Finding the coast clear, Kyle ran across the street, swung open a white picket gate to allow him to scoot between a few more houses, and finally to an alleyway that opened up onto Garrett Harbor. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of boats moored here, but Kyle figured Derek would be watching for him, making their rendezvous relatively simple.

But there was a development he’d not anticipated. Kyle was not the only one for whom the harbor was a destination.

There were scores of people flocking to the boats, many with children in their arms.

“Come on, come on, let’s go!” a man yelled. He was standing on the deck of a small cabin cruiser, line in hand, waiting to cast off. A woman with two small children—a girl not more than two in her arms, and a boy about five she was dragging along by the hand—was running down the dock to meet the man. When she got to him, he reached out and took the girl in his arms while the boy hopped aboard.

The scene was repeated throughout the harbor. People were fleeing.

Kyle raised a hand to man in a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, scurrying by but weighted down by a cooler at the end of one arm.

“What’s happening?” Kyle asked.

The man glanced at him. “You kidding?”

“Where’s everyone going to go?” Kyle asked. Some of the boats people were jumping into were too small to handle the high waves they might encounter between here and the mainland.

“Just out there,” the man said, pointing out to sea. “Unless those fucking cars can swim, we’ll wait it out on the water. Drop anchor, wait for the goddamn army to blow those cars to fucking kingdom come.” The man shook his head. “To think I let them take my F-150 away in exchange for one of those tin can bastards.”

The man kept on going.

Okay, Kyle thought, so there’s panic and chaos. Wasn’t that what the doctor ordered? He could have anticipated something like this. Let these folks run for their lives. Well, not run. Sail for their lives was more accurate. He’d be heading out to sea right along with them, but he wasn’t planning on waiting things out and coming back.

Kyle felt his heart pounding. This was often the most stressful part, the time when one felt the most anxiety. Just when you were on the verge of escape.

Where the hell was Derek?

Kyle walked down one of the main docks, off which smaller, short docks connected at right angles. Wouldn’t Derek be up on deck, or up on the bridge, watching for him, waving? Maybe it was time to give him a call.

Kyle got out his phone, brought up Derek in his contacts, and tapped. He put the phone to his ear and waited.

Derek answered on the third ring. “Mr. Kyle,” he said.