Tsunami Blue (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

The kids and I sat huddled together along two huge totem poles that had toppled with the last wave. Knocked down but not destroyed, the weathered wood still bore the intricate, proud carvings of an eagle and a raven.

I felt honored to be in their company.

It gave me strength to think that if these magnificent cedars could survive a wave, a tsunami, then maybe tonight, these kids could too.

I was right in the middle of making plans to make sure that happened. But I needed a little cooperation here.

“But, Bambi,” Nick protested, “you said yourself that Tsunami Blue lies, that no wave is coming.”

“Yeah,” Alec chimed in. “You said.”

Our new little friend just sat and stared at my arm. I’d given her my fleece—the kid was so cold having only pj’s on—and my full-sleeve tat was exposed. What a night to wear a tank. Now I was a walking billboard in a town where most, it would seem, thought Tsunami Blue was Satan.
Great. Just great.

I looked at my watch. It was time to get hold of this situation with the boys. Now. They wanted to see the fight. They couldn’t understand why so many people were ignoring Tsunami Blue’s warning.

Frankly, neither could I. I must be losing my touch. Maybe I should try that 1-900 voice I had used on the Runner Charlie. I touched my black eye and winced.
Yeah, Blue. ’Cause that just worked out so well.

Gabriel was running out of time. I was running out of time. And these kids were too. They just didn’t know it.

“Nick, Alec, listen to me.” They must have heard something in my voice, because they both went silent. Maybe they heard the fear.

“You know when I told you that Gabriel and I met Tsunami Blue?” They nodded. The little girl continued to stare.

“Well, it’s partly true.”

“Partly?” It was so dark I wasn’t sure which twin was talking.

“Gabriel met her.” And kidnapped her. And burned her house down. And lost her kayak, and…
Okay, rein it in, Blue.
They don’t have to know that part.

“You didn’t meet her?” Who asked that? It didn’t matter. At least they were paying attention.

“I didn’t have to, boys. You see, I’m not…
They can’t know who you are. They can’t know. It’s too dangerous…too dangerous. Kids talk.

Too late
, I thought. There was no other way.

“I’m not Bambi, boys.”

“Huh?”

“I’m—”

“You’re Tsunami Blue,” a small voice said in the dark. “You’re her.”

“The new kid’s crazy.”

“Yeah, she’s losin’ it.”

“Stop, boys, just stop.” My voice had that pleading quality that sometimes bled out over the airwaves. And it gave me an idea.

“Nick, Alec, little one,” I said softly. “Give me your hands. Everyone.”

“Oh, man,” one twin complained.

“What if someone sees us?” The other twin.

“’Kay.” The voice of our little one.

Joining hands in the dark with the intimacy only friendship could bring, we connected. The fact that it was pitch-black and I pinkie-swore to the boys that no one could see us helped too.

“Now close your eyes and listen. Listen to my voice.”

“This is crazy,” said Alec.

“Lame,” said Nick.

“Just listen. I saved your lives once tonight, and I’m trying to do it again.”

“Okay. But this is embarrassing.” Twin One.

“Do we get to sing ‘Kumbaya’?” Twin Two.

“’Kay.”

All three on board, a relief.

Then, before I opened my mouth, the sea blew in with the mist and wrapped around the children.

Listen
, it whispered,
Listen. Listen. Listen.

The kids shivered and got real quiet.

I took a deep breath of the cold northern winter night and looked to the stars for comfort. They were there, like always. I closed my eyes and for I moment I was home again on my beach, with Max playing in the surf. And it was time to broadcast, time for a moon bounce.

“And so, my friends,” I began, “the moon is full, the sea calm, and the wave? The wave, my friends, sleeps tonight. And so can you. This is Tsunami Blue signing—”

“You really are her?” Alec broke in, and I could hear the awe in his voice.

“Yes.” I squeezed his hand. “I really am.”

“Wow,” Nick breathed, “cool.”

“Knew it,” said our newest little member.

The kids couldn’t see me blinking back tears. I took a moment so I could trust my voice. I had to get these kids to safety. To send them running for high ground. To send them running for their lives. But I couldn’t take them myself and still save Gabriel.

First, the four of us smeared mud and dirt along my arm to cover what we could of my tattoo. The boys enjoyed Project Conceal a bit too much, and before I knew it I looked like a female mud wrestler from Vegas.
Great.

As we worked, I had noticed only the swarms of people heading for the cage in a constant stream of ragtag, filthy bodies, pushing and shoving, fighting to get ahead of the herd. It was only after watching a woman with a group of kids moving in the opposite direction that I noticed a much smaller group moving away from the crowd. Toward high ground.

And that was how I had found Jess, a middle-aged woman who was sweet and kind and trustworthy.

In short order, she taught me that not all Uplanders were created equal. Some were evil by nature. I guessed they just got tired of being wet. Trust me, that would piss anyone off. But there were many more who still had their humanity left.

Nick, Alec, and our little one now stood next to Jess and not next to me. She’d agreed to take them to higher ground. And—thank you, God—she was taking them now.

“Nick, Alec, take care of our little one. She’s in your hands now. And, Jess, thank you.” I gave the round, stout woman a hug and a packet of Starbucks. She smelled of apples and cinnamon and trust and hope. Okay, I knew there was no smell for trust and hope, but it seemed right, felt right, to entrust the Uplander woman before me with the kids. And the sea, whispering all around me now, agreed.

Jess had no idea who I really was. And the kids, who now seemed to understand the danger, had been pinkie-sworn to keep the secret. A secret that would save their lives should they encounter the wrong people. Which was likely. Which made me sick with fear. I tried not to show it.

And I had been right about the boys. They were not being raised by Runners after all. In fact they had laughed when I asked them. New False Bay held a small colony of Uplanders, a network of survivors gathered together by who else? Gabriel Black. Just who was this man, really? I was determined to find out.

But for now the kids were heading up to Grouse Mountain on a solar-powered tram. Or, in these dark winter months, more like a people-powered tram. And when Jess had pressed the packet of Starbucks back into my hand, telling me to keep it, I might need it more, I knew I had made the right decision. So why, when I watched them mesh with the crowd and fade into the night, did my heart break all over again?

I stood outside of what looked like the gates of hell and smiled. Our new “little one” had a name.
Aubrey.
A beautiful name, made even more beautiful when she put her arms around me and whispered it in my ear for the first time. Just before she said good-bye.

I had given her a high five and a kiss and a hug.
Welcome to Team Blue,
I’d said.

And then they were gone. Off to safety. At least for this wave. After all, it was just a little monster.

As I made my way toward the makeshift arena, my thoughts were of Gabriel and the task before me. I wasn’t sure what that task would entail, only that it seemed daunting and dangerous and, well, most likely impossible. Still, I had to do it. I had to save Gabriel. If not for me, for the boys. Nick and Alec were devastated to learn Gabriel was nowhere to be found. And I hadn’t the stomach to tell them I knew exactly where he was. I hadn’t the stomach to tell them they might never see him again.

I still couldn’t believe the boys had hitched a ride to New Vancouver by junk. The sketchy supply boat that made the rounds in the New San Juans. Sketchy because you never knew for sure where or when it might show. Or better yet, if it would show at all. I’d heard stories that the crew, drunk on absinthe, had lost their bearings, ended up in New Canada, and an entire family of six had starved because they hadn’t gotten supplies. I had always hoped that was just a story.

The timetable might be sketchy, but the fact that sometimes Runners took over the junk was downright scary.

Gabriel would be so furious with the twins for taking such a risk. If he lived to find out.

And little Aubrey? The girl with the amazing whiskey-brown eyes? Still a mystery. But at least I knew her name. At least she was safe.

So here I was in the New World Order of Extreme Cage Fighting. At least, that was what the sign read. And, like I said, it looked like the gates of hell.

Thank God the boys hadn’t come.

Giant torches lit the walkway into the old Capital Arena. Or should I say half the arena. Damaged by floodwaters, the ruins didn’t look anything like an arena. No roof, missing a side, it was like everything else in New Vancouver: damaged. Inside and out.

I traveled a double-wide path that went on forever. I was flanked on either side by light and smoke and flame. The crowd roared from inside and I could smell the taint of too much booze, too much blood, too much sin. This place felt wrong, evil…unholy.

Vendors lined the path. Some stood beside jars of snake wine, trading and bartering for a taste of their nasty brew.

Clear glass containers of varying sizes held the carcasses of some of the most dangerous snakes in the world. Their lifeless, coiled bodies, fermented and rotted in the liquid. People everywhere were drinking once illegal brew, smoking once illegal weed, and chewing old meds like gum.

Some were shooting up with needles so contaminated that they risked dying from the rusted, salt-pocked metal more than the drugs.

Runners were all over. 

In all this, how was I ever going to get to Gabriel? Much less get him out of here.

“Hey, you, girly. You need cleaning up real bad. How ’bout you come on over and I’ll hose you off. Looks like you got something on your arm there.”

I stopped midstream, my hand flying to my tattoo. Relief flooded me as I felt the thick ooze, now drying into a shield of camouflage. I got knocked hard from behind by two mean-looking women who pushed me toward the man who had shouted out to me.

“Get your scrawny ass out of the way,” one woman said.

“Stupid bitch,” said the other as they shoved past me.

I glared at them over my shoulder. Man, how I loved the friendly folks of New Vancouver.

“Girly, get your ass over here and let me clean you up. I’ve got just the hose to do it with.”

I turned to face the man, ready to draw a knife if need be, only to see that he was trading what I desperately wanted to buy. Or steal. T-shirts. A long-sleeved one in particular caught my eye. I wanted it. Hell, I needed it. The mud would dry completely and flake off at some point. Yep. I needed that shirt. Now.

He was a short, stubby excuse of a guy, with a really bad comb-over. He was grabbing his crotch and making gyrating, lewd gestures, which was so not new. I rolled my eyes, drew my knife from the small of my back, and had it pressed to his penis in under a second. Needless to say the gyrating stopped.

His eyes went wide and his face paled.

“Look, Mud Girl—” he started.

“Mud Girl?” I pressed the knife in tighter. “Now is that any way to talk to a lady?”

“Sorry. Sorry. What do you want? I was only kidding.”

 “Of course you were.” I pulled back my knife, but only by an inch. “What I want is that black tee over there, the long-sleeved one.”

He paled more. “That’s vintage, man. That’s worth—”

“Your life?” I interrupted.

“Yours. It’s yours.”

He reached back and pulled it off the rusted hanger behind him and shoved it at me. He looked like he was gonna cry. Over a T-shirt? Man, he needed to get into another line of work. I grabbed it and stuffed it under my arm, not making the mistake of pulling it over my head right then and there, giving him a chance to blindside me.

“Hold out your hand.” I pointed the knife at him.

“What are ya gonna do, lady?”

I smiled at the
lady
part. For a dumb-ass, he was a fast learner.

“Just hold it out.”

“Don’t cut me! I gave you the damn shirt, didn’t I?” He fell to his knees.

I slung the shirt over my shoulder and pressed the knife under his chin. He held out his hand. It was shaking, and I couldn’t blame him. I had caught a glimpse of myself in a cracked mirror strapped to a rotting post over his shoulder. Nick and Alec had painted streaks of mud on my face and forehead like war paint. My hair was a tangled, filthy mess barely contained in a ponytail. My cheek from the black eye was purple, and the shades only added to the overall psycho look.

I looked like shit.

I looked crazy-dangerous.

I did like the crazy-dangerous part, though. It seemed to be working for me. Of course, the knife helped.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the last packet of Starbucks Christmas Blend. It was smashed and flat, but it was coffee. Damn good coffee. I dropped it in his hand. There. I could officially say I made my first trade.

He looked up, amazement flooding his face, and then joy—pure joy.

I twirled my knife, just to be a show-off. New clothes will do that to a girl. I booted him in the chest, knocking him over in the mud, and I walked away.

I was almost in and the crowd was pulling and pulsating, like a throbbing organ. I’d donned my new long-sleeved tee, which, let’s face it, was so not new. In fact, it smelled. But what was I gonna do? Ask for a refund? What I was pleased about was that not only did it cover my tattoo just fine, but it had writing on the back that said,
We Leave Bite Marks
. Now I didn’t need the matchbook. I had the T-shirt. Much better.