“Dad, where’s the river?”
“It vanished, son. When rivers recede after an earthquake it means a tsunami is coming. Look towards the ocean.”
“Its receding, oh shit.”
“We have a raft on the roof,” his father repeats.
Mark looks for a monster wave but only sees a dwindling thin blue line. The ocean is further out then it should be. He closes his eyes in fear. Deep down he knows the big one is coming.
“We have food for a week, pills to purify water, and I put my gun in the back pack.”
“Why do we need a gun?” Mark asks.
“We need to be protected.”
“You can’t expect me to shoot someone. Civilization falls when people grab guns.”
“The end is coming,” Ben says with patience.
“No, it’s not.”
“I’m not a religious man, but I think this might be the end everyone has been talking about.”
“You’re being over dramatic, Dad. We aren’t going to need your gun! We have the best military in the world.”
“Son, a lot of bad stuff is going to happen in the next few months.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
Ben holds out a large canvas backpack and says, “Here, put this on. I put two clips in the bag.”
Mark meets his father’s eye and gives a resigned sigh and accepts the backpack. Ben grabs his hand firmly.
“Mark, I had a dream. You got your hands dirty. Let me clarify when I say dirty. You’re going to need to help America rebuild. I have taught you a lot in the last thirty years. Do you remember when we went camping in Wisconsin at your grandpa’s cabin? Life is going to be like that.”
“Please stop. You’re scaring me.”
“Son, I love you a lot. I’ve always been proud of you. I know you don’t want to carry a gun, but remember what Martin Luther King said ‘The arc of the moral universe is long but it bends towards justice.’ Justice doesn’t always come in the form of courts and laws; sometimes it’s measured in us and our actions.”
Ben lets go of Mark’s hand and continues, “Go look out the window again. I don’t want that ocean sneaking up on us.”
Mark swallows, his mouth gone dry. The distant line of the Atlantic curves and thickens. The thin blue line turns to a bulge and then a wave.
“Oh God,” Mark blurts, “it’s coming, Dad. It’s big.”
A large air craft carrier rides the wave. Within seconds the tsunami slams into the city, pushing the vessel through buildings like a knife going through butter. Flocks of birds fly westward as perches disappear under the raging ocean.
“Always fight for what’s right and you’ll always make your mom and I proud.”
“Dad, the tsunami’s coming! We have to go to the roof!”
“I’ll meet you up there when your mom comes home.”
Mark feels like a terrified child. The chance of his mom returning home before the tsunami strikes is slim. Ben lays a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Son, I love you, but I can’t leave without your mother. Do you understand?”
Mark thinks of his parents. Images of them throughout his life flash through his mind. He thinks of Irina and how it feels to be without her. His gaze drops to the floor.
“Dad, I understand.”
“Go to the roof, son” Ben says softly.
Blindly, Mark walks out of the apartment on autopilot. He jolts back to reality when the roof’s door locks in place behind him.
“Shit, I don’t have my keys.”
The sea pours onto the highway near the Anacostia River. The dark, blue-gray wave moves slowly in the distance, a formless monster devouring the landscape. Buildings lift up and crumble as they’re swept into each other like dominos. Waves carry boats like battering rams into the heart of the city. The remaining buildings are pummeled by sea vessels.
The air turns fresh and salty. The ocean is only a few blocks away. The sea floods nearby streets with a terrifying velocity. Screams echo from below as foamy water splits around the apartment building. The building pitches forward and he stumbles.
Mark rushes to the river raft and jumps in, closing his eyes. After five minutes of the shocks to the building he opens his eyes and gets out of the raft. He peers over the rail. Every few seconds a new wave rolls into the city. The first three stories of the building is fully submerged but still standing. Across the street a big brown apartment building tilts and dissolves into the ocean.
A large freight carrier from the navy ship yard barrels towards his building. He runs back to the raft and braces for impact. The freighter hits the building with a deafening crunch. Everything tilts as his face is drenched in icy salt water.
21
“Wake up, Michael!” Rebecca’s voice drills through his throbbing head.
Michael is sprawled across the side wall of the bus. He’s unable to move either legs or arms. Groggily, he opens his eyes. A shattered side window gives a glimpse of outside. Smoke wraps around a burning gas station and looters violently chase survivors with tire rods and wrenches.
“Baby, we have to get out of here.”
The air is heavy with sooty smoke. He grasps her clammy hand.
“What a ride, man. I lost my weed,” Vinnie says.
Michael lifts himself but feels something warm and squishy.
“Don’t look, honey. Just look at me,” Rebecca says.
“Why?”
He feels the prickly hairy of a man’s arm underneath his neck and something heavy and warm across his middle. He frantically pushes the heavy leg of a dead business woman off his chest and scrambles to sit up.
“Dude, we need to get out of the bus. It might blow,” Vinnie says.
“Where’s everybody?” Michael asks.
“All dead or fled bro,” Vinnie says.
A large gash angles across Rebecca’s forehead.
“Rebecca, are you ok?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Where’s Susan? Can we use the door?”
“Michael, do you think they became zombies?”
“Well dudes, I’m seeing Barry and the others dead, but no Susan. Maybe she booked thinking we died,” Vinnie says, motioning to the shattered windshield.
Rebecca screams as Fred materializes in the spot Vinnie points.
“Zombie!” she shrieks.
“You folks need a hand?” Fred asks.
Behind Fred a group of teenagers peer curiously into the bus.
“Dad, stop playing Moses,” Kyle snaps. “The tsunami threat is real. Why did she think you were a zombie?”
“It must be stress,” Fred replies and helps Vinnie out of the windshield.
“Fred! You have great timing. Thank you!” Michael says.
Smoke fills the block with a dark haze. Multitudes of people stream around the bus.
“Thanks for helping us,” Rebecca says.
“No problem. We’re heading to the hospital. Looks like you folks should come along,” Fred says.
“Eureka! I found my weed!” Vinnie says.
A teen runs, hands waving and shouting, “The tsunami is a few blocks away!”
“Can everyone run?” Fred asks.
Michael looks at Rebecca. Her eyes are large and glassy with fear but she nods stoically. His back feels the strain of the day and she can see the pain on his face.
“For the pain,” Rebecca says, giving him one of her pills.
Michael dry swallows it.
“Let’s go before we get wet,” Fred says.
They run to the hospital. With every step Michael fears the tsunami will overtake them. As they near the medical facility Colin up a crow bar off the street. He runs to a side entrance and pries open the emergency door.
Fist sized cracks zigzags up the stairwell but the stairs are stable as the group runs upwards. Michael stumbles on the third floor and sags against the wall. Rebecca’s medication hits him hard. A body buzz puts him into a cocoon.
“Mic
hael?” Rebecca asks.
“We have to reach the roof,” Fred calls down from the stairs.
“What’sss in the pill you gave meee, Rebecca?”
“Come on, baby” she says. “We have to go.”
“It’s like sugarrr in my blood, I feel sooo good.”
“Michael? Rebecca?” Fred calls, his voice floats down the stairwell like a disembodied ghost.
“I don’t want to die,” Rebecca begs.
The force of a wave hitting the building startles him out of the drug haze. He stands on shaky feet and continues to the roof.
22
Relief pours into Juliet as Larry and Karen rush ahead. The cop’s belligerent comments and constant cheap come-on lines have worn her thin. They used Larry’s badge to bypass the tents of injured in the parking lot and gained entrance to the lobby of the hospital. The noise from outside grows louder as the natural light grows faint.
“The tsunami’s coming!” someone shouts.
The crowd rushes to the stairs. Shrills and screams echo in her ears and elbows smack into her sides.
“Get to the stairs!” Harry shouts.
Juliet barely makes out what he’s saying. Pixel, preferring their company over Larry’s, furiously barks and parts the crowd. She follows Pixel’s lead and leaps over the fallen and weak. Soft bodies become launching pads and she lands on the steps. A solid wall of water smashes into the lobby’s windows with a boom and floods the first level.
In the stairwell Juliet can’t see Harry but hears Pixel bark. The sea pounds into the building with relentless booms. People lose their footing and tumble down the stairs. She clutches the banister and struggles with each step.
“Are you alright?” Harry asks on the second floor landing.
“I’m ok.”
On the third floor she peeks out a window. A fire engulfs the Veteran’s building and the parking lot is under water. The tents have been swept away. On the roof soldiers direct the masses as medical personnel try enforcing the triage system. To her right are two marine helicopters. The soldiers keep the panicked crowd away from the helicopters with menacing assault rifles. The periodic rattle of their guns overrides the ocean’s barrage. To her left is a frazzled looking nurse shouts orders.
“Where’s my dad? He works here,” Juliet demands.
The nurse asks, “Who’s your father?”
“Riley Johnson.”
She whispers to another nurse and shakes her head no.
“Does Riley play chess at DuPont Circle?” Harry interrupts.
Juliet pierces Harry with a sharp look and says, “Yeah, why?”
“I play chess with him and can’t believe you’re that Juliet.”
“Juliet!” Matt’s screams and grabs her attention.
The obese young man emerges from the crowd cradling an injured left arm.
“Matt!”
“I trieddd goin’ ta church, to the ssshelter there, yaaa know, but da church collapsed and damnnn, my left arm really hurts. Someone bit meee. Ain’t that crazyyy?”
“You’re infected!” the head nurse yells. “Get a soldier over here ASAP!”
“Whaddya mean? I ain’t infected.”
A burly soldier with an assault weapon seizes Matt by the hair. A second soldier shoots his gun into the air making Juliet jump.
“Stand back, he’s infected,” the soldier says and drags Matt to the edge of the roof.
“You’re hurting me!”
“What are you doing?” Juliet shouts.
“I’m sorry but he’s infected,” Harry says and holds her back.
Without pause the soldier shoots Matt in the back of the head with a bang and then kicks the body off the roof. Juliet sinks to her knees, stunned.
“Harry, why did they do that? Matt wasn’t a zombie.”
“Sorry, Juliet, but he was infected.”
Juliet cries, “No, no, no. This isn’t seriously happening.”
23
The raft bounces on the choppy waves. Only a few buildings remain above the raging sea in the National Mall. In the distance, the Willard Hotel crumbles into the murky water.
“I hate these waves,” Mark mutters.
The raft pitches to the left. Mist lifts from the water and casts everything in a ghostly white hue. The raft lurches to the right and bumps into the collapsing wall of the Madison building. Nearby a whirlpool sucks everything into its swirling depths. He picks up the oar and tries pushing away from the wall and whirlpool. There’s a motor but he’s clueless on how to start it. A man clinging to a door tries reaching for the raft but he’s sucked away.
Waves collide and crisscross. The undercurrent propels the raft to the Jefferson building’s main reading hall. Only inches of the dome protrude from the sea. A security guard struggles in the broken glass dome. The man’s hands are bloodied and face bloated from being underwater. He reaches through the metal frame and grabs for the raft. Milky white eyes glare at Mark as he misses.
Another wave pushes the raft past the dome. Mark’s knuckles turn white from holding the safety lines. A thirty foot mud barrier runs along Constitution Ave marking where the city has sunk. Mist reduces visibility to almost nothing. He thinks he feels the waters getting lower as he moves through the city, but it’s impossible to know for sure.
“God, I need your help,” he prays, not wanting to die.
The mist parts revealing a granite cathedral like building with a clock tower. The Old Post Office was the first building in Washington D.C. to be constructed with a steel frame. With its clock tower, it’s one of the five tallest in the city. The waves push the raft up the granite steps, leaving it to rest against the top step where the water has become shallow. Nearby security guards stand underneath a stone arch watching.
The guards point and jump excitedly and he turns around. A red double-decker tourist bus approaches the raft. He could reach out and touch the vehicle’s peeling red paint if he wanted. The driver’s window is caked with blood and a body slumps over the steering wheel. Corpses sit fastened in their seats. The bus crashes into the building’s flag balcony, its nose buried into the left supporting arch. One of the guards rushes to the bus as a second guard helps Mark out of the raft.
“Steve, don’t touch the bus,” the security guard helping Mark says. His nametag says Oretha.
“I’m not! But we should report this to Becket,” Steve replies.
“Well help me get this raft secured first,” Oretha says.
They secure the raft under the right arch and then Mark follows the pair inside. His water soaked shoes slap loudly on the marble. The building is ten stories of commercial space with floors open in the center to a large central courtyard. People wander around the food court.
“We were lucky the roof didn’t go,” Oretha says. “And the generator is holding so far.”
Mark looks up and cringes. The glass ceiling looks intimidating but is intact.
“I’m Mark and work at the Library of Congress, or at least I used to.”
“I’m Oretha and the grumpy man is Steve.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Steve mutters.
Around the courtyard are piles of resources gathered from various scavenged stores. A woman in a dusty business suit leads an informal prayer group in a corner.
“Damn it, Steve! Did you at least check him for infection?” a short, bulldog of a man with rolled up shirt sleeves bellows. “And what the hell was the boom?”
“Sorry Becket. This guy is with the Library of Congress. A bus took out the flag balcony,” Steve says.
“Lift your shirt so we can see if your infected,” Becket orders.
A police officer draws a gun on Mark. His knees weaken with exhaustion and fear but he lifts his shirt.
“Lose the pants. Earlier, a guy hiding a bite on the thigh took down three of our finest.”
Shivering, Mark peels off the wet pants.
Steve looks him over and says, “He’s clean.”
The officer puts away t
he gun and the crowd loses interest as Mark gets dressed again.
“We have two situations,” Oretha tells Becket. “People are stuck in the clock tower and the backup fuses for the generator are missing.”
“What happened to the fuses?”
“The guy who got the generator working was bit and dropped them in the Old Franklin School.”
“This guy came on a raft,” Oretha volunteers and pats Mark on the shoulder.
“You can have my raft to retrieve the fuses.”
“Good, take Steve to the Old Franklin School.”
“I don’t think you really need me…”Mark says.
Becket barks, “It’s your civic duty. Do it.”
Mark reluctantly follows Steve and Oretha to the raft and climbs aboard. Steve boards and turns on the motor. Oretha pushes the small vessel into the water.
“Good luck Steve. Don’t forget a harbor wave is coming,” Oretha says.
“What’s a harbor wave?” Mark asks as they motor out.
“This is a wave train that comes before the big one.”
“This isn’t the big one?”
“It’s supposed to look like a huge tidal wave. It’s all part of the tsunami but the harbor wave is the climax.”
They navigate around trees and electrical poles poking out of the water. An older man shouts for help from the limbs of a tree.
“Jump and swim to the raft!” Steve yells.
The man leaps out of the tree and doggie paddles to the raft. They haul him onboard.
“You ok?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m William,” the wet man says while brushing water out of short cropped dark hair.
“I’m Mark, this is Steve.”
“We’re going to the Old Franklin School to pick up fuses for the Old Post Office.”
“Oh, the Old Post Office survived?”
“Yeah,” Mark replies.
“The zombies didn’t get them yet?”
“You mean the infected,” Steve says.
“Infected? Sure, if you want to call being an addict a disease,” William says.
On the corner of 13th and K Street the ominous Franklin School looms over the raft. Steve maneuvers to the side of the brown brick building.
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