WAVE

Chapter 4

I'm shaking. Violently.

I close my eyes, grimacing as my hand lays upon my chest. My ribs have to be broken. They have to be. It's difficult to breathe. The pain...

Okay, Gen. Okay, think. Think about tsunamis. I dig into the furthest part of my mind, trying to recall any teachings. Vaguely, the thought of a resurgence plagues me, as unfathomable as it is to comprehend.

Is there more? Could there actually be another wave? My eyes scan the distance in fear as I nod. I think there is. I can't stay here.

But where will I go? With no shoes? With no land in sight?

I have only one option, and that is to keep moving. To wait is a death sentence. I gear myself to jump, freezing every time I imagine how cold and dangerous the murky water will be.

I have to at least try—try to live, try to find help.

Shaking, I stand up, trying to keep my balance before jumping. The water that was once blue is brown, and while I sink into its depths, I see white static, blind from the jerking movement of the dive. While my body instantly resorts to a fetal position, the absence of solid ground to land on forces me to flail for the surface, letting the slow current guide me away. I shove debris aside, trying to swim when I can, terrified the next wave will come while I'm in the water.

Pushing forward, I lose track of time, arms stroking until I'm too weak and too tired to feel them.

Somehow, the sun still shines.

The sight of this land is hell on earth, and yet, the same sun I woke up to when life was sweet and fathomable is unchanging.

The water sends me into something solid. I push the lodged blockage aside with what might I have left, trying to send it in another direction. When a man's paled face rolls into view, his body bobbing in the flood, I shriek. He floats away from me, drifting to the right. Shivering, I sob. I sob uncontrollably.

This is a dream. Please, this isn't real. That man isn't dead.

Tristan.

I don't want to think about him. Don't want to imagine his outcome could be the same as that man's. He can't be among these bodies. Not him. His brilliant smile, his hair, his laughs torment my mind.

Just yesterday, everything was okay. I was complaining about work, not knowing that what lay ahead of me would be so much worse.

Tearing my eyes from the corpse, I continue, praying Tristan isn't the next body I find.

Please, let him live. Please.

Unable to face reality, drifting, I'm only brought back when my feet touch land. Everything is still submerged, but I'll be able to walk. I dive forward with renewed dedication, completely lost on time. Any time I imagine more water, another surge, I abandon rest. I need to hurry.

I step upon twigs, branches, garbage.

Relief.

While debris slices my feet, I close my eyes, feeling intense relief.

Straightening as best I can, I search the swamp. It's clear I'm outside of town, due to the absence of buildings. The closest structure ahead is some sort of storage shed, built with cement. Making course for it, I navigate the graveyard, staring at every person I pass until I'm desensitized to the sight, able to observe them without wailing.

I know my legs are swollen—my feet more so. I'm limping, but I keep my thoughts on shelter, unable to take the shoes off of the people around me. I can't do that.