to be an apartment building, now resembled more of a landfill than anything, siding and drywall and windows piled on top of each other like so much trash. One section survived relatively intact, towering over the collapsed remains.

  A fridge teetered on the edge of what used to be a kitchen, door open, contents scattered. A dining chair lay on its side, back dangling two stories above the ground. From the now open air of a fourth story apartment, a man stood, hand covering his mouth.

  Devastation. Everywhere.

  A few people milled about on the street, but not as many as she expected. She heard what sounded like shouts and turned toward the noise. A man waved his arms, high over his head, as if in warning. Daphne squinted. Was he yelling?

  She rolled down the window.

  His words were still garbled nonsense.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Daphne squinted as if that would help her hear. “I can’t make it out.”

  “No, not the guy. The noise. It sounds like a crowd cheering or… maybe running water. I don’t know.”

  Daphne cocked her head, listening. Now that Pamela mentioned it, she did hear it. Low and unrelenting, almost like a wind tunnel. She glanced back down the road and froze. The man was gone, but from far away, down past the way he came, she saw it.

  Not a mass of cheering marchers. Not some artificial wind turbine. But water. A massive wall of water.

  “Oh my God.” The words tumbled from her lips and she cranked the wheel.

  “What?” Pamela pulled down the passenger mirror and peered behind them as Daphne jammed the accelerator. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “W-water,” Daphne stammered. “Behind us.”

  “What?” Pamela twisted in her seat, attempting to see out the back window. “I don’t… I don’t see… Oh, God.”

  Daphne clamped her lips shut and gripped the steering wheel with both hands as she accelerated down the street.

  Water poured down the street behind them, filling the side mirror with horror as it swallowed up parked cars and debris. A bus tipped on its side, overcome by the wave. The water pushed it, lifting it into the air an impossibly high, ten, twenty, then thirty feet, before swallowing it like a gaping maw of a colossal whale.