The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  “Put me down, you oaf! I can still walk,” she protested.

  “I am just demonstrating how I won the rickshaw race. Hold on.” Rolf took off running toward the Sons of the North cultural display area, laughing like a fool.

  Abigail approached Ichiro as he organized another rickshaw race. “I must return to Torbin and Aleks. They are probably wondering if I am lost. Fuzz will also likely come looking for me soon.”

  Ichiro smiled. “Yes. Your friends will think I kidnapped you.” He bowed. “Thank you for coming, and helping me with the large ones. I am glad the Sons of the North are on our side.”

  “I will see you soon, Ichiro. I hope.”

  “Of course, Abigail. We must work on your Japanese, your unarmed combat skills, and your sword play.”

  She looked into his eyes. “I just like your company.” She kissed him on the cheek, then turned and left. He was momentarily surprised, then broke into a broad grin. He began whistling some military march as he began to strut happily around the Japanese pavilion.

  Abigail now made her way back to the picnic table she and her friends had staked out. Changing weather patterns had pushed really cold weather in this part of Montana back, Indian Summers being more of the standard. The sun was out, but it still being before noon the temperature was cool, not cold. She was happily humming, thinking about Ichiro and the activities she had just finished in the Japanese cultural area, carrying two large plates of barbecued meat from a “Tex-Mex” display, the one meant for Aleks brimming over. She had been sent on the mission to collect large amounts of protein by Aleks as soon as she had returned to Torbin and his very pregnant wife. He was sent out for drinks, near beer or soft drinks for Aleks and Abigail, beer or mead for him.

  Abigail successfully reached the table without mishap, and was greeted with joy when she arrived. “Ah, food, to keep these two trolls in my gut satisfied. Place the big plate in front of me, I feel famished.”

  Abigail grinned. The extra speed of development of the twins Aleks was carrying, thanks to Tschaaa machinations, had turned her into an eating machine.

  At that moment, she happened to glance up and froze. A face she had never really expected to see again was walking toward an area staked out by scavengers and other ne’er-do-wells. In addition to a party area for their people, the scavengers had also been allowed to set up a pawn shop operation, swapping items or paying out cash. Now, headed toward that area was the face of a man to which she had added a large scar in Evanston.

  She had mentioned the incident to Torbin months ago while driving him back to Malmstrom. Five scavengers claiming they were from the Base on “official business” to check out Evanston had shown up after Torbin and his men left. They had tried to molest what they saw as two teenage girls—Abigail and Ruth—and “paid the piper” for it. Shot by Mathew, beat and gutted by the two young females, only this one, now Scarman, had managed to escape. But not before Abigail had opened his face with a knife he had tried to use on her.

  She whispered in passing to Aleks. “Excuse me, there is something I need to take care of.” Fuzz, sensing a change in his mistress, started to rise. “Stay” she commanded in Romanian, in addition to the hand signal and Fuzz froze. Now he was in a psychic quandary, caught between obedience and protection. Aleks saw a look on Abigail’s face she had seen before, on other’s faces. The killing look. Someone was about to possibly die here.

  “Abigail. Wait.” She tried to get up, her large stomach prevented her from doing it quickly. Abigail was gone. Aleks cursed, scanning for Torbin. He saw him a ways away, drinks in hand. She put her fingers to her mouth and let out a loud unladylike whistle.

  Torbin had a drink carrier with two soft drinks, a near beer and a real beer in his hands, making his way through the increasing crowds. The recognized whistle made his eyes dart to where their table should be. He saw Aleks mouthing the name “Abigail” and pointing toward his right. He quickly scanned the crowds, saw Abigail walking in a gait he had seen before. She was in route to “take care of business/mess someone up”. Something serious must be in the wind.

  “Aw, fuck!” he exclaimed, looking for a place to set his drinks. He saw a table nearby with a young couple, Second Lieutenant John Brown and his wife. He was one of Torbin’s new trainees, just recently graduating from officers training. Torbin strode over, setting the drink carrier down on the table of the surprised young people.

  “Sorry to bother and intrude Lieutenant, Ma’am, but I need to leave these here for just a moment. Ma’am, I will come back so that we may be properly introduced.” Then he was off, trying to catch Abigail.

  “That is the Hero of Key West?’ His wife Sue asked.

  “Yes, honey it is. He’s in a hurry, too. Wonder if he needs help….”

  “John, you just wait here. If he needs help, we will know soon enough. Then, you can go.”

  Sue was a no nonsense farm girl from North Dakota, whose family had barely survived the Long Winter. She has met John as he was passing through. They met, fell in love, she followed him on his military career. He had no family, as he had lost them to the rocks. She was his family now.

  He smiled at her. “Right, as usual. I think you are the common sense of this family.”

  “And you are the love of my life. Now, let’s guard his drink carrier, and wait for what’s next.”

  Abigail reached the edge of the scavenger display, tables, and pawn shop. She saw Scarman beginning to move to the back of a tent they had set up.

  “Hey, Scarman. Remember me?” Her voice resounded strong and firm.

  The tall, slender dark haired man turned toward the voice. He had already busted the face of some others who thought it was funny to call him that, the scar that ran from his hawk nose across his right cheek to his right ear flashing red when he was angry. Which was quite often since he had returned from Evanston. He spun around, looked and saw the source of the yell. And turned a bit pale.

  “Girl,” he spat out. “I don’t know you, so I suggest you watch who you insult.”

  “You lie!” Abigail spat back. All conversation stopped around her. “You and four friends tried to molest two virgins from Deseret in Evanston. Only you survived. I gave you that scar. Now I call you out to answer for your crimes before God.”

  Another voice then broke in. “Hey, it’s that bitch who sicced her dog on me at the vet’s.” The man known as Baker spoke up and moved forward.

  “You lie also. Now, Scarman, or whatever your real name is, stand forth and deliver.”

  Most of the men and women around the scavenger area knew each other, worked together for the last few years. They had faced many dangers to provide needed supplies, for a price, to the survivors in and around Great Falls and Malmstrom after the Long Winter. That they had taken some of the supplies by force had been an ignored fact until a little over a year ago, when the developing government of the Unoccupied States had clamped down on independent scavenger operations. Now bitter that their source of riches had been slashed, scavengers were becoming a source of trouble as well as developing criminal enterprises, challenging the authority of the new State and Federal governments. They would be damned if one of their number would be called out by some pissant bitch from Deseret.

  “Go fuck yourself,” was the answer, as several men and women began to move toward Abigail.

  One large, drunk individual with a prominent belly reached out to grab Abigail’s shoulder. “Hey, good lookin’. How about given up some of that Deseret loving…”

  His eyes bulged as Abigail grabbed and twisted the offending hand, crushing fingers together with very unladylike strength before spraining the wrist and putting him to the ground. He bellowed and grabbed his injured arm with his good hand.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” A hard looking woman yelled, cocking her arm back as she approached.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Let us pause for a moment and reflect!” Torbin’s “command voice” caused everyone to pause and concentrate on
him for a moment. “Do we really want to mar these festivities with unwelcomed violence, or can we handle this matter in a civilized manner?”

  There were some quizzical looks in his direction. “Who the hell are you?” Someone who apparently did not watch television yelled out.

  “Do you mean that in an actual or a philosophical sense?”

  “Stay out of this if you know what’s good for you, soldier boy,” someone joining the forward group chimed in.

  “Now you’ve done it. Called a Marine a soldier. What an insult—I demand satisfaction!” Torbin counted heads. About a dozen men in and around with bad intent in their eyes and another half dozen women looking to fight. More might join in. He stood even with Abigail, about two yards to her right.

  “Why is it we attract violence, little sister?”

  “The bad and evil must be challenged. They cannot be allowed to stand,” Abigail spit out.

  “I was afraid you would say that.”

  A friend of the man Abigail had put down cursed and rushed at her with a beer bottle. His testicles were quickly kicked up into his lower intestines with a front kick that was a blur. The fight began.

  The woman who first approached Abigail tried to claw her face and received a smashed-in nose for her trouble. Two men rushed her to knock her down, pin her to the ground. One lost an eye, the other gasping for breath from a smashed adam’s apple.

  Torbin broke one man’s jaw, dislocated an elbow, snapped a wrist almost in two. Sheer numbers took their toll, and both Abigail and Torbin were mobbed.

  On the ground, Abigail bit the finger of a woman who was scratching at her face, broke the index and social fingers of the other hand that was up under her shirt, clawing her breasts. She grabbed the adam’s apple of a man on top of her, pulled it out so he could look at it.

  Then, through the hubbub, a loud, bellowing war cry was heard, followed with an instantaneous sound of thuds and something hard hitting bodies and breaking bones. A man on top of Abigail was sent flying off. Another man’s face was smashed into a bloody mess as some type of club struck him off the Avenging Angel. Abigail heard a loud, recognizable voice cursing in Norwegian, yelling for Thor to come and watch what his Son was doing. It was big Rolf.

  Rolf had ripped the leg off of a large picnic table, and was using it as a very effective war club. He took a moment to smash two men off of Torbin, then returned to Abigail. Rolf swung, smashed, and grabbed, almost in a berserker level of rage. Enraged scavengers came to their fellow’s aid, only to receive broken arms and legs. A woman in the back drew a pistol, started to take aim on Rolf. A sheathed katana smashed her wrist, sending the handgun flying. Then it put her lights out with a blow to the base of her skull.

  Just then, a loud police whistle blew. Followed by a bullhorn. “Stand down! Cease fighting. We will use deadly force if necessary!” There were not a lot of uninjured scavengers and friends left standing, so it appeared the fight was ending anyways. But if there had been one woman with a gun, there may be others, and Rolf was not bulletproof.

  Rolf was panting, his mouth foaming a bit. Abigail saw his eyes were a bit glazed, so she did not know if he understood the instructions. She quickly stepped in front of him, and grabbed his face with her hands, speaking in Norwegian, “Rolf. Look at me. It’s over. The enemy is defeated. Songs of victory will be sung.”

  Finally, his eyes focused. His face broke into a broad grin. “Abigail Young. I thought for a moment you were a valkyrie, come to raise me from the battlefield.”

  “No, my friend. You are very much alive.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for helping us. I think I bit off more than I could safely chew.”

  Rolf suddenly kissed her back, then got a look of concern on his face. “Shield maiden, you are injured.”

  Then Abigail realized her bottom lip was bleeding, she had fingernail scratch marks on her chest. Her bra strap had been broken and her breasts were free, only partially covered by her torn shirt. She began to blush bright red. Rolf, seeing her discomfort, quickly shucked his outer shirt and covered her. Abigail winced as she put it on. “I think I have some damaged ribs also, Rolf.”

  “You and me both, Abigail.” It was Torbin, bruised and battered, but a smile on his face.

  There was a loud, growling bark, and the crowds around the scene of the fight parted. Fuzz, war dog, had arrived, dragging Aleks behind him. “You goddamn brute! Slow down! I almost fell!”

  Rolf’s mouth dropped. “Fenris. Devil wolf. You have come for battle.”

  “No Rolf. It’s Fuzz, my dog,” Abigail chided him.

  “It is Fenris in the shape of a dog. See how he comes to fight by your side?”

  Abigail grabbed Rolf by his ears, pulled his face down to look at her. “You. Are. Impossible. But you are a true friend. How can I ever repay you?”

  Before he could answer, the bullhorn sounded again. “Now that we have your attention, a military police officer will to talk to you! Stay where you are!”

  Half a dozen Military Police in battle rattle came through the crowd toward the combatants. Torbin recognized the officer in charge, the Shift Commander. Lieutenant Michael Hobbes, a Mustang officer like Torbin, was also a Marine. He had somehow made it from what was left of Washington State after two volcanic eruptions and the Hanford Explosion. A Fleet Marine, he hadn’t seen the ocean since.

  “Major Bender. I see you are having fun as only a Marine can have. May I ask as to what happened?”

  “Well, my friend, Captain Young there was having a verbal disagreement with one man known as Scarman when someone decided to lay hands on her. So of course I came to the aid of a comrade in arms.”

  Lt. Hobbes looked at Abigail, now swimming in Rolf’s huge shirt. He chuckled. “So that’s what she looks like out of uniform. It looks like you two were definitely rolling around in the mud, blood, and beer. I know you’re a Marine, but did you realize it was twelve to one odds?”

  Torbin grunted. “Odds, smodds. No one beats on my adopted little sister and gets away with it. Besides, the scavengers and their friends are definitely in worse shape than we are.”

  “Primarily because you had an old style berserker by the name of Knudsen show up. Captain Young seems to be the only one who can calm him down once he gets going. But I guess beauty can tame the beast.”

  The injured Scavengers were all yelling and cursing at the MPs, demanding that Torbin and Abigail be arrested. Funny thing, Scarman and Baker were nowhere to be found.

  “She broke my nose.” A woman was crying, blood running between her fingers. Others were demonstrating broken bones, lacerations.

  “That big fricking asshole there broke my arm with a club… I was just standing here, no weapons…. We were just minding our business when that Deseret bitch showed up!”

  Lt. Hobbes was not happy. “I guess I’ll have to take you all to the station, get statements from everyone. You were much too efficient with your mayhem. It would be different if they had weapons. That would justify your level of force, no questions asked. But I have to explain to the civilian authorities as well as the Base Commander why a giant with a club and an amazon with an attitude broke bones and maimed bodies.”

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant.” A new voice was heard. Torbin and Hobbes turned to see Ichiro dragging an unconscious woman by her left foot across the grass toward them. He was carrying a pistol by suspending it with a literal chopstick down the barrel.

  “Hey, tell that asshole to let Martha go,” a shout came from the scavengers. “Goddamn slant-eyed freak,” came another yell. Ichiro stopped, looked intently toward the crowd of angry men and women. He dropped the woman’s foot, hand moving toward his katana. The crowd began to surge forward, swollen by some late arriving drunks, outnumbering the MPs.

  “I suggest you all stay back!” Lt. Hobbes ordered. It looked like he was about to be ignored. Hobbes began to unsling his bayoneted assault rifle.

  Then a large snarling, four-legged shape went snapping, biting, and dashing b
ack and forth in front of the crowd. Fuzz proved how one dog with a vicious bite can cause a whole crowd of humans to reconsider moving in its direction.

  “Shoot that fucking dog,” someone yelled as a pistol appeared between two scavengers, pointed at Fuzz, the shooter hidden behind the bodies in front of him/her.The pistol was dropped without discharging as a shuriken star buried itself into the back of the exposed hand. Ichiro had moved without thought, his aim true.

  “Lock and load! Pick your targets.” In an instant, six laser dots from six rifles played back and forth over the crowd. At that moment, backup arrived, including a brace of patrol dogs, spoiling for a fight.

  “Hands on heads!” came the command. Everyone sobered up immediately and complied.

  “I was about to tell you, Lieutenant,” Ichiro interjected. “I had proof these malcontents had many concealed firearms, which I believe they were supposed to check in prior to entering this fair site. This young…lady I have in tow owns this weapon. Only her prints and DNA are on it, I assure you.” Then he smiled. “But I think that point was just demonstrated.”

  “Thank you, sir. Major Bender, if you and your friends could come down to the police station later, after you see to your wounds, I would appreciate it. Right now, I have a couple dozen people I need to search and then get to the civilian authorities. This sweet thing,” Lt. Hobbes toed the unconscious form, “gets to stay in our gray bar hotel until she sees a Federal Magistrate, since I take it Major Yamamoto took the gun from her as she was about to use it.”

  “Very true Lieutenant, which is why she is unconscious.”

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a crowd of miscreants to deal with.”

  As Lt. Hobbes walked over to supervising the search and departure of the scavengers and their supporters, Torbin turned to Ichiro. “Had my back again I see, Ichiro.”

  The Japanese officer smirked. “Actually, I was watching Abigail’s back. She is much more attractive to look at than you are.”

  “Hey, that’s my little sister you’re talking about. Say that around Aleks and you may be singing soprano.”