LZR-1143 (Book 4): Desolation (6 page)

Beyond that road, between the smaller highway and the interstate corridor, where once there were tall evergreens and rolling hills that dropped gently toward the larger highway and the sea, was now a swath of watery nothing.
 

Although the water had receded slightly, the interstate remained covered, with the tops of the remaining trees barely visible, but noticeable enough to trace a new river above the asphalt below. Beyond this, as the land had dropped toward the sea over a space of possibly ten long miles, was ocean. Gently lapping waves, white tips barely visible in the gloom. In the far distance, the spot of lonely land that had formerly parted the ocean from the small bay closest to us—Whidbey Island by name—was all but gone. Small peaks from larger hills emerged from the ocean, trees barely distinguishable on the peaks, swaying slightly in the wind as if nothing had occurred. And indeed, for those trees, merely feet in some cases from the water line, nothing had.
 

The earth lay in tatters around us. In some places, islands of calm remained, where evergreens still stretched languidly toward the dark sky. In other places, the earth was torn open, rocks visible beneath yards of yawning dirt.
 

Trees, many felled from the roots, lay strewn about the torn earth as if having lain too long in the path of an angry giant. Dirt still clung to the wide, dark roots of the larger plants, and the thick smell of earth was everywhere, as if the planet itself had been cut deep by a series of otherworldly knives.
 

“I can’t …” Kate started, standing shakily and pushing a strand of hair from her face before exhaling. “That was … unbelievable.”
 

“You okay, kid?” I asked Ky, who was sitting, stunned, in front of me, eyes glazed and staring.

“What … what was that?” she asked quietly. I took a breath and looked upon the wreckage of the cabin. Two sides had crumbled to the ground, sheered from the main structure as if by large scalpels. The deck had, of course, collapsed. Surprisingly, the core of the building, built around an old stone fireplace, remained largely intact. Whether it was safe or not was a larger question, but the roof remained.
 

“It’s called a tsunami. It’s a tidal wave,” I said softly, putting my hand on her shoulder. “They’re usually caused by large, underwater earthquakes. In this case, the earthquake we felt must have been very close to the shore.” I squinted into the distance, noting that the water had not started to recede in several places—that it was, in fact, still advancing at others.
 

“In this case, the entire damn plate might have shifted down.” I muttered, wiping a shaking hand across my brow.
 

In the distance, I heard the sound of thunder and groaned. We didn’t need rain to add to our misery.
 

“Let’s head inside,” I said, looking hopefully at the cabin’s remains. Sadly, I noted the large solar water heating array, mangled and crushed beneath the weight of the master bedroom.
 

“Kate, why don’t you take Ky inside and check out the food, make sure it’s okay and start prepping to leave. I need to check the truck. Or what might be left of it.”
 

I tried to keep my voice light. If the truck was totaled, we were going to be significantly inconvenienced. Although looking out over the new terrain, it appeared that we might do better with a boat.

“Will the water go away?” Ky whispered, still staring. “How can we … the trees and grass and roads, they’re just … gone.” Her last word was barely audible.

“It depends,” I said, starting to walk back uphill. “Romeo!” I called once, and he returned from investigating the utterly fascinating clod of dirt that was alluringly hanging from the root of an upturned tree.

“On what?” she asked, standing numbly as Kate pulled her up by one arm.
 

“If the earth slipped down at the same time the water rose up, parts of the shift could be permanent. Earthquakes are caused by shifts in tectonic plates—really by the pent up energy being released as plates move under one another. If the plate that we’re on shifted down, then the water might stick around permanently. We might have seen the emergence of a new bay. We’ll have to see.”

Kate pulled her arm up and gave me a look. Ky needed to take a rest. I nodded.

“Romeo, let’s go.” He bounded forward, toward the back of the cabin, where rocks and debris had accumulated in the driveway that looped between the rear door and the steeply sloped rock ledge behind. I sighed as I took in the truck’s condition.
 

Shit on a stick.

But it could be worse. Front two tires flat, punctured by rock shards from a shattered piece of basalt near the cab. Not too bad.

Windshield crushed and windows blown out. Unavoidable, really.

Boulder comically perched in the bed. Funny.
 

But problematic.

The side of the bed had been nearly flattened, pushing the other side out in a half-moon crescent around the huge piece of angular stone. The damn thing was the size of a Fiat. The rear axle groaned under the weight, and the wheel-wells were nearly touching the rear tires. I rubbed my jaw, thinking about the options available.
 

We could try to back it up until the truck bed was on an incline in reverse, using gravity to pull it off. The problem was the front tires. We couldn’t jack it up with the boulder on it, and we couldn’t back it up with the tires out.

“What do you think?” I asked Romeo, absently.

Silence.

“You willing to hump it off the bed? You were pretty enamored with that stuffed animal you found the other day…” I trailed off as I looked down. His ears were flat against his head and his eyes were narrowed. He was making a slow, deep growl in his chest, and his hackles were raised.
 

I’d only seen him do that when we were in the thick of it with the zeds. But a quick look around confirmed that we were alone. Just thunder in the distance.

But no lightning.

That was odd.

He was staring south, back toward Seattle.

No lightning. No clouds.

They say that animals can detect natural disasters long before humans. They say that they’re especially attuned to disruptions in the natural order. They say this, even about animals—like Romeo—who routinely eat sharp objects and scrape their rears on the carpet.
 

But in this case, they were right.

***

A dull orange glow simmered beneath a cloud of ash and smoke. Above the massive cone, whose silhouette could be seen in a haze-shrouded pall beneath the conflagration, the fires of the earth burned bright. Streaks of angry red and smoldering yellow ran down the mound like tears, and the sky roiled above.
 

This was not good.
 

“Mike, are you seeing …” Kate’s voice was falsely calm, intended for Ky’s ears, but I heard the anxiety as they emerged from the wreckage of the house, hand in hand.
 

“I don’t think there’s anyone who’s not seeing this,” I said softly, putting a hand on Romeo’s back in an effort to calm him. “Living or dead.”

“Make sure she’s okay, and then take a look at our packs and weapons. We may have to move soon,” I turned to the truck, grimacing as the rocks on the driveway ground into my bare feet. “And toss me my boots?”

The boulder had landed behind the two spare tires, and for that we could be incredibly thankful. We had stocked two when we found the truck, knowing that they’d be needed at some point. Now, I just called that foresight dumb luck.
 

The boots landed in the dust next to Romeo and he jumped straight into the air, looking back over his shoulder as he landed, as if offended by the bad joke. I couldn’t help laughing briefly as I pulled the kevlar boots over my ankles and moved to the front of the truck.
 

There was no other way that would work. We couldn’t move the truck back with flat tires, and we couldn’t change the flats with the boulder in the bed.

It would have to happen the old-fashioned way.

I gripped the truck underneath the fiberglass bumper, finding a handhold on the steel frame behind the winch. Sitting back so that the weight was on my legs, not my back—always lift with your legs, kids—I started to lift.
 

Have you ever tried to push a wall? Really, just stood there with your hands against a cement block load-bearing wall, trying to make it topple, looking like a constipated, handle-bar-mustachioed-from-an-old-timey-carnival asshole? Give it a shot. That’s what the first five seconds felt like. Nothing moved, other than the blood shooting through my veins. My heart throbbed and my hands burned.
 

I just pushed harder, knowing this was the only option.

As the thunderous mountain in the far distance lit the sky, I made slow, painful headway in this battle against the machine. Metal groaned as the weight shifted slowly. Momentum helped as I gained an inch, then another, then two more. The last window in the truck shattered as the metal frame bent slightly under the two competing pressures, while the large rock in the bed moved an inch. Suddenly, the entire boulder was rolling back, the gentle thirty-degree incline that I had managed being sufficient to enroll gravity on the side of your humble hero.

The massive rock tumbled into the dust, teetered on one edge, then began an inexorable roll toward what remained of the tree line. I leaned forward quickly, lowering the machine to the ground and hoping to God that it would start.

Probably should have checked that first.
 

***

The truck started, and catastrophe was, for the moment, avoided.
 

The outline of what could only be Mount Rainier in the distance continue to highlight the southern sky as I made my way carefully into the remains of the cabin. The kitchen was a wasteland, dishes having leapt from the shelves to an early death on the hardwood floors. The books and lamps and other items from any normally flat surface littered the ground.
 

“I can’t believe it, but the safe room downstairs was mostly intact. The shelves were reinforced, and the crates were mostly tied down. I was able to salvage most of the MRE’s and canned stuff, and I found a few spare batteries and took all the water. It’s piled up next to the fireplace over there,” she jerked a thumb behind her as she spoke, pulling her hair back into a pony tail over her simple black t-shirt.
 

We had ditched our battle suits several days ago. They were made for war, and we were traveling—avoiding conflict whenever possible and trying to move light. We had lucked into a huge stash of tactical gear on our second day out (thanks again, capitalist gun-store owner), and had happily swapped our blood-soaked, sweat-stained battle rattle for some nylon bags and hearty cargo pants and t-shirts. The gentleman who had so carefully stashed the gear away for us had even left a cap in Ky’s size, which she used to great effect in her frequent napping. Kate pulled her hair tight and sighed.

“Go ahead and get dressed, and I’ll start loading. Tires okay?”

I nodded, but my voice was dubious. “She’ll drive, but not sure how far. I know that boulder had to have wracked the suspension, and I’m damn sure the alignment will be shot. But she started, and the tires are good to go, so we’ll go with it until we can’t.”

Kate smiled quickly, her voice teasing.

“You’re calling the truck a ‘she’ now?”

I thought carefully before answering.

“I figured anything as faithful and beautiful as that deserved the right title,” I said with a smile.

She groaned playfully and turned away dramatically toward the slightly cockeyed doorway to the driveway.

I guess I could have said it was because the headlights were crooked and there was a ton of junk in the trunk, but … one natural disaster per day suited me just fine.
 

Ky was laying on the dusty sofa, a blanket pulled to her chin as she stared out the window frame into the distance. The glass had shattered quickly during the beginning of the quake and the gentle breeze blew the night air through the living room.

I changed, pulling on the dark cargo pants, the tactical harness and my dark blue hoodie, checking the various pockets to make sure that all my gear was secure. I rooted through the medium sized duffle bag on the table that Kate and I shared, and pulled two fresh magazines from the internal pockets, stashing them in my harness and checking my rifle quickly before grabbing a bag of MRE’s and heading to the truck.

Kate was staring at the mountain—rather, the volcano—eyes distant.

“I didn’t realize that it was a volcano,” she said, and I nodded briefly.

“Most people don’t. All the mountains up here—Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier, and of course Mt. Saint Helens—they’re all volcanos. This whole area sits next to a subduction zone near a fault line. Scientists have been predicting a cataclysmal earthquake in this area for years.” I grunted as I threw the bag into the bed of the truck, noticing the massive, boulder-sized indentation as I did so.
 

“I guess they just didn’t predict that it’d happen during a zombie apocalypse,” I joked.
 

She didn’t laugh.

Because it wasn’t that funny.

“How do you know all this shit?” she asked, leaning over and pulling a lace tight against her boot. “It’s like you’re a repository for useless knowledge that happens to come in handy at the most convenient time.”

I chuckled. Just like my movies.

“I watched a shit ton of Discovery channel when I was on location. Better than Real House Husbands of Malibu or Whaligator.”
 

“Whaligator?” she smiled briefly.

“It was on that science fiction channel,” I said, walking to the front of the truck and checking the new tires. I took on my movie star voice, “Half whale, half alligator, all monster!”
 

“Sounds incredible.”

“Yeah. Hence my knowledge of subduction zones.”

Kate’s eyes had become distant.