Crawford Kilian - Tsunami - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

The reception room was silent and dusty. Its walls were decorated with colour photos of submersibles and scuba divers; Don recognized himself in one photo. He went down a corridor into a large, high-ceilinged machine shop at the rear of the building. Skylights cast yellow-moted beams onto the floor and walls.

In one of the beams stood a submersible on a modified flatbed trailer. It was no longer than Plummet , and only a little wider, but it was taller from keel to sail. Its nose was a hemisphere of glass; floodlights and twin manipulators were recessed into the sharply tapering hull.

A man stood near the sub’s pointed stern, his feet buried in tangled cables and hoses. He was adjusting a diving plane; his wrench made soft metallic noises.

“It’ll never fly,” Don called out. Morrie Walters lowered his wrench and turned, squinting into the shadows. In the beam of sunlight he looked almost skeletal: tall, emaciated, with stringy brown hair fringing a bald scalp.

“Don Kennard! What brings you back to the scene of the crime?”

They shook hands casually, unmindful of the three years since they had last met.

“This is your new baby?” Don asked.

“Yeah. She’s called Squid . She was supposed to be operating in the Beaufort Sea, before everything went to hell. Hey, did you know I’m bankrupt? Not that it matters. Let me show you what she’s like inside.”

Inside were two bucket seats, side by side, and banks of instruments arrayed on the inside of the hull. Behind the seats were lockers, batteries and electronic equipment, covering the circular rear bulkhead. Morrie ran through her specifications while pointing things out with a flash-light.

“She’s beautiful,” Don said. He settled himself in the pilot’s seat and crossed his legs. “And plenty of room. You’ve done yourself proud.”

“I know. If the sea level gets much higher, she’ll float right out of here. Think I’ll take her to Hawaii.”

“Bring her to California. I’ve got work for her.”

Don told him about the Sitka Carrier and Rachel . Morrie, sitting beside him, listened thoughtfully and stared through the bubble at the roll-up metal door in the rear wall of the building. He rubbed his sunburned scalp. “When do we go?”

“Next week, if we work fast enough.”

“I’ll have to talk it over with Jenny. She and the kids couldn’t come. For how long?”

“Depends. Probably all summer, unless we’re really lucky.”

“How are you going to pay me? I’m not taking U.S. dollars.”

“How about a bargeload of gasoline and diesel?”

“Oho. Not bad.”

“You can tow it back with Rachel and use her until Kirstie and I come back for good this winter.”

“For good? Hey, wonderful. But I thought you never wanted to live here again.”

“Well — Geordie’s dying, Morrie. He’s looking pretty frail. When he was still in his eighties, it wasn’t so hard to hate him, and my dad hadn’t been dead for long. After a while you can forgive a lot. And forget the rest. My mum’s not looking all that great, either. I can’t just leave her here, with poor old Samuel to look after her. Anyway, I made the deal with Geordie. For coming back, I get Rachel .”

Morrie nodded. “Good. Hey, it’s gonna work out. And we’re gonna have a blast with this baby. She is so state-of-the-art, even I don’t know everything she can do.”

The sun, climbing higher, blazed through the skylight and down onto the glass hemisphere. It sparkled and glittered. Don looked up at the glare of the sky.

The preparations took five days. With Bill, Einar and Chief, Don took Rachel out of the Fraser River and into Burrard Inlet. Once they had moored in North Vancouver, it took half a night to move Squid to her new home on the barge. Setting up a maintenance shop and fuel supply on the barge took four days.

On the night of Rachel ’s departure, the crew had supper in Shaughnessy and then squeezed Geordie and Elizabeth into the limousine for the last trip to North Vancouver.

“Everybody sleeps all day,” Geordie said, “and then they run around all night. Lucky bastards. I don’t sleep more’n two-three hours, day and night. Nothing to do but play solitaire and think about my sins.”

“That ought to be enough to occupy you and two helpers,” Elizabeth chuckled.

“It’s more fun than listening to you and Samuel tell me all the things I’m not allowed to do any more.” He subsided into testy silence, glaring out the window. Elizabeth looked at Don, rolling her eyes.

When they reached the dock, Geordie and Elizabeth stayed in the car. Don and Kirstie sat with them to say good-bye.

“It’s like sending you off to Harvard,” his mother said.

“Only more expensive,” Geordie growled. “Well, get going. The sooner you get down there, the sooner you can come back and peck in the shit with me and the chickens.”

Geordie’s supplies of diesel fuel had been large; Rachel’s tanks were full, and Squid’s barge carried a sizable reserve. Don and the rest of the crew swung between exhilaration at having so much energy at their disposal, and anxiety about wasting it.

The tug ran south through the Strait of Georgia, dodging deadheads and other floating hazards, and then turned northwest into Juan de Fuca Strait. The sky was cloudless but smoky; long, steep swells rolled up from the south. Off the mouth of the Columbia River, the weather turned stormy, and the swells became wind-torn waves. Einar, doing a periodic check for radio broadcasts, picked up a news bulletin from Portland:

“… accordingly , President Wood has agreed to suspend his responsibilities until normal conditions are restored and has urged all Americans to support the new Emergency Administration formed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff . The Joint Chiefs are now empowered to proclaim and enforce whatever regulations are deemed appropriate . Their first Emergency Regulation reads as follows :

“‘ The United States of America is hereby placed under martial law . All military reservists are ordered to report for active duty within twenty - four hours . Commanding officers of military installations are to extend their responsibilities to administration of civilians residing near such installations . Municipal , regional and state governments shall place themselves and their resources at the disposal of appropriate commanding officers or their designates . Failure to comply shall be considered a breach of the Uniform Code of Military Justice , and offenders shall be tried by court - martial .’”

The broadcast faded out in static. Don and Kirstie, standing just behind Einar, looked at each other.

“It can’t work,” said Kirstie. “The military in California are in worse shape than we are. How are they supposed to step in and run things?”