Burnt Sea: A Seabound Prequel (Seabound Chronicles Book 0)

by Jordan Rivet

  Burnt Sea

  A Seabound Prequel

  Jordan Rivet

  Burnt Sea: A Seabound Prequel

  Copyright © 2015 by Jordan Rivet

  First Edition: August 2015

  All rights reserved. This e-book may not be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contact Jordan Rivet at rivetjordan@gmail.com

  www.jordanrivet.com

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design by James at GoOnWrite.com

  Book Layout and Design ©2013 - BookDesignTemplates.com

  For the Kornhill crew.

  Thanks for sticking with me

  since the beginning.

  About, about, in reel and rout

  The death-fires danced at night;

  The water, like a witch’s oils,

  Burnt green and blue and white.

  ―SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

  Chapter 1—The Earthquake

  SIMON

  Simon ran his fingers through the dirt. Sand and soil broke apart at his touch, releasing the silty smell of coastal earth. He had discarded his gardening gloves to get a better grip on a particularly tough weed. The soil was warm, matching the early-morning California sun on the back of his neck.

  Sweat dripped onto the dirt as Simon twisted the weed, working it out of the ground. He grumbled genially, but he was grateful for the way this small, green problem took his mind off the woman in the house.

  The earth rumbled. It was a gentle shaking, no more violent than driving his coughing, elderly Mazda over potholes. Simon put his palms flat against the ground until the earthquake subsided.

  He looked up at the house, a 1960s bungalow. It was a squat, unassuming old home, and when he’d moved to San Diego a few years ago, an untenured history professor with a wife and two young daughters, it was all he could afford. It was sturdy, though, all the windows still intact after the quake.

  The screen door squeaked open, then closed with a bang.

  “Daddy! Mom says to come in now. You need to take me to school.”

  Simon’s younger daughter, Esther, had her dark hair tugged into messy pigtails. Since turning six a few months ago, she’d been wearing a Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt she got for her birthday almost every day. His wife had bought an identical Thomas shirt to keep Esther happy when the other one needed to be washed. And it needed to be washed nearly every day. Esther was forever digging, climbing, and spilling. Simon suspected she was messier than all the boys in the first grade combined. But she wasn’t fooled by the replacement shirt. “It smells different, Daddy,” she’d say.

  Simon resumed his work on the weed. “I’m not taking you to school today, button. It’s Mommy’s turn.”

  “She’s taking Namie to the dentist,” Esther said.

  Simon felt a twinge of irritation. “I have a meeting at eight thirty. Tell your mother . . .” Simon stopped abruptly. They may be going through a rough patch in their marriage, but he and Nina had sworn never to argue through their children. He brushed the earth off his hands and followed Esther inside.

  “Did you feel the earthquake, button?” he asked as the screen door banged behind them.

  “Yeah! Mommy said I still have to go to school, though. It’s not fair. Namie doesn’t have to go.”

  “But you like school.”

  “It’s okay, I guess,” Esther said, winding a finger around one of her pigtails.

  “Did something happen? Are those girls picking on you again?”

  A brief frown wrinkled Esther’s forehead. “I hafta find my shoes!”

  She darted away down the hallway to the room she shared with her eight-year-old sister, Naomi, whom Esther still called Namie. Simon figured he’d have to give up his study eventually so the two girls could have their own rooms. He hoped that was still a few years away. He liked having a little space for solitude. It was getting hard to find peace in the rest of the house.

  Nina was slamming spoons into the dishwasher. She glanced up when Simon walked into the kitchen, then clattered Naomi’s yellow cereal bowl into the top rack. Her usual collection of bracelets clicked as they slid along her wrists. The radio crackled on the counter. Simon wished for the quiet of his garden.

  “I have an eight thirty with Morty today,” he said. “I can’t take Esther to school.”

  Nina stared daggers at the kitchen sink. “I have to take Naomi to the dentist this morning. I told you last week.”

  “Can’t you drop Esther on the way?”

  “It’s the specialist across town. We’ll be cutting it close as is.”

  Simon leaned against the cool tile counter. The radio anchor was talking about the earthquake. Not much damage. More aftershocks than usual. Something about Wyoming. Simon turned down the volume.

  “Can you reschedule?”

  “They’re booked for months.”

  “But Mort—”

  “Just tell him no,” Nina snapped. “You can’t keep hopping to his schedule, Simon.”

  “He’s the department chair,” Simon said. He felt the jolt of anxiety that always accompanied any mention of his boss lately. “If I’m ever going to get tenure—”

  “I know.” She cut him off. “Please, I don’t have time to listen to the saga of Morty and his choke hold on the history faculty. Make him reschedule for once.” Nina dried her long, thin hands on a periwinkle towel.

  It’s not that simple, Simon thought. I can’t miss out on tenure. Not again. Money was only getting tighter as the kids got older.

  “Did you hear back from insurance about that dental specialist?” he asked. “This isn’t the best month for this. The car—”

  “Don’t start. I’ll take an extra shift on Saturday.” Nina tossed the towel onto the counter.

  “No, don’t do that,” Simon said. Nina had been taking extra shifts at the hospital too often lately. He hated that she had to compensate by working harder as his career stalled worse than the Mazda. Nothing made him feel more like a failure. Some of the heat went out of Simon’s voice. “Doesn’t Esther have a birthday party at the Sambergs’ this weekend that you were planning to help chaperone? You haven’t been able to hang out with Valerie much lately.”

  Nina swept a hand through her dark hair, her bracelets clattering. “I was looking forward to seeing her. But Simon, we need to do something about the car, and the specialist can’t wait. We need the money.”

  “I’ll try to fix the car myself. That YouTube tutorial worked well enough last time.”

  “Get Esther to help you,” Nina said. “That will make her happy.”

  Simon laughed. “Pretty soon she’ll be fixing the car by herself. She could be making her own video tutorials in a few years.”

  Nina smiled. The morning sun touched the side of her face. “I’m sorry for snapping, babe. I’ve been so frazzled lately.”

  Simon drew close to her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve been kind of a grump too. This stuff with Mort . . .” He put his arms around Nina’s waist and smelled her apple bl
ossom perfume. It reminded him of when they’d sit beneath the apple trees by the university greenhouse and study together. God, she was cute. “Morty can wait. I’ll take Esther to school—like I said I would. You have a good time with Valerie on Saturday, and on Sunday let’s go out. We’ll get a sitter to watch the kids.”

  She sighed and leaned into him. “Chinese food?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” They swayed in the kitchen, pretending for a moment that the pressures of their too-busy lives didn’t exist.

  The voice on the radio was a hum, barely distinguishable from the buzz of a car driving past the kitchen window.

  Judith

  Judith turned off the alarm at exactly 7:42 a.m. She rolled out of bed and strode to the desk, four steps away. She tapped her laptop sharply to wake it. As the screen lit up, she heard her roommate, Sonya, open the front door of the apartment, home from the night shift at the twenty-four-hour bagel café at their university. Judith and Sonya rarely saw each other, which suited Judith just fine. She avoided distractions whenever possible.

  She brought up her email and opened the folder labeled “Alumni Contacts.” She read the email again, probably for the hundredth time. She’d had it memorized by the fifth read, of course.

  Dear Judith,

  We are pleased to invite you to interview for the Junior Analyst position at Gilbertson & Cob. The VPs were impressed with your résumé. It’d be nice to have a fellow alum on the team. Please find the interview details below.

  Kind regards,

  Donald Herz

  Judith smiled. This was it. She was on track to graduate summa cum laude in just over a month—and if the interview went well today, her dream job would be waiting.

  A news alert blinked on her laptop dashboard, but Judith ignored it. No distractions. Today she would focus. She’d already planned out her answers to hundreds of possible interview questions. She was president of three different extracurricular clubs, including Future MBAs and the Honors Society. Last summer she’d aced an internship at a prestigious Silicon Valley tech company, walking away with her best recommendation letter yet. Gilbertson & Cob would be stupid not to hire her.

  She stood and smoothed the iron-gray suit hanging from a hook on her bedroom door and picked a tiny piece of lint off the sleeve. The earth rumbled. The floor shuddered beneath her and the suit swung back and forth, making the hook creak against the door frame. Judith gripped the doorknob, her other hand steadying the suit until the shaking stopped.

  “You okay in there, Judith?” Sonya called.

  “Fine. It was a small one.”

  Judith went to the dingy kitchen to make her morning protein smoothie. Sonya stood by the counter wiping up milk that had slopped over the side of her cereal bowl. She smelled of espresso beans and sour cream.

  “Bad omen, don’t you think?” Sonya said.

  “What?”

  “The earthquake. Don’t you have an interview today?”

  “Eleven thirty.”

  Judith pulled her bag of flaxseed down from the tacky yellow cupboard. She couldn’t wait to move into a sleek starter apartment, probably uptown somewhere. She let Sonya’s voice wash over her.

  “I was listening to Silas B’s night show at work. Apparently there’ve been way more earthquakes than usual all over California for the last two weeks—mostly small ones, but still.”

  Sonya carried her cereal bowl to their folding card table and pushed aside her dinner plate from the night before. Judith’s side of the table was clean.

  “Well then, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with my interview,” she said.

  “None of the major media outlets are talking about it, though,” Sonya said. “That’s why we haven’t heard about it more.” She pushed a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

  “Is that right?” Judith said. Should I wear the black pumps or the gray ones to the interview? The black ones have a more stable heel, but the gray ones are the perfect shade.

  Sonya kept chattering while Judith assembled her smoothie. “Silas B thinks the government’s covering something up. Like maybe the Big One’s coming, and they don’t want people to panic.”

  “Mmm.” Judith turned on the blender. If Sonya said anything more, her voice was drowned out by the noise. No distractions.

  At exactly 8:13, Judith closed the apartment door. She stretched on the doorstep, limbering up her slim runner’s legs. The sun was mellow, drifting slowly higher above the pastel San Diego buildings. Judith tightened her ponytail and jogged briskly out of the apartment complex. As she turned into her normal route, she noticed that traffic seemed a bit slower than usual. She’d factor that in to her departure time later.

  Judith went over her interview answers as she jogged. She had to be perfect. She’d never really doubted that she’d be successful, but she had to make sure her future colleagues recognized her potential too. She would make the most of the two, maybe three years she’d work there before going on to get her MBA. She would be the ideal candidate of course. She was confident that everything would go according to plan. She’d worked too hard to accept anything less.

  The traffic hummed as Judith jogged along the sidewalk. It was already warm. The smell of the sea mixed with exhaust and warm concrete. Other runners passed her, but she kept her pace slow and easy until exactly 8:28. When she reached North Harbor Drive, she started to run.

  Simon

  It was late and the car wouldn’t start. Simon gripped the wheel and leaned his forehead against it. The clock on the dash was the only thing in the car that still worked reliably. 8:13 a.m. He would definitely miss his meeting with Morty, and now Esther was going to be late for school too. He tried the key in the ignition one more time and got only a choking, sputtering death rattle.

  “I can fix it, Daddy,” Esther chirped from the backseat. “I helped last time.”

  “Yes, you did, button. I don’t think we have time to do it before school, though. I’ll have to explain what happened to Mrs. Malhotra.”

  Nina and Naomi had already left in Nina’s little Honda, the same car she’d been driving since college. He’d managed to steal a kiss before she dashed out the door, but he knew their problems were far from over.

  It hadn’t been so bad when they’d first had kids. They were constantly exhausted, but they had marveled together at their daughters: tiny noses, tiny fingers, tiny dresses—at least until Esther got old enough to choose her own clothes. It had only been in the last year or two that they started having problems communicating. The stresses in their lives had piled up exponentially.

  Simon had failed his first attempt to get tenure when they lived back East. That’s when their troubles really started. It had been such a blow, a betrayal, and it had sent him spiraling into a six-month depression. Nina thought moving to California would be the breath of fresh air they needed, and in some ways she was right. With the change of scenery and pace, he’d managed to pull out of the nosedive. He enjoyed his new job. He liked being able to walk down to the San Diego harbor from their little house. He’d even planted a garden.

  But he’d be up for tenure again soon. It was an exhausting, emotional process, and he was terrified he would fail again. Nina would have to take up the slack for him—living in California was expensive after all. He hated the feeling of impotence that came while he waited for academic review after review, not sure that he’d come out the other end with a stable job and better salary. Somehow he felt further from his goal after every publication. The very real possibility that he’d have to start all over again loomed. It didn’t help that the history department chairman had his own brand of review and liked to test exactly how far he could push tenure candidates before they’d snap.

  “Daddy?” Esther said, tapping Simon on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, button. What did you say?”

  “If we’re not going to drive, can I get another Pop-Tart?”

  Simon glanced at his daughter’s wide brown eyes. She had a smudge on her f
orehead like an extra quirked eyebrow. Why couldn’t he just enjoy moments like this? He missed the days when the girls were younger, when they would dance on the carpet in socks with Nina and then sneak up behind him and shock him with the static. All he had to do was gasp theatrically to send them shrieking and laughing around the house. Why couldn’t he make everyone happy so easily? He needed a shock now. He needed to break away from this endless treadmill of worry and inadequacy.

  “I have a better idea,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk by the harbor. I’ll buy you an apple pastry.” They were going to be late anyway. And Nina was right: he shouldn’t have to hop whenever Morty said rabbit. Simon reached into his pocket and turned off his cell phone.

  A few minutes later they were strolling toward North Harbor Drive. Gulls sang in the air. Car horns squawked in unison. Morning rush hour was in full swing. Simon and Esther waited for the traffic light and then crossed the street to the harbor front. He bought apple pastries from their favorite stand on the corner. Dockworkers and tourists lined up together for the steaming, sweet pockets. The smell of cinnamon hung in the salt breeze.

  “You heard what I heard about the earthquakes, Ed?” The pastry man chatted with a regular as he scooped the pastries into paper wrappers and sprinkled cinnamon sugar on top.

  “Aftershocks?” said the man leaning against the cart, licking syrup off his fingers.

  “Naw, more than that,” the pastry man said. “I ain’t felt any aftershocks. ’Parently there’s something going on up in Wyoming.”

  “Nothing goes on in Wyoming.” Ed chortled. He had on a faded Mariners cap, and there was grease under his fingernails.

  “I mean at Yellowstone. The geysers up there are acting strange. Old Faithful himself ain’t keepin’ the faith like he used to. Guy on the radio says it’s all connected.”