15
By the time we reached the outskirts of the little town of Comus, the great hill loomed in the distance. It had been over two hours since the alarms first sounded, and no one knew exactly how much time we had left.
As we neared the entrance to Sugarloaf Mountain, we saw other people with the same idea. There was only one access road up the southeast side, and I remembered that it twisted and curved past overlooks and car parks, almost to the very peak. Then, U-turning, the road started down the southwest side, finally exiting onto the country road at the mountain's base.
Cars were politely lining up at the entrance road to make the assent. Father sized up the situation and turned up the exit road instead. I felt a little uneasy passing the one-way and do-not-enter signs on the narrow lane, but nobody appeared to be coming down the other way. Everyone wanted to go up. A few other drivers saw what Father was doing and peeled off the queue to follow us.
The sun was rising now, low and red. The dappled light shot beams through the trees. It was too beautiful to be frightened this morning, but Father seemed to know something, and he took risks to move us up the road as fast as he could.
"The mountain should be tall enough," he said at last, "but we've no idea exactly how high the wave will be. So we'll have to hike to the very top."
Joo Chen gave me a look that said "No problem!" but we both knew it was serious business. The hike was rigorous and Mother and Father weren't exactly young any more.
We moved up the exit road quickly and Father came upon a roundabout where confused drivers coming up the entrance road tried to decide which way to go. Father kept us to the far left and avoided the jam.
Soon we reached the car park just below the peak of the mountain where the road ended. A string of cars coming up the entrance road on the other side slowed and clogged that side of the lot.
Father swung the giant vehicle around and backed into an end space at the rear of the lot, pointing downhill.
"We're stopping here," Father said shutting the engine down. "Even if the car won't start later, we can coast downhill. We'll have to hike the rest of the way up. Gather your things and let's go."
As I stepped out of the car, the incoming traffic around us was getting noticeably worse. Horns honking, people yelling.
The cars that followed us up the exit road pulled into the few remaining parking spaces. Those behind them, with nowhere to go, simply stopped, blocking the way. We had made it just in time.
Joo Chen was already pulling packs from the cargo area. He handed me mine and helped me put it on. Then he helped Mother, too, while Father threw some heavy silver tarpaulins over the petrol containers and other items we wouldn't be able to carry.
Some people looked well-prepared and were unpacking hiking gear, but others simply stayed in their cars. A woman held the hands of two small children who looked like they had just been awakened from a deep sleep and weren't at all sure this wasn't still a dream. They just stood there, next to their car, not knowing where to turn.
Quite a few people, not just children, had only their pajamas on, and others just the clothes on their back. No food, no gear, no supplies. Understanding hadn't sunk in yet, that there would likely be no going back home after this day.
Father was looking around as if he expected to recognize someone, then turned to us. "We can't stay here in the car park. We need height. Let's move!"
We walked out of the lot over to the path signs, and here he consulted with Mother.
"The Green Trail will get us to the peak quickest," he announced, after a moment, "but it's a vertical climb of at least one hundred meters, so we better get going."
And so we all started up the narrow hiking path.
"Dr. Pak! Dr. Pak!" someone shouted. We all turned to look. It was Mr. Kasey, running towards us! He caught up, out of breath, a large pack on his back and a small case swinging in his left hand. A pet cage!
"Pak baksa-nim." he said, finally catching up to us, and correctly calling Father "Dr. Pak" in formal Korean.
Names are different in Korea than they are in the West. Last names can be different for every member of the family, and they come first, when spoken. First names are almost never used, and what you're called depends on who's talking to you. In many cases, it's impolite to even say someone's name aloud. Usually only native speakers can get it right. I was impressed, but it felt a little old-fashioned, too. We rarely spoke Korean at home anymore, and I wasn't sure Joo Chen even remembered any.
"Ah Kasey, glad you made it," Father said in English.
Mr. Kasey turned and bowed, acknowledging Mother. "Kim baksa-nim." He smiled and she smiled back. Kim was her correct name, but I was confused.
Mother is a doctor, too? I thought. Why don't I know that? Do I know anything about this family?
"Thank you for the com earlier," he said, addressing Father. "I was going to push north on 95, but I hear it's blocked now. Authorities are opening up both sides of all highways west to ease traffic, but it's all a big mess."
"We'll talk later," Father said. "Now we must go."
Father took the lead. I followed, then Mother, Joo Chen and Mr. Kasey in back. We had done this many times before (without Mr. Kasey, of course), but now it wasn't just for a little exercise, a pleasant picnic at the top and a sunset view. Now it was for survival.
Most people started up the Blue Trail, not knowing that it was a circuit hike that went around the peak instead of up. Only a few other people were attempting the more direct Green Trail approach with us, but it was a steep climb.
Here and there, people just stopped in the middle of the path to rest or get their bearings. Father muscled them out of our way with only a brief grunt of apology. This was no time for false smiles and polite waiting.
We moved fast and that made the hike harder. I was beginning to breathe heavily, and struggled to keep up. I knew it would be hardest on Mother. At last, we neared the top. An old range of rough stone steps was set into the last steep section of the trail. We had to bend over to climb it, like making a pilgrimage up to an ancient temple. I stopped, took Mother's arm and helped her negotiate the rest of the way.
Once at the top, we turned and looked out at the vista. Off to the southeast, the sun had risen red over the farmlands below. Off to the southwest, I could just see the green-brown ribbon of the Potomac River, gently glittering in the distance, separating Maryland and Virginia. It looked comically peaceful, with the nuclear power plant churning white steam out its two fluted funnels.
Oh no! I thought, as the reality of it hit me. A nuclear power plant!
The top of Sugarloaf Mountain was a rolling plateau about one hundred meters wide, with several well-worn hiking paths between the various vistas. A few heavy picnic tables with built-in benches were chained to stakes pounded deep into the rocky soil.
Large trees and mountain shrubs full of spring growth blocked the wide view, so you had to be right on the edge to see. We were closest to the southwestern face, and I gingerly stepped from boulder to boulder to catch a look down the shear granite cliff. It was thrilling and I had to take a step back. Then, I got down on my knees and crawled forward.
A line of cars was stopped dead on the access roads far below, snaking off into the distance. Obviously, others had the same idea as Father. I could see them now, looking like ants from this height, abandoning their vehicles and preparing to attempt the hike up the impossibly steep slopes.
"Good luck!" I whispered to them.
I looked up at the sound of loud voices. A small group was cresting the top, coming in from Green Trail. So far, fewer people were up here than I expected.
We took off our packs and Mother spread a blanket on the wide, flat boulders along the southwestern face, claiming a little open area with a good view. Father passed a large metal bottle of water around. I drank deeply. It was cool and delicious.
I drew out my pad, touched it on and searched for a signal. It was surprisingly weak up so high, but at last I got a FIX.
I tuned into the Record. A few of the new arrivals heard the reader, and gathered closer to listen.
"...less than four hours ago, the wave hit the west coast of Africa. Since then, the Record from Morocco and the Western Sahara has gone silent. Satellite photos show the water twenty miles inland and still moving, but large clouds of ejecta and debris from the asteroid explosion and from the continuing eruption of Cumbre Vieha are beginning to spread and obscure the view of this region. Tune to Wave 256 for live sat-cams.
"Another arc of the expanding tsunami is inundating Portugal and southwestern Spain, and will likely overwhelm the Gibraltar Dam, causing coastal flooding throughout the Mediterranean basin.
"Alarms are up across northern Brazil, Venezuela and the Caribbean, which should begin to see high waters within the hour.
"Officials in England are still trying to close the Thames Gate in the short time left, but it is thought that the size of the wave will swamp river defenses meant for a simple two meter sea rise. Reports are coming in of massive casualties in the rioting that is just beginning.
"As we speak, smaller pieces of Apophis are still burning through the atmosphere, from India to Alaska, and are visible to over half the world's population. Most are vaporizing harmlessly, but a few are exploding high above ground and causing wide-spread damage. More details as we get them. We encourage your reports.
"To repeat, this is an emergency warning.
"A tsunami of immense size is rushing towards the East Coast of the United States and is expected to flood coastal regions in little more than one hour. Individuals are advised to seek high ground immediately..."
The signal fluttered in and out for a few seconds and then I lost the FIX. Our small group of refugees was growing at the top of the mountain and everyone was looking worried. A buzz grew as people talked and the full magnitude of the danger became apparent. Many people were trying to place a com to someone. A few were successful but most not. The signal was weak here and the systems overloaded.
There were only a few small children in the group and most of those were crying. Everyone else looked shell-shocked. Including me, I guess. I was beginning to wonder if a 400-meter mountain was tall enough to escape what was coming.
And we had just over an hour to find out.
Mr. Kasey was talking with Joo Chen, who seemed to be very interested in something Mr. Kasey was carrying. Then I remembered the cage. As I came closer, I could see Mr. Kasey holding a gray short-hair cat. Its gray fur was so rich and silky, the animal looked almost blue.
"Hello, Young Moon," Mr. Kasey said in English. "Would you like to meet Smokey?"
"Hello, Mr. Kasey. You brought your cat?" My English sounded rough in my ears.
"Well," he said, "I couldn't leave him behind, could I?"
"No," I said. "Of course not."
"And it's just 'Kasey,' Young Moon. Not Mister Kasey, good?" he said in standard Mandarin. His intonation was perfect.
"Good," I repeated, "Kasey." And I smiled, trying not to blush.