Travis wondered if this could be real. Had he finally taken too many pills to sleep? Was this a dream? Had he died, and this was something else? It was as though the drugs had returned to his blood. He felt as though he was stumbling through a liquid.

“We’ll find out if the president’s an idiot or not,” Corrina said.

As their own group reached the Atrium floor, Travis thought back to high school dances in the gym: that was his standard for crowd estimation, a full high school gym to him meant 800 or so heads. He guessed there were already two thousand in this room alone. He looked up to the crystal roof a great distance above, passing over the faces of the tourists on the radiating balconies. It seemed like a scene from the Wizard of Oz. He realized how much quieter it had become. Individuals crying out for lost loved ones or sobbing over their thoughts could be heard. There was a release of tension at getting where they were going, to a place that promised safety. Their brains now raced through what could happen on this ship. They desperately hoped to feel the ship move.

Travis noticed Corrina and Gerry holding each other tight, and he saw tears flowing down his ex-wife’s cheeks and over her smile. He kissed Darren on the forehead. He’d saved his son. Oh God, it was a terrifying and wonderful feeling.

“Come on,” Travis said. “Let’s push in. Darren, do you have to pee?”

Darren shook his head, no. He had stopped crying; his eyes were red and his nose dripped, but he was trying not to look scared anymore.

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” he said. “I can swim if we fall in. I can swim by myself now in the deep end.”

“That’s great, champ,” Travis said. “We’re not going to go in the water, though.”

They shuffled on together, tightening in the crowd as the city’s deserters continued to stream in from the several staircases. Huddled together, they simply stared, losing track of time. Travis noticed the on-board shops closed and deserted. After twenty minutes, or perhaps half an hour, they felt the vibrations of the engines coming to life. Soon, there was the sound of the ship’s whistle. Nothing else from outside could be heard, and Travis imagined the scene of desperation outside, as the ship freed from the pier.

With the last arrivals still pouring into the room, they felt the escape begin. The ship separated from port and from the unlucky still behind. From the desperation they’d been in moments ago, it was bizarre and jarring for the refugees now to find themselves surrounded by such exaggerated, fantastical luxury.

By the bottoms of the staircases, Travis noticed white uniformed men. Ship’s security, he presumed. This conveyed a real and specific sense of safety. The men were unarmed. Another statement of safety.

“Have you made your pick who’ll be first to piss in the fountains?” a voice near Travis said.

The speaker was the stranger from the pier, his arm outstretched. Travis shook his hand.

”I got that old rummy by the calla lilies,” the man said.

“Thanks for your help,” Travis said.

“No problem, no problem,” the man had a deep, rich and rough voice. “Got a granddaughter about his age. I’m Claude Bettman.”

“Travis Cooke. This is my son Darren.”

“Hi,” Darren said.

Claude Bettman crouched like a baseball catcher. “Hi Buddy. Not so scary in here, huh?”

Darren shook his head. Claude stood up straight.

“This is---- Corrina. And Gerry.” Travis turned to include them. “Claude helped us out after the crowd collapsed. I’m really in your debt, Claude, I mean that.”

Claude grinned. His lips were slightly purple, and he had an aristocrat’s smile. “I think this is the kind of event that cancels all debts.”

“Did you hear anything about how the evacuation was working?” Corrina asked.

Claude shook his head slowly. “I heard ships would head out to sea to ride out the wavefront. That was from a military guy on TV.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue what this actually IS,” Travis said. “I just woke up and all hell was breaking loose.”

“An earthquake,” Gerry said. “It split a huge shelf off the Antarctic. They kept changing the story. Whether the earthquake caused the tsunami, or whether one earthquake caused a split of the ice shelf that caused another earthquake, or what. But they say we’re going to have higher water levels. Once the wave comes in, the water may not be going back out. The whole East coast might be under.”

As a few outside the group listened in, Gerry pulled out his cell phone for a more current update. He couldn’t connect.

“Networks overloaded,” Claude said. “Every cell phone owner in America is trying to use it right now.”

Corrina had Darren in her arms now, and they rubbed noses and smiled eye to eye.

Nothing stops her, Travis thought, and he felt the familiar craving, wishing he could just join that embrace.

There was an electric sound as speakers around the ship came to life.

“This is Captain London. To all our new guests, welcome aboard the Festival of the Waves. An unfortunate name for this very difficult time, but this is a good safe ship.”

It was the voice Travis had heard coming up the gangway, the strong voice that first pierced the terror. It had been the captain himself pulling the refugees on board.

“We have an excellent crew that will keep us all comfortable as best we can. We will be making 15 knots out to open sea, and should be rendezvousing with that bump in several hours. That’s all it will be. A tsunami in the open sea is just a wave, you’ll hardly feel it. For safety reasons, I ask that all the newcomers please remain indoors whether in the Atrium or Royal Theater, and that our other guests please remain in their rooms. I will be giving a warning prior to meeting the waves. I know that this is a devastating day for all of you right now. But we’re safe here. Be grateful for that. Breathe.”

6

Lee Golding stood on the Penthouse forward deck, cupping his hands to light a cigarette in the wind. This was the top deck housing cabins, and the level had an extended lip at the bow, an outside deck at the far forward reach of the ship.

Lee Golding, the Mighty Lee Golding, the Alabama Assassin. The biggest name and most-hated-bad-guy of professional wrestling (once upon a time), was on board as a celebrity guest. The cruise line had planned a screening of his greatest matches followed by a Q-and-A. Over the three-week cruise he was booked to do a talk, sit at the Captain’s Table, and provide color commentary for a kids’ water polo game. Two of his films were going to be shown on the Festival’s big screen, the new comedy and one of the action ones. Probably not anymore.

His massive frame had not swollen with fat in his retirement from the ring like many of his comrades’. Not quite that much, anyway. His blonde hair receded slightly around his reddish temples, and hung long to his shoulders. He still had the trademark goatee, dyed silver. His face was neither ugly nor especially attractive. It was heavy and pleasant. He made friends easily.

Around him on deck were several other of the booked tourists, mostly keeping to themselves, enjoying the air that the ship’s captain had just asked them to forsake. There was no social convener to introduce them to each other. The ship’s security was more than engaged in handling the load of refugees in the ship’s belly and didn’t worry themselves with keeping the paying guests off the decks, at least for now. When the crowd below was under control, perhaps they would sweep the decks. For now, the captain’s voice on the loudspeakers was the deterrent. Lee Golding was undeterred.

He’d stayed in his room with his wife Jessica until the ship had left the pier. Then he’d left her there to watch the ship make it out to sea, and to watch what New York looked like being left behind to die.