Her palm to his, Katya leaned back against her seat and tried to sleep.

A dull red glow burned behind her eyes.

Chapter Eight.

Ved'ma.

Katya's voice echoed in Nigel's head, punctuated by the soft rhythm of her breath.

The one who knows.

He didn't believe in witches. Sure, there'd been the occasional media sensation over the years, this psychic or that voodoo queen or G.o.d only knew what else, but they'd eventually subsided. So-called "witches" were just people who knew how to play the odds.

At least, he'd thought so until now. She'd been right. Every lie he'd given her, she'd been able to tell. And he knew his poker face wasn't that bad.

Was it possible? Did she actually see this coming?

No. Not in a million years. It wasn't witchcraft or voodoo or whatever occult nonsense people spewed that caused this sort of chaos. It was science. Pure and simple.

The earth hiccupped.

Volcanoes blew.

This was life.

But he couldn't lock out the sound of her voice as she'd asked fearfully about G.o.d.

No G.o.d would ever allow this.

Not to thousands, even millions of Seattle civilians. Innocents. Not to babies like Junie.

Like Maylene.

His knuckles popped around the steering wheel. For the hundredth time, he replayed his daughter's words in his head. Love you, too.

She'd said it. Without prompting. Without wheedling. Maylene had told him that she loved him and then Laura had taken her away. Held her hostage because of some stupid point she wanted to make against him.

But maybe it was for the best. His daughter was safe in Bellingham.

Please, let her be safe in Bellingham.

He drove carefully, every muscle throbbing in protest as he navigated the cruiser through the remains of whatever street he was on now. He'd once known Seattle like the back of his hand. Now it sprawled in the false night like a strange junkyard; twisted and broken. He knew he had to aim for the coast. He had that covered.

But there was no telling what they'd find.

Out the window, flickering in and out of view, the fiery glow from Mt. Rainier pulsed. Like a vivid heart in the forced darkness.

Nigel shook his head. "Witches," he muttered. Not likely.

Beside him, Katya stirred.

Even just thinking about her in the seat, filthy and bruised as she was, set his heart racing. He'd almost lost her. h.e.l.l, he'd been so eager to put her into that helicopter. He didn't stop to think about the ash cloud, or the intake clogging with it.

It was his fault that Jake would never meet his new baby. If that baby was even alive.

He clenched his teeth, his eyes burning. They'd come this far. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd lose Katya, too.

She opened her eyes. They glittered in the dark, a diamond glint of blue. "Nigel."

"We're not there yet," he said quietly. "Relax."

She didn't. Resting one hand on the dash, she leaned forward, her mouth bent in a puzzled frown. "Do you hear that?"

He glanced at her. Noted the haggard lines by her mouth. The exhaustion she shoved aside as if it were nothing. He shook his head. "You were dreaming-"

"Shh." She depressed the window b.u.t.ton. It crept down a mere inch and then stuck, its mechanism likely filled with the sooty residue of Rainier's temper. "d.a.m.n."

"Katya-" But then Nigel stilled. Instinctively, he depressed the brake, slowing their already frustrating crawl down to a snail's pace.

The sound he'd taken for the ambient noise of ash slushing against city wreckage seemed different somehow. He hunched over the wheel, squinting to see through the dark. The headlights only picked out a wall of floating soot, definitely not the source of the rushing sound around them. "I can't see."

She flattened a palm against her window, pensive. "What's going on?"

"It's okay," he said, responding to the fear in her voice. "We're almost to the port."

She opened her mouth. The rushing sound rose to a heady roar.

His eyes widened. "Katya," he said, and the two syllables sharpened on a harsh warning. She half-turned, but he grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her down, half-across the seat. Too fast to be gentle.

Not fast enough.

Water slammed against the pa.s.senger side of the car, crashing into the metal and safety gla.s.s like an explosion; a fist of cement. The cruiser flipped. Gla.s.s crunched as the police lights on top exploded into fragments, metal ground.

Nigel grunted as his seat belt snapped across his chest, thrusting him back into his seat with the rebound. He heard Katya's scream, but she wasn't in his grip anymore. The car flipped again, and again. Rolling and turning with every pounding thrust of the flood as it swept over them.

End over end; the world turned and righted and turned until he didn't know which side was up. His stomach pitched and yawned, his chest aching from the pressure of his seat belt.

Pain seared through his head as the car slammed against something.

Swearing, still seeing stars, he fumbled his seat belt loose. It gave way, and he reached out in the near-perfect darkness.

He found gritty, cold skin. "Katya!"

Hands caught his, wet but strong. "I'm here," she managed, her voice tight.

There wasn't any time for relief.

"We need to get out before the water in here traps us in," he explained quickly. He fumbled for his door latch. "As soon as I open this-"

"I get it." Her hands found the back of his shirt. Held tight. "Ready."

He grunted. His options were slim. Either die in a watery tomb, or risk dying out there of exposure, hypothermia, or worse.

He swallowed hard. "One . . ."She sucked in a hard, painful breath.

"Two."

He closed his eyes. Please . . .

"Three!" He rammed the door with his shoulder as he pulled the latch. The pressure in the car tightened, as if a vacuum sucked on the door, resisted his effort. He strained, muscles popping, strained with everything he had.

All at once, it whooshed open. Nigel caught the door frame in one hand as water sluiced through the sudden opening. He grabbed Katya with the other, helped her out, and held her to the rim as she grabbed the hood.

She gasped. "We're moving!"

He'd been afraid of that.

Gritting his teeth, he wrenched himself out of the interior. The current flowed over his battered body, soaking him to the bone in seconds. "Up," he rasped.

She grabbed the hood, stretched as high as she could and tried to climb to the somewhat drier territory on top of the busted cruiser. Nigel forced himself up beside her, collapsing to his hands and knees as the car rocked dangerously.

Katya clung to him, panting.

He didn't know where they were anymore. He didn't know how fast they were moving; h.e.l.l, he didn't even know what f.u.c.king side of town they were on.

Gasping for breath, he clung to the roof edge with one hand and tucked an arm around Katya.

She gasped, her body stiffening.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," he said tightly, and caught her by the shoulders instead. "Are you hurt?"

Her lips gleamed faintly as they curved up in the dark. Wry. Apologetic. "My side hurts." Her voice was a whisper.

"Hurts how?"

"Burning." She huddled against his side, tucking herself under his arm as if he'd somehow be able to protect her. f.u.c.k, he couldn't.

Burying his face in her soaking hair, he muttered, "Bruised ribs, maybe. Cracked. Christ, Katya."

She eased out a shaking, sodden sound of exhaustion. A sigh; a laugh. He didn't know.

As his eyes adjusted, he picked out details as they pa.s.sed. Sparking cords to the right, some remnant of an electrical supply. Ruined, half-buried tenements on the left.

She sagged against him, her fingers tight at his waist. He looked down, saw the vague outline of her profile as she stared towards the southeast. Mt. Rainier flickered and danced; a vibrant orange knot smoldering in the dark.

"It's . . ." She took a deep breath; he felt her body recoil as it hurt. "It's weirdly beautiful, isn't it?"

Nigel closed his eyes. He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling the fragrance of ash, woman, and the unique scent of salt.

The fragrance of ocean.

It didn't matter where they were now. They'd never get to Petty Officer First Cla.s.s Winston Shepherd. They'd never find the Port Authority.

The flood had come from Puget Sound.

The port was gone.

She dozed awkwardly in his embrace. Nigel shivered, tightening his arms around her, trying to channel every ounce of warmth he had left into her body.

He'd taken his flannel off, draping it over them. It filtered the worst of the ash out, but he had to shake it more and more often. The cloud was thickening.

She stirred now and again. But because he couldn't help himself, he checked her pulse as often as he could.

Every few seconds, it felt like.

Katya shivered. "Nigel?"

He rested his cheek against her hair. The car b.u.mped gently, but he resisted the urge to look. He was desperately afraid it'd be another corpse.

He'd seen a few. Pale and ghostly beneath the water.

He closed his eyes. "What, sweetheart?"

There was a pause. Then, so softly he almost missed it, she asked, "Did you wonder why I . . . Did you want to know why I was there? In that place?"

He smiled. "Because you're a Good f.u.c.king Samaritan."

She raised her head. Muttered a hard word of pain and sank back into his embrace. He cradled her as closely as he dared, one hand spread across her rib as if he could protect it by his touch alone.

Oh, how he wished.

"Yes," he answered, to give her something else to think about. "Why don't you tell me?"

She was silent for a moment. He tipped the flannel slightly. Ash slid to the damp car roof with a whisper-soft sound.

"We were going to escape, you know," she murmured. "We had it all planned out. I went to the police to ask for help."

He was too exhausted to be angry. Still, the thought bit hard.

"They said no," she said, her voice thready with pain. She leaned back against his chest, and he looked down to see her eyes closed. Her mouth curved down, pinched with effort.