James wasn’t certain about the speed of the onrushing water, somewhere between ten or twenty miles per hour, but that was an ordinary tsunami. A mega-tsunami? That was a whole different kettle of physics, but he had to believe they had a chance.
Union Station was sixteen miles inland from Santa Monica. The waters should be slowing that far inland, but—again, the physics on this were unknown. Okay, doing the math in his head, fifteen minutes to get downtown, maybe there’s another ten or fifteen minutes margin at Union Station. If Pearl was right, there would be that one last train for evacuees and emergency workers. They’d probably have to abandon the bikes and take only what they could carry. James studied what they’d brought, already sorting it in his head.
The train stopped at the Fairfax station; there was a larger crowd here, everyone who couldn’t fit into the previous train. But there was room. At least a dozen more people pushed into the car. James and Hu pulled themselves back against one side. The woman and her little girl stood across from them, the little girl staring curiously at their bicycles. The doors closed and the train lurched forward, quickly gaining speed and rushing eastward toward La Brea.
“What’s that?” the little girl asked, pointing at the air tank on James’ bike-trailer.
“It’s my rocket-pack,” said James. “For when I’m being rocket-man. Like in the song. Do you know the song?”
“No it isn’t,” the girl said. “It’s an air tank. And you’re being silly.”
“Well, if you knew it was an air tank, why did you ask?” James pointed at her, as if catching her in a game of tag. She giggled and buried her face in her mother’s side.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
That was enough. She stopped hiding and turned back. It was all a game. “Julia. What’s yours?”
“I’m James.” And then, for no reason he could understand, maybe because he just didn’t care anymore, he added, “And this is my boyfriend. We’re going to get married. His name is Hu.”
Julia looked at Hu curiously. “Who?” she asked. “Like Doctor Who?”
“No,” Hu said. “Just Hu. Like boo-hoo without the boo.”
“Oh, okay.” And then she said, “Could I be your flower girl? I did it for my cousin’s wedding.”
That’s when Julia’s mother put her hand on the little girl’s shoulder, pulled her back. “That’s enough, Julia. Don’t bother those men.”
Something about the way the woman said “those men”—James sensed her disapproval. Her expression had hardened.
“It’s okay, ma’am. Just being friendly. We’re all in this together.” But he turned away anyway. Maybe another time, another place, he might have said something more. But not here, not now. There was still the problem of this time and this place.
Hu put his hand on James’ arm. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing—”
“You should tell that to your face.”
“I was just… doing the math in my head.”
“Are we all right?”
“Should be.”
Hu knew James too well. He recognized the lie. But he said nothing. Neither of them said anything until they reached the La Brea station.
This platform wasn’t as crowded as the platforms had been at Fairfax and La Cienega stations. Fewer people here believed they were in danger. Maybe they were right. Or maybe they’d believed that they would find safety on their roofs.
The train was momentarily delayed in pulling out—there was a last minute rush, someone up ahead was holding a door and calling something to the motorman. The reason was quickly apparent. Nearly a dozen people, including several police officers, came charging down the stairs and across the platform—they pushed into the forward cars.
As the train pulled out again, Hu looked to his watch. “The wave, the first one. It just hit.” He held up his phone for James to see. “No wi-fi down here, but I downloaded the sim while we were getting Pearl to the subway.”
James studied the screen, a blue stain spreading inland. “You think it’s accurate?”
“It’s the one all the links pointed to. It’s that scientist in Hawaii. It’s supposed to be the most accurate geographic model. If his timeline is correct, our house is gone, the Third Street Mall—” Hu looked at the map. “Everything up to Bundy. Do you think the 405 might slow it down?”
James shook his head. “Not a chance, not if the wave is as high as that guy said.”
“Well, Pearl said he passed the sniff test. And she is the research queen.” Hu frowned at his phone. “I wish we had wi-fi down here.”
“I don’t.”
“We could see what the news choppers are broadcasting—”
“I don’t need to see it.” James said. “I don’t want those pictures in my head. Do you? Give me your phone—”
“Huh?”
“Give me your phone.”
Hu handed it over. “Why?”
James didn’t bother to answer. He pulled out his own phone and shoved both into a watertight bag, then slipped it into his backpack.
“Really?”
“Just a precaution.”
“Uh-uh. You’re thinking of something.”
James lowered his voice. “When the wave hits, if it reaches the Purple Line before we’re in the safe zone, that water’s gonna go down into the stations and flood the tunnel. We may not be safe down here.”
“How long till it catches up with us?”
James stopped. He hadn’t considered the question. He’d been so focused on just getting to Pearl, just getting her to the subway, just getting everyone aboard a train, just outrunning the wave front—he hadn’t thought much beyond that. He frowned in thought, trying to decide what he could say—and whether or not he should say it.
“James. Answer me. Can this train outrun it?”
James didn’t reply immediately. He took a deep breath. Finally, he reached across and put his hand on Hu’s arm, sliding it all the way up to his partner’s shoulder. “We’re making good time, Squeak. A mile a minute. We’re moving faster than the wave front—”
Hu reached over and put his hand on James’s. Quietly he said, “I looked at the video—the simulation. It looks like the water comes in awfully fast. Fifty miles an hour, maybe even faster—”
James thought hard. Finally, he admitted, “It’s plumbing. It’s physics. It’s everything. It’s the depth of the water, how much volume on the surface, how big the tunnel is, and how much pressure—” He trailed off, trying to visualize the problem.
“If there’s a hundred feet of water above us—” He was thinking aloud now. “I don’t usually dive that deep. A hundred feet, maybe a hundred thirty, that’s pretty much the limit. At a hundred feet, that’s 3 atmospheres, 4 counting the weight of the air above the water, 44 PSI—pounds per square inch. That’s a lot of pressure. If there’s that much water, it’ll be coming in fast, over the streets and through the tunnel. And if the water’s higher, there’ll be even more pressure. It’ll move even faster.” Seeing the look on Hu’s face, James stopped himself.
“We’re gonna get hosed, aren’t we?” Hu said. He kept his voice soft, trying not to attract the attention of the other passengers.
James realized his mistake then. He tried to cover quickly. “Only if it hits, only if it hits—” It wasn’t enough.
Hu closed his eyes against the mental picture, against the rising turmoil of emotions that were suddenly flooding up inside him, fear and anger and something unidentifiable. His expression collapsed and suddenly, he was sobbing. “I’m sorry, Bubble.”