Escaping the Giant Wave by Peg Kehret Page A

“I’ll see that he never bothers you again.”
    â€œI thought you were scared of him too.”
    â€œI used to be, but I’m not anymore.”
    BeeBee thought about that for a minute. Then she said, “If Mom and Dad don’t come back, what will happen to us?”
    I’d already thought about that, and I knew the answer. “We’ll live with Grandma and Grandpa,” I said. “They’d move to a bigger house so they could take us.”
    â€œGood.” BeeBee laid her head in my lap and promptly fell asleep.
    Pansy draped her muzzle across my ankle and resumed snoring.
    I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too anxious. I sat in the dark thinking about everything that had happened and wondering what tomorrow would bring. Would there be a joyous reunion with Mom and Dad? Or would BeeBee and I learn that we were orphans? I loved Grandma and Grandpa, but I wanted Mom and Dad back.
    The night dragged on. No more waves came.
    Eventually I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, I saw the first hint of daylight. BeeBee had shifted away from me and lay on her side, curled around Pansy. Pansy’s ears pricked up when I stirred. Her tail thumped the sand.
    I moved my head from side to side, working the stiffness out of my neck. Then I looked at my burned right palm. It was blistered and red, but it didn’t hurt as much as it had the night before.
    The sun rose, bringing light and warmth and hope.
    As soon as I stood up, BeeBee awoke. “Is it safe to go back?” she asked. “Did you hear the all-clear signal?”
    â€œI didn’t hear a signal, but I’m sure the tsunami is over.”
    â€œGood. I’m starving.”
    We walked through the sand, stepping over downed trees and going around an astonishing amount of debris. What had been a woods last night now looked more like a movie set for a film about the end of the world.
    A woman’s straw hat lay upside down, pink ribbons trailing across the sand. A portable barbecue was wedged into the ground. An inflatable raft with a crab pot still attached to a cord nested six feet up in a tree.
    Pansy ran a short way ahead, then returned. It was clear that she wanted to stay close to us.
    â€œIs that a refrigerator?” BeeBee asked.
    I looked where she was pointing. A full-size white refrigerator had been plucked from a seaside cottage or a home in Fisher and deposited on top of the hill.
    â€œMaybe there’s something in it that we can eat,” I said.
    â€œLike cold Snickers bars.”
    We hurried to the refrigerator and opened the door. It was no colder inside the appliance than it was outside, but the shelves contained a package of sliced ham, a carton of eggs, a half loaf of bread, a quart of milk, and a jar of dill pickles.
    Curious, I opened the egg carton. Not a single egg was broken.
    â€œNo Snickers,” BeeBee said, “but we can make ham sandwiches.”
    â€œWe can’t eat the ham,” I said. “The fridge has been off too long; we might get food poisoning. We can’t drink the milk either, but we can eat the bread and the pickles.”
    We each wrapped a slice of bread around a dill pickle. I gave Pansy a piece of bread too, which she gobbled without chewing. I gave her a second piece.
    â€œThis bread is stale,” BeeBee said. Then she smiled. “Maybe we should complain and ask for our money back.”
    â€œIt could be worse,” I said. “The fridge might have been full of cauliflower and spinach.”
    â€œI’m thirsty,” BeeBee said. “Too bad whoever owns this refrigerator didn’t keep bottled water or soft drinks on hand.”
    Unsure when we’d get a chance to eat again, I took the rest of the bread with us.
    â€œDo you want me to carry the jar of pickles?” BeeBee asked.
    â€œNo. They’re too salty. They’ll make us even