Broken Tide | Book 1 | Overfall

by Richardson, Marcus

  Amber examined the garden, lifting up a massive squash leaf. “What are we going to do about water for the garden?”

  Cami put her hands on her hips. “I was thinking about that. We need to set up a rain collection system.”

  “I thought there’s a creek around here somewhere…” Mitch said, peering at the forest preserve. “I remember running through the woods back when we were kids…”

  “Oh, it’s still there,” Cami agreed. “About a hundred yards back in the trees. It moves pretty good, but it’s just a pain to get to. I mean…” she tapped her chin in thought. “I guess if we got desperate, we could clear a path. I don’t think the forest preserve police will care much. Probably got a lot more things to worry about at the moment.”

  “I’d rather not cut down trees, mom,” Amber said, holding a vine-ripe zucchini the size of a football.

  “Oh, me neither,” Cami replied, bending to poke through one of the green totes. “But if we don’t get enough rain, we’ll have to. Unless you want to go to the pond over there by the Spalding’s.”

  Amber wrinkled her nose. “Ew. No. Dad used to take me fishing over there.”

  “It’s stocked?” asked Mitch, suddenly interested.

  Amber laughed. “I don’t think so—I only ever caught slime fish. There’s all kinds of algae and stuff. It’s like a marsh, really.”

  “Here, can you set this stake in the ground over there?” asked Cami, holding a metal support post out to Mitch. “When we assemble the array, the post will lock into that and keep it anchored to the ground. Just make sure that hole there on the side—yup, that one—stays above the ground. That’s where the wires come out and connect to these,” she advised, holding up the wires from inside the shed.

  “Got it,” Mitch replied, taking the metal piece.

  “Here,” Cami said, turning to her daughter. “Amber, you take the other one and put it…I don’t know…maybe over there.”

  “Oh! Hey, Mr. Price,” Amber said, without taking the post from Cami.

  Cami turned and squinted in the light—the sun chose that moment to crest the trees and nearly blinded her. She stood and dusted her hands again as Marty Price shuffled across their shared side yard, Kirk at his side, tongue lolling and stumpy tail zipping back and forth.

  “Whoa, is that a Weimaraner?” asked Mitch, taking a knee, so the cinnamon-colored dog could bound over and lick his face.

  Marty grinned reluctantly. “Close. He’s a vizsla. Kirk—easy, boy.”

  “Expecting trouble?” asked Cami, nodding at the AR slung over Marty’s shoulder.

  The old man grunted and leaned on a carved wooden cane. “No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it finds us…sooner or later.”

  “Marty, the power went out—”

  “It went out all up and down the east coast. From Miami to Canada. Now the blackouts are as far west as Nashville. Third of the nation, Camilla.”

  Cami clenched her jaw. She took a breath and forced herself to relax. “Well, at least we don’t have to deal with the destruction down by the coast.”

  “Oh, but we will,” Marty said, looking around her back yard as if appraising a used car. “How’s the garden?”

  “It’s fine, been a good summer—wait, what do you mean ‘we will’?”

  Marty turned his rheumy eyes on her. Despite his advanced age, his eyes were still bright blue and held intelligence that ran opposite to the weakened state of his body. He’d been in the military all his life, Cami knew, but never told anyone what he did. Amber joked that he’d fought in World War II, but he couldn’t be that old. She looked at him closer. Could he?

  “We didn’t have property damage. But the people pushed off their property did suffer damage, and they’re coming west. They’ll come through here afore long. Then we’ll have problems.” He shrugged, drawing attention to the rifle hanging from his thin shoulder. “That’s why I got this with me. Ain’t being unneighborly, just prudent. You should be armed, too, young lady.”

  “You might be right,” Cami said. “We were watching the news before the power went out. Things are going downhill fast—”

  “You got a radio?” interjected Marty.

  “Oh, uh, yeah a little emergency radio.”

  “No,” Marty said, shaking his head. “A real radio. Ham.”

  “Oh, no…nothing like that. We’d need a big antenna, right? The homeowner’s association doesn’t allow that.”

  Marty smiled.

  “You have one?” asked Cami, incredulous. Marty had more trees than they did. There was no way he had enough clear space to plant a big ham radio antenna. She peered over his shoulder. Maybe it was on his house or something?”

  “You won’t find it by looking.” He grinned, but the smile faded as he continued. “Point is, I do have a radio—a real one—and people are using ‘em all over the place. The news don’t show what’s really going on. Fighting in New York. They called out the National Guard in Boston. People on the coast are fixin’ to get downright mean, next couple of days. Mark my words.”

  Cami rubbed her temple with one hand and raised the other to stop him. “Okay. First, how do you have a ham radio setup back in there? And what proof do you have that these rumors you’ve heard,” she said, shooting a glance at Amber and Mitch, “are real?”

  Marty leaned over his cane, smiling again. “Don’t need a big tower to have an antenna. Fella could hide it easy with all these trees…”

  “You made an antenna out of a tree?” asked Amber.

  Marty just grinned, eyes twinkling.

  “That is so cool,” Mitch added.

  “So, people are on ham radios talking about riots or something?” asked Cami, her chest tightening.

  Marty’s smile dropped, and his eyes took on a hard edge. “Affirmative. And it’s spreading. No one’s heard anything out of the feds, not since D.C. went dark last night. It’s a mess, alright.” He spat into the grass. “Might be what the country needs—clean ‘em out once and for all.”

  “Okay,” Cami said, waving off the political commentary. “Have you heard anything about Maine?”

  Marty looked over her shoulder. “Where’s Reese?”

  She stared at him and arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh.” The old man cleared his throat. “Ah, no, haven’t heard anything from anyone north of Boston. But that’s bad enough.”

  No one spoke for a long moment until Marty cleared his throat again and spat on the ground. “You setting up a solar rig?”

  “Uh…” Cami looked at the jumble of parts and wires and sighed. “Yeah.”

  “I wouldn’t set it up right here,” he said matter-of-factly. “Too exposed.” He turned and squinted at the road, maybe forty yards away on the other side of their houses. “Yup. Too visible. Anyone driving by will see it and know you’ve got power.”

  “Well, yeah, they’d see the lights, too,” Amber said, “So?”

  “So? You think people who’ve lost everything, people who are desperate, are gonna walk up to your front door and ask for help? You should put up black-out curtains.”

  Cami was quiet for a moment. When she looked up at him, Marty had a patient, expectant look on his face. “You really think it’ll come to that?”

  “I hope and pray it don’t. But if it does, you want to be caught with your pants down, or your rifle ready?” He nodded at her. “I can see it in your eyes, Camilla. You’re a fighter.” He turned and called Kirk to his side again. Casting a long look over his shoulder, Marty snorted. “Always liked you two. Got a good kid, there, too. Y’all stay safe, now.”

  “Bye.” Cami offered a weak wave as the old man shambled back to his property. Kirk stopped, looked back once, whimpered, then barked and bounded off after Marty, running in excited circles around his owner.

  “Well, that was…comforting,” Amber muttered, crossing her arms.

  “I, uh…I guess that guy doesn’t win friendliest neighbor awards very often, huh?” asked Mitch.

  “
Hardly,” groused Cami. She frowned. “He’s not wrong, though. I should have thought to put the solar panels somewhere a little more concealed from the road.”

  “Well, they have to be in the open sunlight…” Amber countered.

  “But that doesn’t mean we need to make it easy for people to realize we’ve got power.” Cami exhaled. “Marty’s right,” she said reluctantly. “We need to think about defense, right along with power and water. It won’t do your father any good if he makes it back here to find the place burned down and looted.”

  “When,” Amber said in a soft voice.

  Cami blinked. “Right. When he comes home.”

  Mitch cleared his throat. “Well, then, let’s make sure the place is well lit and safe. What about if I put the first panel over here…I can’t see the road from this position. Would that work?”

  Cami pursed her lips. “If you can’t see the road, then someone driving by wouldn’t be able to see the panel. Sounds good to me.” She looked up at the sky. “Just move it a little to your left, Mitchell—that spot will get a little more afternoon sun.”

  “Good to go,” Mitch said, slamming the pointed stake into the ground.

  “Amber, can you go grab a notebook and a pen or pencil?”

  Her daughter cocked her head. “Sure, but why?”

  Cami looked around the yard, imagining routes people would take—on foot—to gain access to the house and garden. “I’m thinking we’re going to have a list of things to do before long and I don’t want to forget anything. Once the solar panels are set up and connected, I think we should all walk around and do an audit on the property. We can list all the water and food resources, and any security risks we can think of. It’ll give us something to work on over lunch.”

  “Okaaay,” Amber said, drawing out the word. “Be right back.”

  The breath caught in Cami’s throat. That was what Reese had said on his way out the door to the fishing trip. It was their inside, running joke. They each said ‘be right back’ to the other when they left the house in the morning, and on long trips.

  Cami turned away and faced the forest preserve to hide her tears from Mitch as he drove in the second solar post. You better come back, Reese Lavelle.

  Chapter 13

  Mount Desert Island, Maine

  In the gray light of morning, the first day after the tsunami struck, Jo put her hands on her hips and stared at Reese. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like he'd done something wrong and now faced the disapproving glare of his grandmother.

  "You sure you want to do this?" she asked gruffly.

  "I don't think there's any doubt that he wants to do it," Ben said, leaning on a pair of duct taped crutches they'd found inside the ranger station. "It's a question of whether we can do it."

  Reese nodded at Ben. "He's right. There's no way I'm not going to try." Reese looked out over the water.

  It'd been a long night. He and a few others who'd come down from the mountaintop to help had scoured the shore using flashlights. Somewhere around 3 a.m., they'd worked their way halfway to Bar Harbor and discovered a sailboat impaled on the beach. The sailboat still had a serviceable dinghy floating nearby, tethered by a frayed rope.

  Reese had immediately wanted to climb aboard, power up the little outboard mounted on the transom, and drive back around the island…but cooler heads had prevailed, and instead, he and Mr. Nikayoshi had taken turns hauling on the line. Like pack mules, they’d brought it back around the island, through the debris in the water, and moored it at the base of what was left of the Trenton Bridge.

  Hours later, as dawn lit the world, Reese was joined by Ben and Jo and watched by a small group of those who wanted to stay behind. “Well,” Jo said, shaking her head, “I think I'd like to go with you…just as much as anybody else—but that little thing ain't gonna hold all of us."

  "Not everyone wants to come with us,” Ben offered, looking at Matt. "There must be another 20 people still up at the top of the mountain."

  “Ahyup,” Matt said, hooking his thumb under his belt. "And at some point, someone in a big fancy orange and white chopper will probably show up to rescue us.” He tapped his chest with his other thumb. "I don't like sitting around waiting for anybody—I don't do it in blizzards, but…this is different. What you’re talking about is suicide. I mean…look at it!”

  “Okay, okay,” Jo said, raising a hand.

  Mr. Nikayoshi rattled off a stream of Japanese and gestured across the debris field. He pointed at the dinghy, nodded, then grunted.

  "And I can't understand a word he's saying,” Jo said, jerking a thumb at Nikayoshi, “but I'm pretty sure he does want to go with you," she said, scratching her forehead under the brim of her hat.

  "I hope he understands that it's nothing personal that we can't take them…” Reese said, giving a polite nod to the Japanese family. "There's just not enough space in this little boat. We can't haul six adults and two kids."

  "Well, they’re the youngest kids on the island, and I guess that makes me responsible. I'll stay," Jo said.

  "You don't have to do that," Reese said. "I think there's plenty enough space for three adults."

  "Even if one of them is gimpy," Ben said with a self deprecating laugh.

  "I don't know…I’m not overly fond of boats to begin with. And that water out there's clogged with debris, and it's still pretty rough. How are we sure that the tsunami’s actually…uh, done?" asked Jo.

  Reese turned and stared out at the floodwater. In dawn's early light, it was difficult to tell whether the tide was receding or still rushing in with yet another wave. They'd heard the sound of tree trunks ripping apart in the dull roar of all that water moving ashore all night. But the event had been going on for almost six hours by the time the world had grown dark.

  Reese didn't know nearly half as much about tsunamis as he wanted to, but he couldn't believe that there were that many waves out there to still be pounding the shore almost 16 hours after the first one hit. It just couldn't. The universe simply couldn't be that unfair.

  "At some point, everything has to end,” Reese said.

  Everyone gathered by the shore turned to look at him.

  "Well, that's uplifting,” Matt said under his breath.

  Ben scoffed. “Yeah, dude, you suck at pep talks.”

  "Look, we can ferry people across,” Reese said. “If we can make it across in this thing, then I can make it back and pick up a couple more people and bring them to the other side. Maybe we can get everybody off the island.”

  “You got enough gas for that?” Jo asked. “Do you even know how much gas this thing has?” Jo slapped her thigh with the campaign hat. "It's too risky. Personally, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but…” She turned and looked at the Nikayoshi family, huddled together next to a splintered tree that had been pushed ashore during the night.

  “What do you have holding you here?” asked Ben.

  “I’m the only authority figure on this island,” Jo replied, weakly.

  Matt laughed. “Lady, look around, this is the island. There’s only a handful of us. Probably better if you did go across, then you could find help and send it our way.”

  “He’s got a point,” Reese prodded. “And they might need someone with your medical knowledge on the shore.”

  Jo scoffed. “I ain’t no medic, just know some basic first aid.” She frowned. “I don’t know…”

  “If nothing else, you can see what it’s like on shore and come back for more help,” Ben suggested. “Beats waiting around here until the Coast Guard shows up.”

  “What the hay,” Jo said, shrugging. “Not like I got anything to do at the moment, is it?”

  “Who’s going to run the ranger station?” asked a woman in the small crowd.

  Jo grinned. “You are, honey. I’m retired.” She removed the badge from her uniform and tossed the brass emblem at the woman who spoke. “By the power vested in me by the state of Maine and the National Parks Service, I hereby nam
e you the park ranger of Cadillac Mountain.”

  “What?” the woman asked. “I’m in charge?”

  “You’re in charge,” Jo said. She tipped her hat and removed the first aid bag from her shoulder, then tossed it at Reese. “I’ll be back,” she said to the new ranger. “I’m going to find help, then I’ll come back.” She stopped, one leg in the boat, the other on shore. “Unless I don’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen, honestly.”

  “You can’t just leave us!” someone said.

  “Not like I was doing anything for anyone—and you lot weren’t listening to me anyway. Why should I stay?”

  “I like her,” Ben said, grinning from the bow of the little dinghy.

  Jo reached out a meaty forearm and took Reese’s hand in a strong grip. "Am I gonna regret this? Probably, but for now, it's a deal."

  Reese took his position at the tiller as Matt prepared to push them out. He hesitated, hands still gripping the railing.

  “There’s plenty of room,” Reese offered under his breath to Matt.

  Matt looked over Reese’s shoulder at the miles of debris choking the water between Mount Desert Island and the mainland. “I can’t,” he muttered. “It’s too far, and I can’t swim.” He cleared his throat. “Good luck," he said, louder. Matt bent down and pushed, sending the little boat out into the choppy water. “You’re gonna need it.”

  Reese yanked the ripcord, and the two horsepower engine on the transom sputtered to life. He waved once at Matt, Aiden, and the Nikayoshi family, but only Aiden waved back.

  "Okay, let's do this." Reese opened up the throttle, and they pushed through floating tree branches and bits of Styrofoam insulation. Reese didn't say anything, but he knew very well where that insulation came from—it was used inside the inner hulls of sailboats and motor yachts. A lot of boats had been torn apart by the tsunami striking Bar Harbor. They cruised over a graveyard.

  After 30 minutes, Reese estimated they were no more than a third of the way across. Every few minutes, he had to push the tiller hard over one way or the other to go around bits of flotsam or masts sticking up out of the water, indicative of boats floundering on unseen debris.