Broken Tide | Book 1 | Overfall Read online

  Chapter 2

  Lavelle Homestead

  Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina

  Camilla Lavelle stared at her phone for a moment, then dropped it on the thick blanket that covered her chest. Reese had hung up. He was determined to continue with the fishing trip, despite her warning that now was not the time to be near the ocean.

  She stared at the ceiling in her darkened bedroom. Outside, a single car drove down the street, its headlights casting rectangular bars of light through the window shades. She watched the lights slide up the wall, cross the ceiling, and vanish as the car turned the corner, driving away from her house.

  It was just after 5 o’clock in the morning and she was wide awake. Cami threw the covers off with a huff and sat up, stretching. Since Reese was out of town, she’d planned a mother-daughter day in Charleston with Amber, who’d be returning to college in another week to start her senior year.

  Cami stared at the glowing screen on her phone, replaying the same tsunami model she’d sent Reese just moments before. It wouldn’t hurt to check the news while she dressed, since she was up. Cami clicked on the TV while she padded to her closet and picked out some jeans and a top.

  A reporter with slicked back hair prattled on about the latest political scandal to rock Washington while she dressed. She barely paid attention and perched on the edge of her bed to put on socks.

  “...in other news, reports are trickling in from our European desk that there’s been a volcanic explosion in western Africa. We’ve received video of destruction along the coast of Morocco...”

  Cami sat up and faced the TV. A shaky cell phone video played on the screen, displaying what looked like the aftermath of a bomb. Sandstone buildings lay in ruin everywhere the camera panned, and people picked through rubble and wailed, clawing at the sky.

  The cameraman shouted something unintelligible to a veiled woman standing in what might have been a street before...whatever...happened, and she gestured wildly down the road, then screamed and ran off camera. The view shifted as the man holding the phone rushed to a railing—it turned out he was on a second-floor balcony—and leaned around the corner to see what had scared the woman. Unfortunately, the video cut out and the anchorman reappeared.

  “The devastation is clearly evident, but what’s proving to be a mystery is the cause. Some claim it was a volcanic eruption, others a tidal wave...”

  “Tsunami,” Cami muttered, her hands clenching wads of the blanket covering her bed as she corrected the reporter.

  A map appeared on the screen and pinpointed the location of the African town in the video. Cami’s heart thudded in her chest. The city’s name was unpronounceable, but that didn’t matter. She cared about its location. An eruption in the Canary Islands could easily create a tsunami that would hit the coast of Africa before making landfall anywhere else.

  She paid closer attention as the video repeated, with the map in one corner and a scrolling marquee at the bottom, proclaiming a possible volcanic eruption in the Canary Islands.

  Then, just as quickly as they had covered the event, the reporter moved on to sports results from the day before. “...looking to clinch the division in the upcoming playoffs with a win last night over Cincinnati. We’ll have in-depth coverage at the top of the hour. Turning now to politics, we go to our senior Washington correspondent...”

  Cami flopped back on her bed, sighing. She hit the remote and killed the TV. There was nothing for it but to get up and make herself not think of her husband a hundred miles off shore as a deadly tsunami might be crossing the ocean heading for America.

  “I need coffee,” she groaned, getting out of bed for the second time that morning.

  By the time Cami left her bedroom and walked down the second floor hallway toward the stairs, her body tingled with anxiety. Nervous energy rippled through her system, making her steps hurried. She paused at the top of the stairs, and glanced down the hallway toward Amber's room. On a whim, she tiptoed across the soft carpet to her daughter’s door and cracked it open. In the dim light of the predawn darkness, Cami smiled at the slumbering shape, spread-eagled, face down on the comforter. The pale skin of one bare calf hung off the corner of the bed as Amber snored.

  She thought about waking up her daughter, of expressing her fear and anxiety over Reese's safety, of trying to calm herself by spreading the news of the volcano. But no. Worrying Amber wouldn’t do any good.

  Cami closed her eyes and took a deep breath instead. Amber was due to fly back to college next week. Today was their day, one of the last remaining times mother and daughter could hang out in peace. She knew Reese already had plans to take Amber sailing one last time, and Cami wanted to squeeze every ounce of joy out of her day.

  No. Cami’s mouth compressed into a tight line as she slowly shut the door. Until she had confirmation of her fears, she would do her best to tamp down the raging storm of anxiety welling in her stomach and stick to the schedule.

  By the time she made it downstairs to the kitchen, Cami had almost convinced herself that Reese was right—everything would blow over, and this was nothing more than media hype to boost ratings. She poured herself the first cup of coffee of the day, inhaling the rich scent of the prime Colombian roast Reese enjoyed so much. Wrapping her hands around the warm mug, she stepped over to the kitchen table and sat, peering through steam rising from the mug at the pristine view of their backyard.

  Any time she worried about something, whether it was finances, health, or family—or volcanoes on the other side of the world—Cami knew she could sit at her table and look into the forest preserve that bordered their yard and let peace drape over her.

  Instead of following the American custom of cutting the grass short and throwing up fencing around their property, closing themselves off from the natural world, Reese and Cami had decided when they’d bought the place to treat it more like a vacation spot. They’d left the yard to its own devices, with ample space for Cami’s garden, tended lovingly between guide trips. The garden, a wild-looking greenspace that overflowed with lush, edible foliage, provided more than enough vegetables and herbs throughout the long growing season. It kept Cami and Reese busy canning and dehydrating what they couldn’t immediately eat, saving the harvest for winter.

  Every time she looked out the kitchen windows, Cami found herself on the trail, on a guide, deep in the Rockies. That was where she truly felt most at home, and experienced peace. She took a sip of coffee and grimaced.

  “I could sure use some of that peace right about now…”

  After a few more moments of solitude, Cami watched as Amber found her way down to the kitchen, her hair tussled on one side of her head and eyes barely open. She staggered into the room like a zombie, drawn to the smell of the coffee mug waiting for her on the table.

  "I hate you,” she moaned as she plopped down at the table side. Then she wrapped her hands around the mug Cami nudged across the table, and sighed. "And I love you." The first sip hit Amber like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes opened wide. "This is dad's stash?"

  Cami smiled over the rim of her own mug. “Mmmhmmm.”

  Amber leaned back in her chair and laughed. "He's gonna be so mad.”

  Cami shrugged one shoulder. “He’ll get over it."

  As they sipped coffee, Cami relished the fact that she could sit and talk with her daughter about anything and everything or nothing at all. The conversation rambled on from the coffee they enjoyed—and how much it cost—to Amber's friends at school and what they’d been up to over the summer, to when Amber planned to pack for the flight back to school, and what she’d do with herself for two weeks in Bozeman, Montana before classes resumed.

  The entire time, nibbling away at the back of Cami’s consciousness, was that barely suppressed fear over the Canary Island volcano and the possible tsunami it might've spawned. Reese was out there somewhere…a thousand miles away, fishing offshore in the deep blue ocean.

  Cami closed her eyes. Why hadn’t he listened to
her?

  Soon enough, they’d finished their second cups of coffee, and Amber returned upstairs to get ready for the day. First up was heading into town so Amber could buy supplies for her apartment at school. At first, she’d been reluctant to accept Cami's offer of charity, but when Cami offered to ship to campus anything they bought so that she didn't have to take it on the plane, Amber reluctantly agreed.

  Cami smiled, listening to Amber get ready upstairs. She and Reese had raised a fiercely independent daughter who didn't like to rely on anyone for anything—even her parents—so when Amber finally agreed to let Cami buy some food and toiletries, it'd made her day.

  As Cami washed the mugs, she hummed to herself in false contentedness. No matter how she distracted herself with chores or planning out the day, she felt a constant urge to pick up her phone and check the latest updates on the volcano and any possible tsunamis. In fact, as soon as Amber had disappeared upstairs, her resolve had broken and Cami picked up her phone, hurriedly thumbing through page after page of prepper forum posts, looking for clues she might've missed in the shockingly incomplete news.

  A few tidbits of information, mostly from overseas news services, seemed to confirm that something happened out there. European seismologists had been tipped off by America’s National Tsunami Warning Center in Alaska about anomalous wave signatures detected by its network of deepwater buoys.

  On the surface, that meant nothing, Cami concluded as she finished drying their plates. But it could mean something. She knew from her research that tsunamis gained their legendary size only when they approached land. A few blips from buoys out in the middle of the Atlantic might just as well be caused by gusts of wind.

  Cami leaned forward over the sink and stared out the window, for once not seeing the trees, grass, and squirrels in the yard. At that moment she would've given her right arm to have unfettered access to the NTWC in Alaska. If a tsunami had been triggered, why hadn’t they said anything?

  But she didn't have that kind of access. Frowning, Cami picked up the wet, clean coffee mugs and used a towel to dry them. She had to focus on what she could control, and not worry about what might be. Amber only had a few more days before she flew away for another long school year, and all too soon, her baby girl would graduate college and move away from home. Despite her worry over Reese's safety and her fear over the possible tsunami, Cami realized she couldn't waste the precious time she had with Amber.

  And so, when Amber came bounding down the stairs full of caffeine energy and dressed for the day with her hair pulled back in a smart ponytail, Cami dried her hands on the dishtowel and grabbed her purse. "Ready for some shopping?"

  Amber grinned, for a moment looking to Cami like the precocious ten-year old in the picture by the coat closet. “I’m more ready for that pedicure you promised this afternoon, but I suppose shopping will have to tide me over for now.”

  By the time they made it to the outskirts of Charleston, Cami was almost ready to believe nothing was wrong. She’d received no government alerts, and there was very little chatter on any of the prepper forums she frequented. The news continued to repeat snippets of information coming from Africa...and that was that.

  Cami realized the drive into town with Amber had been just what she’d needed to take her mind off the potential disaster speeding their way across the Atlantic. For all she knew, Reese was right—this would turn out to be a fat load of nothing.

  But the traffic streaming out of Charleston soon ruined her mood and sent a spike of adrenaline coursing through her veins again. Her hands gripped the wheel with white knuckles as they rounded a final curve to see bumper-to-bumper traffic clogging every road out of the city in stark contrast to the empty lanes leading east toward downtown.

  “What’s going on?” Amber asked with a smile. “Is there a hurricane we don’t know about?”

  Cami grimaced at the joke. All thoughts of a relaxing mother-daughter day flew out the window as they drove by a Walmart. The parking lot looked no different than any other August morning. A gap in the traffic emerged near the entrance, so Cami took it, making a hard right and eliciting a squeak of surprise from Amber.

  “Sorry, honey,” Cami muttered, turning them into the parking lot and pulling toward the storefront.

  “Why are we stopping here? I thought—”

  “School supplies, remember?” Cami asked.

  “Um, yeah...” Amber said, drawing out the word as Cami pulled into an open spot on the side of the massive building, away from the main lot. “I was thinking Bath and Bodyworks for shower stuff, you know?”

  Cami snorted and shifted into park. “You need paper towels, toilet paper—that kind of stuff too, right?”

  “Well, yeah,” Amber admitted. “I guess…”

  “Then we may as well get it here.”

  Amber didn’t give in so easily. “Why are you parking over here, though? There’s plenty of spots right in front.”

  “They’re all in the sun, and I hate to come back to a hot car,” Cami replied, getting out. “Besides, the side entrance is closer to the parking lot exit. See? Now, come on, I’m buying.”

  Amber unbuckled and climbed out into the building’s shadow. “You could have led with that. What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  It took them almost an hour, but Cami didn’t want to blow an opportunity to stock up. She knew in her gut that something bad was coming, and this might be her last chance to find supplies. As they walked the aisles, past dozens of people blithely chatting on phones or corralling children, Cami’s fears continued to build. She found herself adding canned goods and bags of rice and beans to the cart, buried under paper products and a couple cases of bottled water.

  Over Amber’s repeated objections, Cami made her find a second cart and fill that one, too. By the time they checked out, Cami felt satisfied she had enough food, water, and basic supplies to supplement the stocks at home for another month—more if she rationed.

  The cashier’s eyebrows rose as she took in the carts that pulled into her lane. “How y’all doin? Leave any for the other folks?”

  “My daughter’s going off to college,” Cami said quickly, pulling her wallet from the tactical purse over her shoulder. She smiled, thinking of Reese’s jokes about her handbag, which looked like a mini-rucksack, complete with MOLLE loops. It was technically a first-aid pack, but Cami found it the perfect size for a purse. It just happened to look…‘tacticool,’ as Reese put it.

  “Mo-ommmm,” Amber hissed, blushing as she studiously unloaded the carts. “Don’t put this on me...”

  The cashier, an older lady, chuckled. “Here I was thinkin’ you was just payin’ heed to that nonsense on the radio.”

  “What nonsense?” Cami asked, as casual as possible, as she waited to insert her credit card into the reader.

  “Oh, you know, that tidal wave business,” the cashier continued, swiping bags of rice over the scanner and tossing them into thin plastic bags at the other end of the check out lane.

  “Tidal wave?” asked Cami, pretending to be surprised. She’d been tricked before into talking more in-depth with strangers in public. It never ended well, and she still couldn’t shop at the local Winn-Dixie.

  “Is that what all the traffic’s about?” asked Amber quietly, hefting a bag of dried beans onto the checkout conveyor.

  The cashier snorted. “All them Yankees runnin’ for the hills. I tell you what—I lived through every hurricane what ever hit here. Even them bad ones in the ‘60s. Don’t see me runnin’ from a little water.”

  Cami smiled at the woman’s pronunciation of hurricane like ‘hurry-kin.’ “It does seem a bit far-fetched, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “I’ll say,” the cashier groused. “But it’s only a matter of time before people come in here like it’s the end of the world. I done worked my Black Friday shift last year—ain’t nobody wanna do that twice a year.”

  After paying and thanking the cashier for her help, Cami and Amber took their loo
t out to the car. Cami couldn’t help but notice the store was busier on the way out than when they’d arrived. Why hadn’t she received any alerts on her phone?

  “Wow, the lot sure filled up,” Amber observed when they emerged outside again. “What was she talking about, with all that about Yankees leaving?”

  Cami led them to their car, an older Nissan Pathfinder, and popped the tailgate. “There was a...well, a volcano exploded over near Africa. In the Canary Islands this morning around 5 o’clock…”

  Amber paused, her bag halfway between the cart and the car. “Cumbre Vieja?”

  Cami almost dropped her own bag. “How…?” As they got to the car, she felt her phone vibrate, nestled against her side in the purse. She unlocked the car for Amber and pulled her phone out, juggling a bag in her other hand.

  She’d joined a Zello group—SC Emergency Comms—that used the popular app like a digital ham radio network. Alerts and messages could be passed, and group chats held, just like on regular ham radios, all at the push of a button. As long as she kept the app active and the phone charged, it was an invaluable source of information—but the net wasn’t very active. That meant something too, but what?

  Amber smiled and put her bag in the car, then reached for another. “Mom, just because I think most of your disaster theories are a little far fetched, doesn’t mean I don’t listen.”

  Cami smiled, and gave her daughter a one-armed hug. “Thank you,” she whispered into Amber’s hair, closing her eyes in relief. It felt good to have at least one person on her side. Normally, she was fine with people rolling their eyes at her. She knew Reese paid attention, but outwardly, he affected an aloof attitude that hurt sometimes.

  This time, Cami knew it was going to be different. She just didn’t know how different. “That helps, sweetie—a lot. Thank you.”

  “Of course, mom!” Amber chirped, reaching for another bag. “Besides, if it means you keep buying me stuff…”

  “Excuse me,” a man said, shocking Cami at how fast he’d appeared behind them. “Are y’all done with these carts? They don’t have any more inside...”