 Ever since she was a child, Clarice had a deathly fear of floating away. Her specific fear wasn't rooted in the fear of heights or rogue hot air balloons or faulty single-engine planes losing their grace in the air and coming crashing to the ground. No. What she was afraid of, what the specific fear that if she still stood for too long that the atoms or the angels would suddenly take notice and would band together to create a raft to hoist her closer to the sun than she'd ever want to be. Clarice didn't know where it had come from, but she knew how she was going to stop it. She was five when she made her first ankle bracelet, not an ankle bracelet that you'd find in the standard itinerary at some day camp for kids. No. The ankle bracelet that Clarice had made for herself consisted of heavy-duty duct tape, several zip ties, and a collection of five-pound weights stolen from her mother's trainer. But Clarice, people would exclaim, you live next to the water, aren't you afraid of falling in? Wouldn't you drown? But Clarice knew that if she was ever to start sinking, all she'd have to do is unstrap her bracelets and let the angels pluck her from whatever depths she'd sank to. She was so sure of this notion, this unflappable idea that she'd never fall for too long before her angels would pull her back up that Clarice had absolutely no fear living on the tiny rocky island of territory of Candy Main. In fact, Clarice would actually spend every morning at the very edge of the beachfront, scouring the rocky shores for untold little treasures before she'd head back and help her mother run the B&B they'd taken over from the last owners. These are two important things you should remember about the territory of Northern Candy Main. One, it was practically a jump hop and skip away from the Nova Scotian border. The isolation was pervasive. The old mining town had been long abandoned by the majority of its populace after the coal ran out, and only a few had returned to mill the salmon creeks and run the little logging they eked out through the strict EPA regulations. Two, people visited, sure, it was a beautiful area with untouched spruce fir forest that spanned for miles. But no one knew had moved to the island in over 30 years. The citizens who lived there did because they had been born enraised in the wilderness of Candy. So when Clarice's mother, still bleeding from the birth and clutching the squaling shrieking newborn, showed up on the doorstep of the local doomsday prepper in the middle of the worst storm they'd had since the bastard of 53 without any jacket or even any indication of how she'd gotten there. It was highly unusual, extremely, incredibly unusual. The fog hung heavy over the beach this morning, Clarice had been out collecting seashells for the past several hours, and she'd been the first to witness the shades of blue softly fade from the sharpened flint to the milky hue that stretched out over the island. One more seashell. The BNB was falling into significant disrepair, even with all the manpower her and her mother had been putting into it recently, and Clarice could just picture the list her mother would have waiting for her, even if it was her 18th birthday. And even though the BNB was just steps down the beach, Clarice could see it now even through the dense fog. The 10 pound weight she had strapped to her ankles always doubled, tripled the time it took her to get anywhere. Clarice bent down to collect the pretty seashell. It was drifting in the low tide, and the salt made it capture the hazy light like crystals. It drifted out further. Clarice put a gentle step into the frothing tide, the water lapping at the weights and at the hem of her tan corduroy pants. But the shell was pulled out further frowning Clarice took another step in and then another and then another. The weights hit the sandbar and sank in before Clarice could realize what was happening. It was the same sandbar that she'd been dared to swim out to back when she was still little and only strapping five pounds to each foot. She could still remember how terrified she was feeling the collective power of the group of taunting kids swelling like an undercurrent and dragging her down under. It had been fine though. After all, she was a strong swimmer and while the sandbar was far out, she was able to make it there without any issues, which is where she stood watching now as the pretty pink and white seashell was pulled out farther as the tide continued to recede. And as the realization hit her like an incoming train, just as the sirens started to wail. The swinging door bounced back hard into Clarice's face. Mother, she screamed clutching her nose. Blood was pouring down her face, mixing with the bubbles of snot and tears. The front door opened onto a tiled foyer, which acted as the house's central point. The kitchen branched off in one direction, the living room and dining room, another and with the sunroom and bedrooms in the back. Everything was decorated in shades of white, black and robin's egg blue, which lit up beautifully underneath the skylight that stretched across. But the sun was gone now. The sunroof only showing the rumblings of dark clouds pressing ominously close to shore. Mother, where are you? Clarice said again, rushing into the kitchen. She quickly slung a large canvas tote over her shoulder, emblazoned with a word, Gemini. She started throwing cans of food into her bag. The setup of the house was quaint. Its layout reminiscent of grandmother's cottage, filled with hidden treasures and bowls of healing crystals. The sirens shrieked again, the sound resounding thickly through the smog. Clarice's heart jumped, and so did the footsteps of thousands of others as the town began to spill into the street. It was a fear they all shared, but dared not speak of, for risk of waking the sleeping giant. A giant wave. A freaking tsunami. She'd heard the recent warnings and reports, sure. Her hometown teacher at the nearby Candy High School had played the CNN news report for them, reviewing the island's safety training in case of emergencies. There'd been a level five earthquake off the coast of Spain. But still, the last time this area had a tsunami was almost 18 years ago, around the time of her birth. Even then, it had been completely unexpected, giving the populace no time to escape and wiping out the entire area of Clarice's birthplace. Everyone had been killed, except Clarice and her mother. She was the only one who'd gotten enough of a head start to be able to outrun the wave. But the territory of Candy has had hurricanes before. Sure, monsoons had swept through here. Pretty horrible ones a few years back. Earlier this year, they'd even had a damn wind tornado. A wind tornado sweep through. That particular storm had raged for almost 72 hours, flooding the street and causing significant damage to the church and primary school. It was after that that the town council had implemented the siren system, low blast for hurricanes, high blast for severe storms, and a shrieking whistle for everything else. Clarice winced as the siren let out another shriek. They needed to go now if they wanted to get on the ferry to safety. Mother, where are you? Clarice with her tote full of canned goods stumbled into the living room to find her mother, sitting genially at the table. Mother, what are you doing? Didn't you hear the siren? Oh, I heard it. Well, what are you waiting for? Get the emergency kid and get ready to leave. Her mother's calmness was unnerving. Clarice's hysteria, on the other hand, was flaying her nerves one siren blast at a time. We have to warn everyone, where are Richard and Thomas? A gay couple from New Mexico had been staying with them for the week. Being distinctly landlocked, Clarice figured that they wouldn't have the slightest clue in what to do in case of a tsunami emergency. They didn't go over that during the B&B check-in orientation. Her mother didn't even look up. There was something nestled in her hands and her attention was fixed on it. In the back, she was referring to the bedrooms in the back of the B&B. Clarice and her mother had it set up with the bedrooms being an almost completely functional unit by themselves. They'd added a little working kitchen, complete with a brick outdoor pizza oven, a bathroom and its own entrance that opened into the backyard, which had a direct road to the rest of the town. Clarice tore back her tote smashing into the pictures on the walls and causing them to fall in her haste, only to find that the bedrooms were empty. She whipped open the door to the backyard, thinking that maybe they'd stepped outside in the growing confusion. But there was nothing. They were gone. But a blazing fire had sprung up in town and was devouring homes and chasing people into the street. Clarice gasped in horror. There are two more things that you should know about the town of Territory of Candy Main. One, people didn't live in candy. People survived or you died. There was no pansy, wishy-washy smiles and butterflies flitting about in candy. The emptiness and the savagery of the wilderness that surrounded the town of candy bred a certain type of person, someone who could look into the beast's eye and not be afraid of the barbarism they saw within. It was cold. So the people were cold. The local doomsday prepper, the same one that Clarice's mother had stumbled on to during that first night, was the most social of the bunch. And this is the one who was convinced that humanity and the government was out to get him. Candy tough is what they call themselves. With skins of flint and hearts of stone, this was not the place for the weak willed or pansy hearted. Two, so it wouldn't surprise anyone that the thing that Candy was best known for, besides their surprisingly good maple syrup, was the 30 foot tall wall that surrounded the main town. It had been around for as long as Clarice could remember. And one of her favorite childhood memories was walking along the edge and checking for weak spots with a doomsday prepper. He'd never talked much, especially not to a rambunctious 8 year old who liked to do tag along, but Clarice never minded. He would tell her about the JFK assassination and the United States role in the Colombian drug wars and how entire cities could be boarded up and the entire populace disappearing in black CIA vans. One thing he never told her, however, was why the walls were built. Sure, he alluded to the government in tinfoil hats and that they're watching, they're always watching, but he never said specifically why and who had built them. She also never got a straight answer on why the giant hairpin lock, the one that kept the giant swinging doors closed and kept the city of Candy firmly ensconced in the giant concrete walls, was on the outside of the walls. It was a rainy night, much like the one that Clarice's mother had arrived to the island in when she asked him once, and only once, about the lock. It was right then and there that he shoved her unceremoniously from the ramshackle shed on the edge of Candy and out into the cold, which was really too bad, because he was her only friend growing up. If the adults of Candy were deemed cruel and jaded, then their children were ten times worse. The restrain and civility instilled in them by society, the children swarmed her, attracted by her differentness. Like a pack, they moved together to take down the weakest. Clarice the Beast was her nickname growing up. They taunted her daily, saying that she was going to transform at the first full moon and eat everyone. That she had another thing trapped inside her and that all she needed was a little smacking around to let it out. That she wasn't special. That she was weird and different and smack her around. They certainly did. Even when it was frankly obvious that she wasn't a werewolf and that nothing was ever going to happen. When the moon shone full and bright above the towering spruce fur pines, that didn't stop the kids. Clarice could remember a particularly bad incident and the reason for the scar that stretched across her brow that started when she dared to jump from the tallest tree to the low wall that ran across the edge of the B&B property. It wasn't so much of a dare because Clarice knew that if she refused, that Johnny boy, the mean neighbor kid, would climb up and push her off anyways, which is what happened anyways. She missed, of course, but her forehead still managed to smash into it on the way down. Clarice for the life of her couldn't really remember what happened next with the pain blurring everything out. All she could remember is her mother rushing to her and her mother's friend, the doomsday prepper, throwing himself in between her and the rest of the towering kids. The kids never really messed with her after that. The cracking of glass accompanied Clarice's rush back into the kitchen. Richard and Thomas, they're gone. I'm assuming they heard the sirens and figured to head to the main port. Clarice said in a rush, we're gonna have to hurry if we want to meet them there. Her mother was standing in the kitchen with her back to Clarice. Her face was illuminated by the fires, engorging on the belly of the town. She spoke so quietly that Clarice didn't even hear her the first time. There isn't going to be a fairy out. Clarice's stomach dropped to her knees. She felt the ground rumble as if something heavy suddenly dropped far off in the distance. The lights flickered in the kitchen. Her throat went dry. Don't be ridiculous. We're just following procedure much like last time. We made it fine during the last hurricane and we'll be fine now. Her heavy tote slipped on her shoulder and a can of peas jumped out, hitting the limestone hard. Look, I even got your ID. That's all you need to get on the ferry. Let's go, mom. The desperation felt like a kitchen blade wrapped in velvet. She could feel it too, dancing on the edge of her nerves like it was tap dancing on a telephone wire. Her mom didn't move. The red flames staining the edges of her white blonde hair like blood. I can't leave without you. She sobbed. I said, Clarice, stop. Listen to me. Her mother turned and took her hands. But I don't understand. The ferry's always gone out. We just need to make it to the port. The ferry isn't going to be there. Her mother interrupted. What are you talking about? Clarice's voice cracked. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Something rumbled again, but it was harder this time. Like whatever it was, it was moving closer. Why are you doing this? What's happening? Her mother's pale eyes glittered too with the color of her tears matching the color of her eyes. This isn't like the last time. We're not gonna outrun the wave. She was holding Clarice's old baby blanket. Clarice, her head pounding, sat down hard at the living room table. Her tote clanked heavily and she dropped it on the limestone floor. The cans rolled everywhere, sliding underneath the table and far into the kitchen. There was something else on the table too, something she had missed earlier in her panic. It was a piece of paper, but such an old piece of paper, so worn down from the millions of fingerprints pressed upon it like the weight of time and history had hardened it. That it looked like cloth. It was about an inch wide and several inches long and something was written on it with cramped, rushed handwriting. When the red from the east meets the rushing blue from the west, what is this? Clarice asked, her voice cracking from the tears. Her mother forced a sad smile as she touched the key she'd worn around her neck for as long as Clarice could remember. It's a prediction, sweetie. A prediction of how we're going to die.