Breakwater

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The swells are getting larger now. I shout to Shawna again.

“We need to go, now!”

She doesn’t react to me, instead she keeps searching the bruised horizon. The tide has risen and if we don’t go, we may not even make it to the island. The wind has picked up and the caps of the waves show white under the darkening sky. The rocks of the breakwater adjust and shift with the power of the waves that break early. I have to keep adjusting my standing just to remain where I am. Shawna ignores the boulder that washes away to her right.

“It’s not safe, come back to the island,” I say. The wind rushes my words away. I don’t think she is ignoring me.

Her father is out there. He was supposed to be back already. Where is he?
Lightning splinters the sky and for a second the gray waters below light up, the kelp forest silhouetted, shadow trees in the green flash. The rain falls out over the sea. It’s coming toward us, a wall of water and electric fire, the thunderhead warns the intelligent to retreat to higher ground. I stay with Shawna.

A choppy swell overtops the breakwater, knocking me from my feet. I catch myself, cutting my hands on the rough boulders. A second swell rolls through the rocks below us, too close to breaching the top again.

I see that Shawna has lost her footing too. She fell the wrong way, she holds on as the waves pull and lift her after having passed through the breakwater. I rush to her, twisting my ankle, slipping, scraping my legs. She is wide eyed, her fingers white. I take hold over her hand and brace myself to lift her as another wave washes over top of us. I hold on tight to her. She holds on tight to me. When the wave retreats toward the beach I still have hold of her.

She shouts at me when I pull her up, but I can’t hear her. The world has grown twilight as the green-gray storm clouds blot out the sun. Once her feet have purchase, I don’t try to talk, I pull. I pull her over the rocks, she resists at first, but the sky cracks, nearly on top of us, a deafening clap, and she submits. We rush toward the island which marks the midpoint in the breakwater. The waves push, pull, and trip our feet, but we pick ourselves up again and persist toward the high ground.

The lightning is striking closer, I fear we will be struck. Dead things begin to wash up on the breakwater. A cod was the first I see, and stepping on a translucent squid causes me to slip. My foot falls between two of the rocks. My foot is caught. I pull, but somehow my shoe has wedged into a place too small for it. Shawna pushes me, it doesn’t help any more than my pulling. I’ve already decided to abandon my shoe.

We hop and hobble along, the rain falls near enough that the air reverberates with a cacophony of rushing, roaring, splashing, whooshing, crashing water. It seems only to silence itself in the fractions of a moment between when a bolt of light can be seen and the shock of the superheated air reaches our ears. Ozone burns at our lungs.

The rippling curtain overtakes us, pelting us with near freezing stingers. I still hold Shawna’s hand, it’s the only warmth about me, but even that is fading. I look back for a second, her lips are blue with cold. She shivers visibly. I guess I do too.

With one more pull, I lift myself onto the first ridge of the stone island. I find footing and I pull Shawna up.

The wind whips at us. My eyes sting. We climb higher. There are no caves, no cover. The island is more of the same rocks that make up the rest of the porous stone wall which breaks up the south flowing currents racing into the bay. As we climb, the sea follows us. We’ve made it half way now. I see now nearly every wave rushes overtop the breakwater. It should be nearing four o’clock, but I can’t make out the shore from here, it’s too dark.

Shawna’s face is a mess of runny mascara and crimson dribbling from her nose, her black hair plastered to her cheeks. She points back out to sea. The red port light off a ship heading for dock bobbed and blinked. Even in the dark, I can see the shivering, chattering smile she gives me. My windbreaker is wet with rain and brine, and not warm even when dry, but it’s enough to wrap around the two of us as we huddle against a protective boulder and shiver through the storm together.