Oct 10, 2013 - [9:30 pm]
NOAA Coastal Monitoring Station
15 minutes north of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

"You're so full of shit."

"Excuse me?" Max takes her eyes off the single-story, concrete building to gawk at me.

We've been parked here for almost an hour, tucked between an old shed and a camper that I'm pretty sure has been abandoned, right across the road from the small NOAA station. The sun went down hours ago, making it pretty easy for us to hide until it's time to make our move. Unfortunately, hiding is boring as fuck.

"You heard me. You might've taken me by surprise a few times, Caulfield, but I'm pretty sure that you haven't turned into some red-hot seductress."

"What? I never said that!"

I'm not totally sure how the conversation got here. One minute I was asking some perfectly innocent questions about the future (because seriously, who wouldn't?), then one thing led to another and suddenly we were talking about some really personal (and pretty hot) stuff. It wasn't long before Max started blushing, which is basically blood in the water when it comes to my 'tease Max' reflex.

"No, what you said was that you 'can get my motor running pretty much anytime you want'."

"I was just repeating something that you told me! And I want to point out right now that you started this conversation."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Weren't you the one who wanted to 'pump the brakes'?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, how does our...my sex life count as pumping anything?" She holds up a hand before I can respond. "Don't. I know. I heard it as soon as I said it."

"This is different," I say, very generously letting Max off the hook.

"How?"

"This is super embarrassing for you."

"It really isn't."

"Then why are you blushing so much?"

"Because I'm..." she stops. "Never mind."

"Because you're what?"

"I said never mind."

"Because you're what, Max?" I reach over to lightly poke her shoulder. "Huh? Because you're wha-"

"Because I'm turned on, okay?" She cringes at her own volume. "I blush a lot when I get turned on. Are you satisfied?"

"I...oh." I swallow heavily, pulling my hand back, my brain now stuck on 'Max is turned on and it's dark out and we're alone in my truck'. "Um..."

"Relax," she grumbles, glaring out the windshield. "I'm not going to pounce on you or anything."

I almost tell her I wouldn't mind if she did, but I'm pretty sure that isn't my brain talking. The air in my truck's cab suddenly feels hot and heavy and for a minute all I can think about is Max's lips and all the places I want them to be right now. And while I don't know whether or not I'd end up regretting it later, I don't want to risk it, either.

I need to break this tension between us, though, and luckily I know just how to do it. There's one tactic that's never failed me. That's always been able to get through to her, no matter how serious or withdrawn she's trying to be.

Clearing my throat, I turn to face her. "Hey, Max?"

She turns to me, a flash of surprise on her face as I slide closer. Her cheeks are still bright red, and I force myself not to think about the way her eyes briefly roam over my body. "Y-yeah?"

Careful not to let my expression change, I lift my hand to her face...and gently press one finger to the tip of her nose. "Boop."

The result is instantaneous as Max's eyes go wide as saucers. She jerks back, sputtering, flailing wildly as she slaps my hand away. "Oh my god don't do that!"

"Ha! I can't believe it!" I laugh as she playfully tries to smack me. "The Max Reset Button still works!"

"You're such a...a...argh!"

"Oh, whatever." I roll my eyes. "You know you love me."

The words come out so easily that I barely realize I said them, and even though Max doesn't respond out loud, the little smile she gives me says it clearly; of course she loves me. And sitting here in my crappy old truck, pressed shoulder to shoulder and laughing softly, that suddenly doesn't feel as scarily intense.

It actually gives me a sort of warm-all-over feeling that I definitely think I could get used to.

"Anyway, if you're done making fun of me..."

"Never," I interrupt.

Sighing, she continues. "...it's time for us to go. You ready?"

"To meet this guy? Hell yeah." I nod to the only car parked outside the building; an Oldsmobile station wagon that's seen way better days. Except for the centre of the rear window, the back is practically covered in a mess of bumper stickers that don't seem to follow a single theme. As far as I can tell, whoever owns the car holds some very strong opinions regarding republicans, democrats, independents, capitalists, communists, and left-handed people.

Man, Rachel (holyshitthisisnotthetimeburyitburyitrightnow) would've gotten a laugh out of this.

The only one I can't argue with is the big sticker in the middle that reads, 'GET PRESCOTT OUT OF THE BAY'.

Goddamn right, buddy.

"You have the burner phone?"

"Right here." I pat my pocket. Just to be safe, we're leaving our personal phones turned off. Just in case someone can use them to track where we were the last couple of days after this whole thing is over. Anytime some part of the plan comes up that's so excessively paranoid, I just assume it came from David. Max hasn't confirmed that, but she hasn't denied it, either.

"And your gun is unloaded, right?"

"Yes, it's unloaded," I groan. "Just like the last six times you asked."

"I just wanted to be sure, okay? The guy working in there is innocent." She glances at the car. "Even if he probably is kinda weird."

"I hear you, Maximus. The bullets are all in the glove compartment. Let's do this thing."

Max nods, then vanishes into thin air. A second later, the station's side door opens and she's waving me over. Looks like the first part went smoothly. I'm just a little disappointed that I don't get to remember driving right up to the building, wrapping a chain around the side door handle, hooking it to the truck, and ripping the thing right off its hinges.

Pulling the cheap ski mask over my head, I tug back and forth on the sides as I try to get it to sit at least semi-comfortably. I hate having my hair up in a tight bun like this, but the last thing I want is to have any of it visible. Arcadia Bay is a small-as-fuck town, and it wouldn't take the cops too long to figure out who the blue haired girl in a mask was.

Dashing across the street, I'm careful to skirt around the lone streetlight on my way to where Max is waiting for me.

"You're a doofus, you know that?" she whispers when I get close enough. She's breathing kinda hard, but I can tell she's grinning under her mask.

"What did I do this time?"

She eases the door shut behind me, glancing up and down the hallway. "After the door came off, you started doing donuts in the parking lot. You didn't stop until the chain came loose and the door got thrown into the trees over there."

I laugh softly. "That's fucking sick."

"Yeah," she chuckles softly, leaning against the wall. "You looked like you were having fun."

"Hey, you doing alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah? Because you don't look fine. You look like me in gym class."

"Seriously, I'm okay. I just need a second to catch my breath."

Max might not want to admit it, but I can tell that rewinding had been taking more and more of a toll on her. Every time she does it, she comes out looking a little more wiped out than the time before. "Are you really gonna stand there and bullshit me?"

"I'm fi-" she stops, sighing. "It's just been getting hard to rewind. I don't know why."

I lean in, looking for the slightest sign of a bloody nose through her mask. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's just really draining."

Well, that's fucking inconvenient. "You think it's the storm? Like, the closer it gets, the more it screws your powers up?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" She shakes her head and pushes off the wall. "We can think about it later. We're on the clock."

This place really has the whole 'government office' thing going on. Bland carpets, off-white walls, generic posters on the walls. It's not even interesting enough to be depressing. It's also not very big and it only takes a minute to find a set of double doors with a sign that says 'MONITORING ROOM' in big block letters.

"I could be wrong," I whisper, right next to Max's ear. "But I think that might be the monitoring room."

I don't have to look. I can feel her rolling her eyes.

Moving quietly, we make our way over. One of the doors is propped open a little, and from inside comes the sound of at least three people talking. I can't make out what they're saying, but it doesn't really matter because we only planned on having to deal with one person. All the research Max did before coming back in time said that while it was still in use, this station only had one person working overnight.

I glance at Max; she looks just as worried as me. It's too late to change the plan now, though. We just have to roll in there like we own the place and hope that no one feels like being a hero. Taking hold of the door, my (completely useless) gun at the ready, I carefully ease it open to peek inside. I just about laugh when, instead of several staff members, all I find is one hippie-ish looking dude with his feet up on the desk, watching a movie on his laptop. And, lucky for us, he's facing away from the door.

I take a second to relay all this to Max - who allows herself a soft, relieved sigh – and I creep into the room until I'm right behind him. Swallowing my nerves, I raise my gun, press it to the back of his head, and say, "Don't move a muscle."

He instantly goes as still as a statue.

"Put the laptop on the desk, nice and slow," I tell him, hearing Max coming in behind me. When he doesn't do as he's told, I pull the gun's hammer back. The distinctive sound sends a tremor through his entire body. "Now."

Shaking a little, he closes the computer's lid and lowers his feet to the floor. Moving it from his lap to the nearby desk, he makes sure to keep both hands visible the whole time. Smart guy.

"Good," I say. "What's your name, man?"

"C-C-Cliff," he stammers, sounding really scared and actually making me feel like a bit of an asshole. "T-this is j-just a weather station. There's n-nothing here worth stealing."

"We're not here to steal anything, Cliff."

If anything, that just scares him more. "Oh god! Whoever you're looking for, you've got the wrong guy! Please don't kill me!"

I give the back of his head a sharp jab with the gun's barrel. "We're not here to kill you either, jackass. Calm the fuck down."

"T-then why...?"

"Because we need you to help us send out a message."

His face hardens a little. "L-look, if you think I'm going to help send out some kind of t-terrorist manifesto, you've got ano-"

"The fuck are you...it isn't a terrorist manifesto, asshole!" I take a breath. "It's a warning, and it's going to save a lot of lives."

"We need you to send an alert message to the county Emergency Management Office," Max jumps in, startling him. I don't think he'd realized she was there. "You're going to say that there's a storm forming off the coast, and that it's going to hit Arcadia Bay. Tell them they need to send a weather warning to every single cell phone in the town, telling everyone to get out as fast as they can."

"B-but there's..." He shakily gestures to the bank of monitors on the wall. I've got no idea what most of them are saying but judging by how much green there is I can probably guess. "I mean, there's nothing out there."

"There is," Max insists. "And it's going to wipe Arcadia Bay off the map around eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"There's no storm out there," he pushes back. "It's gonna be clear skies all night."

"Clear enough to see two moons?" I mutter, trying to keep my cool.

"...what?"

"Never mind. I'm telling you right now, Cliff, those skies definitely aren't gonna to be clear. There's a..." I look to Max.

"An EF5 tornadic waterspout."

"Yeah, that. It's on its way. And we'll see how real you think it is when it gets here."

"What?" He laughs, apparently forgetting that he's got a fucking gun to his head. "Are you out of your minds?"

I jab the back of his head again. "Watch the attitude!"

"S-sorry," he stutters, shrinking into his chair a little. "B-but, it's just...an EF5? That's impossible. Can't happen."

"It can. And it will."

"The worst tornado ever to hit Oregon was an EF3! And that was in the seventies!" If he keeps shaking his head like that he's gonna make himself sick. "An EF5 is like...like...the fucking hand of god!"

"Yeah," Max agrees. "It is."

"Look, I don't know what you two have been smoking, but I'm not going to help you make up a pretend superstorm!"

We're running out of time, and I can see him getting ready to dig his heels in. I'm just debating whether or not to try pistol-whipping a little sense into him when I remember the ridiculous collection of bumper stickers on his car and a crazy idea pops into my head. "We're not making it up, man. We're exposing it."

He hesitates, just long enough that I know I've got his attention. "The hell does that mean?"

"It means that the storm is coming. You just can't see it." I'm pretty proud of how steady my voice is. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was telling the truth.

"You can't just hide a storm from the NOAA. We've got about a hundred satellites pointed at the US."

"Maybe not the NOAA, but from you? Personally?" I fake a slow laugh, stalling for time. This guy is really putting my bullshitting skills to the test. "C'mon, man. You know how shit like this goes. The NOAA is a government agency, right?"

"Er, yeah."

"Yeah. And all those elected fuckers who decide how it gets run? They have a bunch of big fish campaign donors just itching to call in a favor. Donors who'd be happy to see this town erased if they thought it'd be good for them. Enough that they'd lean on their bought-and-paid-for pocket politician to have all the warning signs covered up."

He definitely looks interested now. I just wish I had the slightest fucking idea where I'm going with this.

"Hold on." He frowns. "If something is getting covered up, how did you find out?"

Fuck me. That's a really good question.

"From me," Max pipes up. "I...I work for John Kitzhaber's office."

Who the fuck is John Kitzhaber?

"The governor?"

Oh.

"Mhm." She nods. "I'm just an intern but I..." She swallows loudly, glancing away. She's either an amazing actor or stalling, but either way she's got his complete attention. "I saw some emails...emails I wasn't supposed to read...about how they were waiting for the right opportunity...a-about how the people in Arcadia Bay are...are expendable."

Goddamn! And the Oscar goes to Mad Max Caulfield!

"Expendable?" he echoes. "What does that...?"

"Uh...hang on." She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a folded sheet of paper, and hands it to me. Her hand is trembling like crazy, though, and I don't think that's part of the act. I pass the sheet on, and while his attention is on whatever the hell he's reading, I take a closer look at Max.

She's trying to hide it, but she's shaking from head to toe and the small part of her t-shirt I can see under her hoodie looks like it's soaked in sweat. Behind her ski mask it looks like she's struggling to keep her eyes open. She's been rewinding. A lot. Enough to figure out how to talk to this guy. Enough to type up whatever is on that piece of paper, print it, then go back and hand it over like she had it on her the whole time.

"Holy shit," he whispers, pulling my attention off Max. "Is this for real?"

"Printed it myself," Max replies. "Probably won't have a job tomorrow."

"But it doesn't say..." He flips the sheet over, like he's looking for something he might've missed. "I mean, who's leaning on him? Who the hell would want to do something like this?"

I look at Max, and she briefly holds up a sticky note with a name on it. I'm pretty sure the desk she's leaning on is the only reason she's still upright, so I guess it's up to me to bring this one home.

"It's Prescott, man," I say, like it's obvious.

"Prescott? Seriously?"

I nod, praying with all my might for the god of bullshit to smile on me. "Y'know that whole Pan Estates project he's got out there? It's losing money by the fucking boatload."

"...no shit?"

"No shit. Far as he's concerned, a storm like this is a golden opportunity. It wipes out everything, then he collects his insurance money and walks away. Fuck all the rest of us."

He gives me a confused look. "But why cover it up? I mean, wouldn't his insurance pay out either way?"

Fuck! Shit! God damn fucking hell!

"Yeah, but this is Prescott." I glance at Max, and she holds up another sticky note. The writing is kinda messy. I can still read it, but what the fuck is 'surprise=more$$$' supposed to mean? "You know what he's all about. The greedy fucker wants to squeeze them for every penny he can get."

"I...guess?"

Fuck, I'm losing him! Think, Chloe! Think! Surprise equals more money! What does that...got it!

"It's not just about the houses, man. Think about it. He's got all that construction stuff up there, too. Tools, and trucks, and all that shit. But if people knew the storm was coming, the insurance company could get out of paying for all that stuff by saying Prescott should've moved it when the warning went out."

Oh my fucking god. That doesn't even make any sense. This is the stupidest lie I've ever told. Like, daytime TV stupid. There's no way in hell he's going to...

"That motherfucker," Cliff mutters. "That son of a bitch would sell out a whole town just to squeeze a few more fucking dollars out of an insurance company?"

Holy fucking shit, I can't believe this is actually working. "Are you really surprised?"

"Honestly?" He snorts. "Not really."

"Look, the storm's coming one way or another. They know it, and they're trying to make sure you don't." Time for the big finish. Taking the gun away from his head, I carefully let the hammer forward and step around where I can look him in the eye. "So what's it gonna be, man? Prescott, or the Bay?"

He stares at me, I stare back, and I can see him working it over in his head. Then, finally, he says, "Just gimme a minute to set up the report."

Nodding, I let him roll his chair over to one of the computers and, because I'm not an idiot, watch over his shoulder as he types. Everything looks good (as far as I can tell) but just before he can hit the send button I drop my free hand on his shoulder. "Hang on a sec."

"Why?"

"You're a good guy, Cliff, and you're doing the right thing. But just so we're totally clear, if there's some kind of hidden message in there that alerts the cops?" I pull back the hammer again, keeping my voice calm and even. "That doesn't end well for you."

"G-got it. Loud and clear," he says, nodding a little jerkily. "It's clean. I swear."

"Alright then. Once you send it, how long until it hits people's phones?"

"Depends." He glances up at me. "Hopefully just a few minutes. I...uh...I marked it priority and added a note about a satellite downlink failure. If we're lucky the Emergency Management Office will send the warning out right away without verifying it with the NOAA office in Portland."

"How lucky, exactly?"

"I dunno." He shrugs. "Sixty-forty against?"

"Those aren't great odds, Cliff."

"Best I can do."

I look up at the clock on the wall, waiting until it reaches 9:48. "Okay, hit it."

"Rock and roll," he mutters, clicking send.

"Thank you, Cliff. Seriously," Max says, sounding a lot better than she did a few minutes ago. "You just saved a lot of lives."

"I hope so. We'll know soon enough if it worked."

The wait is short, but tense. Unable to sit still, I start pacing the room. With each passing second, Cliff seems to get a little more anxious. He practically melts into his chair when, a couple of minutes later, both his phone and the burner in my pocket go off. I find the storm warning displayed boldly on the lock screen. Relieved, I toss the phone to Max; the relief in her eyes when she reads the message is clear.

"Attaboy, Cliff." Clapping him on the shoulder, I look back to the clock on the wall and start counting off five minutes. David is supposed to be talking to Mom right now. And if there's one thing I can count on the step-douche for, it's being annoyingly on time. Thinking about that and hoping that the rest of the plan is going as smoothly as our part, the five minutes seems to pass by in a flash.

"Alright then," I mutter. "Time to kill the lights."

Pulling out the scrap of paper with the other burner's number, I pick up the nearest desk phone and dial. A small part of me expects to hear something, which is dumb considering the bombs are almost five miles away. The line just rings once, cuts out, and a second later the room goes dark.

"Well, that was easy." All I can see of Max is a faint outline, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

"You did that?" Cliff asks, kinda nervously.

"Yup. We figure it'll encourage people to get out of town. I was actually a little worried it wasn't going to wor-" Before I can finish, the lights flicker back on. "Oh, fuck right off!"

"We've...uh...we've got a generator. It kicks in automatically." Cliff shrugs. "I mean, this is a storm monitoring station."

"He's right. Look." Max holds up the phone I tossed her. "No signal."

"Fucking sweet," I laugh, relieved. "Well, Cliff, it's been a treat, but we've got to hit the road. I strongly suggest you do the same."

"No can do." He points to the monitors on the wall. "I've got work to do here."

Max and I share a look, and she takes a step forward. "Cliff, you really don't want to be here when that storm hits."

"I've gotta be," he insists. "Even if someone can fuck with the satellite data, this station has its own doppler radar. Once the storm is close enough, I'll be able to collect data directly and send out live updates."

"But the phones are down."

"We've got a broadcast antenna. Five-thirty on the AM band." He points to a microphone and small soundboard against the far wall, grinning. "Bottom of the dial; you can't miss it."

"But..."

"Seriously, I'll be fine. There's a hardened shelter under the building that's literally designed for things like this."

Shaking my head, I lean forward to punch him on the shoulder. "You're a fucking badass, Cliff. Never let anyone tell you different."

"I try." He shrugs, heading over to the soundboard. "Now get out of here. And be careful. I wasn't kidding about EF5's."

"Are you sure?" Max asks as I lead her to the door.

"You kidding? I've always wanted to do this." Grinning, he puts on a pair of headphones, leans into the mic, and flips a switch on the soundboard. "Good evening, Tillamook County. This is Cliff, meteorologist at large, and you're listening to Radio Free NOAA, coming to you live from five-thirty on the AM band. I'm sure you've all seen the weather warning, and I'm gonna be here all night with any updates. I've got an iPod full of tunes, though, so while I'm processing that data for you, here's the latest from Arcadia Bay's very own PissHead."

The drive back to Arcadia Bay has been pretty quiet so far, and at first I'd assumed that it was because Max was tired. She already spent most of last night tossing and turning, and whatever's going on with her powers sure isn't doing her any favors. I kept expecting her to doze off against the window like she always used to do on long car rides, but after we'd been driving a few minutes she started giving me these weird looks. Just quick, furtive glances, like she's trying not to get caught doing it. Too bad for her, she's not nearly as sneaky as she thinks she is.

We're just coming up on the edge of town when I've finally decide to call her out. "Okay, seriously. What is it?"

"What?" Max jumps a little. Looking away, she pretends to be very interested in one of my many drawings littering the dashboard. "Oh, nothing."

"Uh-huh. Try again, because you've been eyeballing me like nobody's business."

"No, I..."

"Max."

She sighs. "It's...honestly, it's kinda dumb."

"I'll be the judge of that. Spill."

"It's just, earlier..."

"Gonna need a little more, Maximus."

She huffs a little. "Well, when you were all...uh..."

"I was all what?"

"When you were all 'That doesn't end well for you' and stuff? Being all intense like that?" She coughs, shrugging. "It was maybe, I dunno...kinda hot?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is that weird?" Max glances over and winces. "That's weird, isn't it? Just forget I said anything, okay?"

"Now, hold on just one second, Miss Caulfield. Do you mean to tell me that you think confidence and assertiveness are sexy?" I grin as a blush creeps up her neck. "Maxine, you deviant!"

"You shush."

"Next you'll be telling me you're into low-cut tops."

"You shush."

"Right. So if I were to do this?" I hook the neck of my t-shirt and pull it down. It's pretty cute how she pretends not to stare, and the look on her face sends an excited buzz through me. "I guess that wouldn't do a thing for you, would it?"

Her eyes come up to meet mine, a smoldering warmth in them that promises a very interesting answer, when a loud snap shatters the moment.

"What the fu-"

Before I can finish, the sound of something exploding roars up from under the truck, followed a half second later by the steering wheel bucking wildly from side to side. Panicked, I slam my foot down on the brake. I'm barely aware of Max's frightened scream as I try to keep the swerving vehicle under control, but I only manage a few seconds.

Jerking free of my grip, the wheel cuts hard to the left and before I can do anything, we're going off the road entirely.