Maura yawned as she arranged her desk, sliding folders into neat stacks, sweeping pencils into their little cup, giving one last glance to tomorrow's schedule before closing her planner and straightening it just so. It had been a long day at the clinic; the quarterly town checkups had just started so for the next week her little office would be her home base. Every three months the citizens of Seabrook were encouraged to come in for a general exam as a way to make sure people were healthy and happy, but also Maura liked to take a little time to catch up with those she might not have seen in a while. Even though it meant long days, sometimes not wrapping up until well after dark, even with Katie and Fernando taking their share of patients.
She was just hanging her white coat on the rack by the desk when she heard a soft knock at the office door. She smiled.
"Hi there, darlin'," Brenda said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You ready?"
Brenda often hung around after work to walk home with her, particularly when Maura stayed late. Maura had insisted several times that she was perfectly capable of getting herself to the cottage, but still felt a little warm thrill every time Brenda showed up, leaning against the door frame, huge bag slung over her shoulder, smiling crookedly.
She knew, also, that Brenda had a hard time being alone; that she got antsy and itchy and crabby with only herself to occupy her. She felt for her; knew Brenda needed excitement, stimulation, needed to have a problem to solve or a mystery to unravel. Knew that even though Brenda was as relieved as anyone at how peaceful their little town generally was, sometimes the placidity got to her.
"I'm ready," she smiled, picking up her tote.
"Anything interestin' today?" Brenda asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
"Well," Maura said, thinking back over her shift. "Not really, I'm afraid."
"Oh," Brenda sighed. "Me either."
They walked silently for a few minutes, making their way out of town to the beach road back to their house.
"How do you feel about sailboats?" Maura asked suddenly. Brenda frowned.
"I guess they're fine?" she said.
"I only ask because Lieutenant Baranov told me today—I'd forgotten until just now—that he's nearly finished with the Okeanskaya Koroleva, and asked if we'd be interested in going on the maiden voyage; he and Fernando are planning on sailing up the coast, apparently there are some very interesting rock formations north of here."
"Rocks, huh?"
"Interesting rocks. The Northwest Coast has some truly fascinating geologic features, including volcanic sediments and a wide variety of Precambrian and Jurassic—"
"All right, all right," Brenda groaned. "Save it for the tour."
Maura smiled brilliantly. "I'll let Anatoliy know."
Lieutenant Baranov had been working on restoring a 40-foot sailboat he'd found in a storage shed at the closest deep harbor, an abandoned and mostly-destroyed fishing town about fifty miles away. Seabrook hadn't made an effort to find boats prior to the arrival of the Russian sailors; it hadn't been something they'd needed. They had a few small vessels tied up at the little marina, rowboats and one small metal dinghy with an outboard motor used for fishing, but the sailors, under Lev Kuznetsov's command as the town harbormaster, had traveled the distance to Westport, a harbor they knew from their charts and minimal coastal exploration before arriving at Seabrook, to see if there was anything usable left.
Many of the boats—fishing trawlers, mostly—had sustained damage over the years, but Kuznetsov and his crew had found half a dozen sturdy contenders, had found volunteers to help crew them. Their little fleet had vastly increased the fishing capacity of the town, and occasionally boats would take residents on little coastal tours. Brenda had never gone out on one; Maura had asked her once if she didn't like the water, but Brenda had just shrugged, said she liked it fine, she just tended to prefer looking at it from the beach, and didn't much care for the noise and grime of the fishing boats.
Baranov's Ocean Queen was a different story, though—a sleek, elegant teakwood craft that had largely escaped damage or rot, stored as it was in a well-sealed boat shed that had somehow escaped destruction. He'd spent months hand-restoring it, scraping varnish, sanding the deck, repairing trim, polishing brass, darning sails. Most of his fellow sailors rolled their eyes at his pet project, occupied as they were with the constant repairs to their own vessels, but the word was that Baranov's Baby, as most people referred to it, was a thing of beauty.
Maura hoped that a sailboat trip would be something for Brenda to look forward to. She didn't like seeing her so bored, so aimless, even though there was a part of her that really wished Brenda could find a hobby that interested her. She knew, though, that work had been Brenda's whole life, and even though she'd spent years in Utah without task, being in Seabrook, a place full of people, full of activity, meant the itch for occupation had returned.
"It'll be lovely," Maura said as she pushed into the house, setting her bag next to the little occasional table next to the door. "The weather is getting nicer, and it'll be fun to see something new."
"Sure," Brenda said, offering an unconvincing smile.
"Honey," Maura sighed, taking her hand.
"I'm sorry," Brenda grumbled. "It'll be real nice. I know." She wrapped her arms around Maura, resting her chin on Maura's shoulder. "And I know I should be happy that everything's calm and safe. I wouldn't trade that for anything. And I'm not gonna go lookin' for trouble, even though sometimes I wouldn't mind findin' just a little."
"I know," Maura murmured. "Are you hungry?"
"I ate at Molly's while I was waitin' for you. How about you, you eat yet?"
She nodded. "Katie brought me some dinner before she left."
"You wanna have a glass of wine, then?" Brenda asked, already moving to the kitchen.
"On the porch?"
"Sounds real nice."
They sat, wrapped in blankets, watching the tide roll in, not saying anything. Brenda's hands were carding through Maura's hair as they usually did, Maura leaned back against Brenda's chest, eyes closed, smiling.
"I guess it could be a lot worse than this, huh," Brenda murmured.
"Mm-hmm."
After a while, they stood, went back inside, darkened the little lamps and curled into each other, soft and warm.
Brenda didn't know what time it was when the loud pounding at the front door jolted her from sleep, only that it was still dark. Maura sat up next to her, eyes wide.
"You stay here," Brenda said, knowing Maura would do no such thing.
The pounding continued as they made their way to the door, Brenda reaching for the baseball bat they kept next to the little end table. Nodded at Maura to stand just behind her as she reached for the knob.
"Chief!" a loud, frantic voice called. "Chief, are you there?"
She opened the door to see Liz and Katie standing on the porch; even in the dark she could tell something was wrong.
"What is it?"
Maura moved to stand next to her, wrapping her robe more tightly around herself.
"Radio," Liz gasped; it was clear that both she and Katie had run all the way over. "Someone's on the radio, they need our help."
"Who?" Brenda shook her head, trying to clear the sleep from her brain. "Who needs help?"
"We don't know," Katie said. "I was at the clinic when the Flower Farm called over and told me to switch to the internal channel, that someone had been calling in."
"And we don't know who? Not our people?"
Katie shook her head. "Julie says everyone's fine at both farms as far as she can tell."
"Did you hear anything on the channel?" Brenda asked, already slipping her shoes on.
"Just static so far," Liz said. "A few clicks. Pierre's there now, monitoring it."
"And Julie didn't say anything else about what it might be?"
"She said something about a disaster, an earthquake, maybe a flood? Said the person on the radio sounded really frantic and wasn't making much sense."
Brenda frowned. If it was an earthquake that meant it wasn't Seabrook, then; not anywhere close enough to feel it. The radio picked up transmissions from thousands of miles away, so it could be anywhere, but the fact that whoever had called hadn't hailed, hadn't been able to clearly explain the problem, made Brenda anxious.
"All right," she said, throwing on her jacket, Maura right behind her. "Let's go see if we can't learn a little more about what's goin' on."
They made their way quickly back to town, filing into the little clinic. Pierre stood at the door to Maura's office, a dark expression on his face.
"Anything new?" Brenda said by way of greeting.
"Oui," Pierre sighed. "I have learned that this is a transmission from Alaska, very far away, but they say there is a disaster, that they are trapped."
"Are they there now?"
"They say they must go, and they disappear quickly. They say someone is coming for them and they are not safe. This was perhaps ten minutes ago."
Brenda's blood ran cold.
"Okay," she said. "Okay." She sat at Maura's desk, picked up the handset. "This is K7IDZ Seabrook, calling to . . . whoever's out there," she shrugged. "K7IDZ Seabrook, we received your message. Do you need assistance? Can you tell us what's going on?"
Static hissed through the receiver. The room held its breath.
"K7IDZ Seabrook," she repeated. "Do you need help?"
Another long, hissing silence. Brenda stared at the receiver clutched in her hand. "Come on," she whispered.
"Hello?" a faint voice cut through the static.
"Hello, yes," Brenda said immediately. "This is Brenda Johnson, Chief of Public Safety, Seabrook, Washington State. Who's there? What's happening?"
The radio crackled again. "Please," the voice said, and it sounded like they were whispering. "Please help us."
"Who am I talkin' to?" Brenda asked, lowering her voice as well.
"This is Monica Hallett," the voice said. "We're trapped, please help us."
"All right, Monica," Brenda said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. "Tell me what's goin' on."
"We're in Juneau," the woman, Monica, said. "There was an earthquake, and the channel flooded. It washed out the bridge, it washed out the whole town, and now we can't get out, and they're here, they're coming for us."
"Who's coming for you?" Brenda said, desperate to not let this person hear the cold fear that coiled in her gut.
"Polaris," the woman whispered. "They're going to kill us, please help."
"Monica," Brenda said. "Monica, stay with me. Who's Polaris?"
"Please," she whispered again. "Oh god, I have to go, I'm sorry—"
The transmission cut out abruptly.
Everyone stood motionless for a moment, staring at the radio.
"What do we do?" Maura whispered, eyes round and frightened.
"I don't know," Brenda admitted. "We don't even know what's goin' on."
"They need our help, Brenda," Maura said. "You heard her."
"But they're so far away, and we don't even know if it's a real transmission."
"Brenda!" Maura cried, shock evident in her voice. "How can you say that? That woman was terrified, we all heard her!"
"I know," Brenda said, voice rising. "Maura, I know, but Alaska—"
Pierre turned abruptly toward the door. "I go wake Kuznetsov," he said. "He will help us know what to do."
"All right," Brenda said, taking a deep breath. "Yes, that's a good idea. I'll stay here, see if I can't get them back."
"I don't know," Katie spoke up. "It sounded like she was scared of being overheard, maybe we should wait until she contacts us again."
Brenda sighed. "Yes, of course. But I'm stayin' right here."
Maura sat down next to her, pulled out a notebook and pencil, immediately began writing.
"What's—"
"I'm making a list of emergency supplies," Maura cut her off.
"Maura—"
"Brenda," Maura said sharply. "We have to help, if we can, and the sooner we start preparing the better off we'll be."
"But we don't know anything," Brenda cried. "We don't know how many people, we don't know if anyone's hurt, we don't know anything."
"We know people are in trouble," Maura said firmly, turning back to her list. "That's enough."
A few minutes later, Pierre returned with Kuznetsov, his eyes serious and alert.
"Russian is fine," Brenda said. And then, to the others, "it'll be quicker if I can explain to him in Russian."
"Pierre tells me there is an emergency."
"We received a distress call from a woman who says she's in Juneau, Alaska. That there was an earthquake and a flood, and that they're trapped. That they're also in danger from someone or something else there with them."
Kuznetsov nodded, staring ahead, thinking.
"And you have heard nothing else?"
"No, this just happened a few minutes ago."
"I have been to that place," he said. "To Juneau. It is on a channel, and if there were to be an earthquake in the mountains to the west it is easy to see that the waves would travel down with great force."
Brenda frowned, bit her lip again. "How far is it from here?"
"Five days' sail," Kuznetsov said. "Perhaps six, if the weather is not good."
"Five days," Brenda muttered.
"What?" Maura asked, setting her hand on Brenda's. "What is it?"
"Lieutenant Kuznetsov says it would take five or six days to get there," she said, frowning in concentration. "We could take our boats?"
"Yes," Kuznetsov said immediately. "Our boats are built for such a trip."
"He says we could make it up there with our boats."
"Is that fast enough?" Maura murmured, and even though Brenda knew she was thinking out loud, she still sighed.
"It's as fast as we can go, Maura."
Maura glanced up at her, a slightly-wounded expression on her face. "Yes, thank you, Brenda," she muttered.
"Sorry," Brenda muttered back. "Sorry, Maura."
Maura just sighed and went back to her list.
Suddenly the radio crackled back to life. "Hello?" the same soft, frightened voice whispered. "Are you still there?"
"I'm here, Monica," Brenda said immediately. "I'm still here. Can you try to take a deep breath for me, tell me as clearly as you can what's going on?"
"I don't have much time," Monica whispered.
"That's all right," Brenda soothed. "As much as you can tell us."
"The earthquake happened a few days ago and the wave just reached us yesterday," she said. "It washed out the bridge to the mainland and all the boats. We're stuck here, and we don't have much food, or shelter, and there are bad people here, who want to hurt us."
"How many of you are there?"
"Sixty," Monica whispered, and Brenda felt her heart sink.
"We can take," Kuznetsov murmured. "We have vessels." Brenda nodded without looking at him.
"All right, now, can you tell me about whoever's tryin' to hurt you?"
"Polaris," she said. "They're a—a group who lives on this island. Kind of a—a cult, I guess. We all know about them and they've been harmless for the most part but after the flood—" Monica cut out abruptly.
"Monica?" Brenda said, still trying to stay calm. "Monica, are you there?"
She felt her heart stop for long seconds, her hand clutching the receiver so hard her knuckles went white.
"I'm here," Monica finally whispered. "They're coming, I have to go."
"Wait," Brenda breathed. "Wait, Monica, you said there are sixty people there? Is anyone badly hurt?"
"Not seriously," Monica said. "Cuts and bruises mostly. But we won't be able to stay safe here much longer."
"Six days," Brenda said. "Do you think you can all stay safe for six days? Do you have food and water and shelter?"
"I—I think so," Monica whispered. "Yes, I think so. But please, please help us."
"We're coming, Monica" Brenda said, and Maura squeezed her shoulder tightly. "Just hold on."