Tsunami Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  “Here.”

  A bottle of water and flashlight were passed to him. He bent forward and held them out to her. She tucked the bottle under her arm and reached up for the flashlight. Her fingers wrapped around the tube. She tried to take it from him, but his grip remained firm. She peered into his eyes.

  “Be careful,” he said, then released the flashlight.

  “I will.”

  The truck roared to life and lurched forward, taking what Kevin had joking called “Beth’s Convoy” to their final destination. Beth’s own destination wasn’t where they were going, though. Her destination wasn’t a place at all but a person.

  She began her search. Every thirty seconds, she called out Donovan’s name. She went back the way she came where the water resided, waded in it until it covered her shoes, and then cut over a few blocks to a different area.

  The sun was sinking below the horizon, the sky transforming with oranges and pinks, when she paused to release a yawn that cracked her sunburned lips. Before she could bribe her limbs into moving with the false hope of a bed around the next corner, a hand stamped over her mouth and an arm crushed her shoulders.

  “You gave yourself away with that ridiculous yelling, you stupid bitch.”

  Beth retaliated.

  “Grab her legs!”

  She yanked her feet loose and kicked furiously, blindly hitting whatever body part she could reach.

  “Grab her fucking legs!”

  Someone wrestled with her legs while the man behind her restrained her upper body.

  “Hold her still,” another voice growled.

  A hard object cracked into the side of her head. Sparks burst over her vision. Thoughts and sensations fled as darkness descended.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the wave plowed into Donovan, something other than water hit him. A metal trashcan bounced against the ground, propelled by the water. He couldn’t do anything to escape it so he braced for the impact. The blow knocked him back, prying loose the breath he held hostage in his lungs. A kaleidoscope of falling stars burst over his vision. Rolling water sent him flipping head over feet. By the time he realized his hand was empty, Beth was long gone.

  Part of a fence curled around his body, digging into his skin, smashing his nose, poking his eyelid, and pushing him to the bottom. His fingers twined around the links. He pushed against it, but it wouldn’t budge. With his arms and legs constricted, he couldn’t move or swim. The water had full sway over him. It tossed him around as if he didn’t weigh more than a basketball. He slammed into the ground and was yanked along the grainy, rough surface. The feel of the metal scraping on the asphalt vibrated through him.

  His chest was heavy without oxygen. While widening his shoulders and flexing his arms, he pushed his feet into the fence. He wrangled with it as if it were a boa constrictor. After a moment of shoving and kicking, the fence opened wide. He pressed the soles of his shoes onto the ground and launched himself up. His arms and legs paddled furiously against the vicious, churning water. Never before in his life had he experienced a force as powerful. The current didn’t stop for a second but continuously flowed with the strength of a raging river. He felt as if he were in the middle of Niagara Falls.

  Water cascaded down his face when he broke the surface and was thrown into the side of a truck. Pain radiated up and down his spine. Twisting, he managed to grab hold of the back wheel. Using his remaining strength, he hauled his body up and climbed into the truck’s bed. He fell onto the bottom, panting. The rocking of the truck sent him rolling back and forth, his hips and shoulders smacking into the sides. He got onto his hands and knees.

  His eyes scanned the rushing water. “Beth! Beth, where are you? Beth!”

  He had promised to protect her and already failed. If Beth was dead, he would never forgive himself.

  The truck collided into a building, and he tumbled toward the water. His hand lashed out and caught hold of the tailgate. The lower half of his body trailed behind the truck like a lure on a fishing line. His muscles strained as he pulled himself up. With much effort, he managed to get onto the bumper.

  He rode the tsunami in the back of the truck as if he were on a surfboard. The whole time he kept an eye out for a brunette’s head in the water, but one never appeared. When the flow stopped, the truck was parked alongside a building near a window. Being knowledgeable about waves, he knew the water would reverse, and he didn’t want to be on the truck when it did. Nothing would be safe from the power of the wave going back out to sea. Not vehicles, houses, and certainly not people. He clambered onto the roof of the truck. The metal dented under his weight. When he stood, the truck wobbled.

  The window was at the height of his waist. He braced his hands on the ledge and heaved his body into the small space. Back pressed against the glass, he hunkered down. He didn’t have to wait long for the water to change direction. The truck bumped into the surrounding buildings, chipping away chunks of concrete before being swept away. From the ledge, he watched trees, a lawn mower, and a table fly by. The building shook around him, and he prayed it wouldn’t crumble beneath him.

  As fast as the wave came, it went.

  Once everything calmed, he peered at the ground two stories below. Having no desire to jump that far, he shifted toward the window. Across from a large armoire was a four-poster bed. Light streamed through the open bathroom door.

  Keeping one hand on the frame, he knocked on the glass. He waited a few seconds before rapping again. No one stepped into the bathroom light or came searching for the source of the knocking. So, he didn’t think twice when he swung his elbow back and smashed the window. Glass dribbled on the carpet. He maneuvered his tired, hurt body through the opening. Standing on sturdy ground with no water around him felt strange. His limbs didn’t quite know how to react, and he stumbled when he took his first step.

  He went to the bathroom first. The mirror revealed a man with scratches leaking blood down his face. Lifting his torn T-shirt, he craned his neck to see his back. The skin along his spine was red. Already his back felt bruised. Every movement he made caused a bone-deep ache to spread like cobwebs from his neck to the base of his spine. He checked the medicine cabinet, found cheap pain reliever, and swallowed three with a mouthful of water from the faucet. With more water, he cleaned away the blood on his face and neck. Then he stashed the pill container in his pocket, figuring he’d need more later.

  He stiffly moved through the hotel room. The TV was still on. Black and white static consumed the screen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge. Two plates of half-eaten food sat on either end of a wood table. He picked up a roll and ate it in three bites; he didn’t know when he’d have food again.

  When he opened the door, he was bombarded by weeping, screaming, and loud talking. People stood in small groups in the hallway. Women were hugging and comforting children. Men were arguing over what they should do next.

  “I think we should stay here,” one man said. “We’re in a standing building. We have shelter.”

  “This place might not be safe for long,” another said.

  “Do you think it’ll be safer out there?”

  Donovan slipped past them, not offering his own opinion. All he cared about was finding Beth. He couldn’t think about the possibility she had been carried out to sea with the water or was dead somewhere for critters to feast on. If he thought about that, he wouldn’t be able to go on.

  A voice called out to him. “Hey, where you going?”

  He stopped and turned.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “I’m going downstairs,” he said.

  “We don’t know the condition of the lower levels,” the skeptical man said, who thought it would be safer to stay in the hotel.

  “I don’t care what the conditions are. I’m going down there.”

  The man studied him. “Wait a second. Were you outside?”

  Donovan didn’t have to look to know the man saw his dripping clothes. “Yes
. I was able to climb into a window. My wife was with me when the wave hit. We came here on our honeymoon.” He glared at the men staring at him. “I have to find her, and no one is going to stop me from going. If anyone wants to come, you’re welcome to join me. If not, stay.”

  He was rounding the corner when footsteps pounded after him, and a man appeared in his peripheral vision. Donovan glanced at a black man with a beard and determination set on his face. “My wife and daughter went shopping two hours ago. They never came back.”

  Donovan nodded. “I’ll help you find them.”

  “I appreciate that, man. I’m Tray.”

  “Donovan.”

  They clambered down the first flight of stairs and were met by a pool of water clogging the stairwell. Donovan cursed. The two men looked at each other.

  “There’s no other way down,” Tray said.

  “I figured.” Donovan peered at the water. “I’ll go. I’m already wet, and I can hold my breath for a while. I can do it.”

  Tray looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  Beth counted on him. That alone pushed him to do whatever he had to, even dive into a flooded stairwell to open the door blocking his way out.

  He slowly breathed in and out twice. On the third breath, he trapped oxygen in his lungs and plunged into the water. Keeping his hand on the railing, he swam down the stairwell and around the curve. At the bottom, he encountered the metal door. His hand wrapped around the knob. It twisted but the door didn’t budge. He planted his feet into the last step and thrust his shoulder into the door. Baring his teeth, his lungs burning, he strained against the pressure of the water and pushed as hard as he could. The door cracked open an inch. Shoving with his knees, he pressed his shoulder more roughly into the metal. Suddenly, it flew open, and he was propelled out of the stairwell.

  White torrents clouded his vision. His body rolled over the ground and crashed into a wall. Water piled on top of him, keeping his head below the surface.

  When he got to his feet, water forced his back against the wall. He examined his surroundings. The windows in the lobby were broken. Water flowed out of them, seeking freedom. Chairs bobbed like buoys. The paintings that had decorated the walls with elegant splashes of color floated atop the surface. His gaze lifted. Droplets clung to the ceiling and streamed down the walls; the first floor had completely flooded.

  Something bumped into Donovan’s chest. He looked down to see a man’s body face-down in the water. Images of his brother’s waterlogged body flashed in his memory. Turning his head, he pushed the corpse away. When he took a few steps, he found another.

  Tray came running down the steps and hopped into the three feet of water drowning the lobby. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Donovan nodded. “Sure.” He looked left and right. Bodies floated all around, bumping into each other. Few people usually occupied hotel lobbies, but many of them had probably run in for shelter. They ended up dying in a place they thought would keep them safe. But nothing could protect you when Mother Nature was your opponent, and she wielded water as her weapon.

  Donovan and Tray made their way through the water and bodies to the front door. Seeing the destruction at eye level took Donovan’s breath away. A couple of buildings had been shredded. All that was left were a few pillars and their concrete bases. Trees lay in the road like pick-up-sticks. A car door drifted in the foot of remaining water. Donovan didn’t even know where to begin. Should he backtrack or go forward?

  “Where would they set up a place for survivors to go?” Tray asked.

  Having been in other natural disasters, Donovan knew exactly where. “The hospital.”

  They walked together. Silently, at first, until the silence weighed too heavily on Donovan. “Your wife and daughter…what are their names?”

  “Meg is my wife. Katie is my daughter. She’s eight. They were wearing matching white sundresses.” He paused. “Meg’s hair is curly, and Katie’s hair was in pigtails with those little pink plastic ball things tied around them. She’s been wearing them for years, and I still don’t know what they’re called.” His smile wobbled as tears gleamed in his eyes. “And your wife?”

  Donovan’s heart strings tangled at the thought of Beth. “Her name is Beth. She has brown hair and eyes. She was wearing a purple tank top, jean shorts, and black sneakers.”

  “I heard you say you’re here on your honeymoon. When was the wedding?”

  “Four days ago.”

  “Shitty thing to happen four days into married life.”

  “No kidding.”

  They walked side by side, searching for their loved ones. Wood and rubble stood in mountains. They had to climb over piles of trash—branches, cardboard, lumber, chunks of plaster, and concrete. Donovan took tentative steps so the pile wouldn’t crumble under him. A nail stuck out of a piece of wood, the sharp end pointing up. He set his feet on either side of it and warned Tray to avoid it. On the other side, more debris was spread out before them.

  Donovan’s gaze scanned the ground. Paper, money, and books splayed open, their pages matted into clumps, covered the asphalt like wallpaper. He almost didn’t notice the black sneaker sticking out from beneath layers of garbage. It was the tan ankle that caught his attention.

  His heart plummeted to his gut. “Beth!”

  Fear spiked in his veins. His worst nightmare was laid out in front of him. He ran and fell onto his hands and knees beside the leg. The ankle was thin and smooth, like Beth’s. A lump formed in his throat. He began throwing pieces of wood and palm tree branches. With each new piece of debris he tossed aside, the lump in his throat grew larger. He unearthed two legs and one arm. As Donovan shifted to remove the objects burying the upper body, Tray felt the inside of the exposed wrist.

  “There’s no pulse,” Tray said. His voice was solemn.

  Donovan lifted a branch, revealing a brunette. The face was bloodied. He couldn’t tell if it was Beth or not. Desperation settled over him. He grabbed rocks and wood and flung them aside. The black demon of fear with its cold, damp flesh and oily intestines possessed him. His heart raced with the speed of a jackhammer attacking granite. He pulled away a sheet of torn Styrofoam and froze. The woman wore a yellow T-shirt.

  “It’s not her,” he whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  Tray’s question had Donovan reflecting back on that morning. Purple was Beth’s favorite color, and she looked great in it with her golden skin and rich, brown hair. He had watched her slip a leather belt through the loops around her slender hips. The buckle was silver and had peeked out from beneath her tank top.

  This woman wasn’t Beth, but that didn’t stop him from checking her left hand. The ring finger was bare. Not even a tan line was visible.

  “I’m positive,” he said. “She’s not Beth.”

  Those words brought him short-lived relief followed by throat-clenching panic. Beth was still out there somewhere—hurt, lost, scared…dying.

  “Let’s move her.”

  The woman was limp in Donovan’s arms. Her head fell backward as if she didn’t have any bones in her neck. Her arms dangled by her sides like ropes of gelatin. He set her on the sidewalk and positioned her hands over her stomach.

  “Here.” Tray handed him one end of a beach towel.

  “Where’d you find this?”

  “I pulled it out while we were digging her out.”

  The towel had a giant peace sign on it. Although it was soaking wet and filthy, it helped to hide most of the woman. Donovan tucked the edges under her body to keep her concealed if the wind picked up strength. He looked down at the peace sign resting over her joined hands and the shape of her head beneath the black cotton. His throat tightened with tears. If Beth were dead somewhere, he hoped someone would cover her as he covered this woman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Beth’s eyes cracked open. The brilliant, blue sky greeted her. She felt as though she were floating, heading toward the few
fluffy clouds above her. She closed her eyes. The back of her head throbbed. A net of electrified pain sparked from temple to temple. She tried to move a hand to the back of her head, to probe the pulsating knot with her fingers, but her arm was trapped behind her back. Something ensnarled her wrists. It was hard and tight, sending an ache through her bones that made her eyes sting.

  “The bitch is waking up.”

  Those words, said with a nasty bite, penetrated the hazy sphere cocooning her. She wasn’t floating; she was being carried. Her eyelids flipped open, and she thrashed her body.

  “Fuck! She’s a wild one.”

  She yanked a foot free and aimed it at one of the men restraining her legs. The bottom of her sneaker rammed into his face. The crunch of bone was a satisfying sound.

  “She broke my nose!”

  Cocking her foot back again, she tried to kick the other man and succeeded in hitting his shoulder with her heel. He stumbled, but as he fell back a few steps, he caught her foot.

  “Put her down!”

  Her feet smacked the asphalt as half of her body was released. She wrestled back and forth, trying to free her arms. The men in front of her were shoved aside by another. This man lifted a gun and jabbed a silencer into her forehead.

  “I will fucking shoot you and leave your body here for vultures to feast on,” he said. “Try me, bitch.”

  She didn’t move. She barely breathed. These men were capable of anything. She envisioned a bullet blasting through the back of her skull, leaving a gaping hole, and taking out half her brain with it. She imagined Donovan stumbling upon her body and the gore around her. Her heart palpitated. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “I’ll cooperate,” she whispered.

  “Of course you will.” The man lowered the gun to his side. “If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

  Her mouth went dry. Her heart banged against her ribcage. Each throb muted the pain at the back of her head.

  “If you wanted down, all you had to do was say so,” he taunted. “You can walk.” He turned, and the two men restraining her arms yanked her forward. She purposefully let her legs go slack. Her feet dragged behind her, and she dug the toes of her shoes into the mud. They made two long streaks. The men cursed and hefted her up, setting her back onto her feet.