“Camping? You think this tsunami stuff is the real deal, huh?” Amber looked at the cars. “I have to admit, this traffic is starting to freak me out…”
“I just wanted to grab a few more bits of gear for my next guide, honey. It’s a few weeks out, but since we’re here...”
Amber crossed her arms and adjusted the strap on her purse as they walked. “Mom, it’s okay—you can tell me you’re worried and you want to top off the hoard.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t call it that,” Cami said as they passed the midpoint of the bridge.
“Sorry...I just never really saw the point in keeping all that stuff in the house when nothing ever happens, you know?”
“It’s not about just keeping stuff,” Cami said, glancing over the railing at the river below. The tide was out. The river flowed southeast, mud glistening on exposed banks. “I just want to make sure my family is safe.”
Amber put her hand on Cami’s arm. “I get it, mom. Look at this traffic...come on, let’s just not spend all day in the camping store.”
Cami stopped and looked at Amber’s back as she continued toward the far side of the bridge. “When have I ever spent all day in a camping store?”
Amber laughed and looked over her shoulder. “Come on! I want some sushi!”
Chapter 3
New England Coastal Waters
South-southeast of Mount Desert Island, Maine
Five hours later, under the bright mid-morning sun, Reese was having the time of his life. Both feet braced against the transom, he sat on a seat mounted to the deck and leaned back, pulling with his whole body against the fishing pole. On the other end of the line was a monster fish. He had no idea what it was, but the thing felt strong enough to rip off his arms.
The crew assigned to the aft deck cheered him on and offered good-natured ribbing and instruction in alternating shouts. The other contest winners from TechSafe stood watching and drinking, cheering him on, or offering to take over for him.
Ben remained at Reese’s side, his own tackle ignored so he could help his friend land the fish of a lifetime. For the past forty minutes, he’d been wiping the sweat from Reese’s face and providing him with beer to drink.
Reese relaxed under the strain at the request of the crew, and let the fish pull him forward, releasing the line just a little. After a few seconds of stretching, he heard the command to pull back. Reese tensed his lower back and pulled with a slow, steady pressure until the rod formed a tight curve.
“Hold it…” counseled one of the crew, drawing out the word and checking the line’s tension with a gloved hand. “That’s it, fight ‘im! Good—now, let it run a little more…okay, pull back. Reel down—pull back and reel down!”
“Beer me!” Reese grunted as he let the rod lower, reeling the fish in before he stopped, then used both hands to pull back and raise the rod.
Ben laughed and reached over, holding a bottle of the local Boston lager to Reese’s lips. He slurped like a newborn, then pulled back on the rod and belched. The crowd cheered, the boat rocked in the slight chop, and life was good under the clear August skies.
“Hey Monty,” a voice from the flying bridge called down to the aft deck. The crew member helping Reese looked up, shielding his eyes in the sun.
“Yeah?”
“Cap’n wants to see us,” the man said, clambering down the ladder from the upper fishing station.
“Uh…” Monty said, looking at Reese. “Fish on, man.”
“Fish on!” yelled Reese’s chorus of partially inebriated spectators as they baked in the sun.
“Hey, I told him that,” the voice called over the noise. “He still said to get you.”
“Sorry, muchacho,” Monty said, turning to Reese with an apologetic look from behind mirrored sunglasses. “I gotta go—duty calls—just keep doing what you’re doing, okay? Be right back.”
And then Reese was alone with the biggest fish of his life, Ben, and a bunch of guys from work. “What’s going on?” he asked, feeling the line tense and tug with the tremendous strength of the still-hidden fish. The thing had to be huge. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at a largemouth bass the same again.
“I don’t see Eddie,” Ben said, looking around for their boss while filming with his phone. “You good?” he asked, going in for a closeup. “Say ‘hi’ to the girls!”
“Hi, girls,” grunted Reese. He squinted at Ben’s phone. “Cami, you should seriously try this…”
“What’s taking so long?” asked Ben.
“Go…check it out, man,” Reese replied, straining against the fish.
“Roger that,” Ben replied, putting his phone in his pocket. “Video’s getting boring anyway. You’ve been fighting this thing for like, a half hour already.”
Reese watched the horizon bob up and down as the Charming Betty rode the swells, while alternating his strain-and-release pattern. The fish pulled him forward, then he pulled back. It was a war of attrition—who would tire out first?
When the engines surged to life a moment later, Reese knew something was wrong. Monty rushed back a moment later. “Dude, I’m sorry, but I gotta cut the line.”
“What?” Reese blurted, nearly dropping the rod in surprise. “But—”
“Cap’n’s orders, bro,” Monty said with a hangdog look on his face.
“Why?” Reese asked, his arms quivering from the effort to reel in the monster fish.
“Ahh,” Monty scoffed, “something about some Coast Guard advisory. I dunno—I just know he wants us to rig for the return to port.”
“But…wait, we just…” Reese had to catch his breath as the fish got its second wind. He pulled back and strained for a moment.
