The Lost Tide: The Lost Tide, #1

By David Tenenbaum

A team of scientists must fight to save two continents from the most devastating natural disaster in the history of mankind

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Tenenbaum
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393666271

David Tenenbaum

David Tenenbaum is a novelist and screenwriter from Richmond, VA. He’s written five books including two novels that have recently been shortlisted or received honorable mention awards in international book competitions. His latest movie, After School, a cautionary coming-of-age thriller, is currently in development with director Jeff Bassetti, and his satirical political podcast M.A.D. (Mutually Assured Destruction), is being released by BDP Entertainment in late September.

Book preview

The Lost Tide

The Lost Tide, Volume 1

David Tenenbaum

Published by David Tenenbaum, 2020.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

The Lost Tide

About the Author

For my father, without whose advice this series would not have been possible.

Chapter 1

THE WOODSON FAMILY’S car wound its way down the driveway of a quaint beach cottage they’d rented in Aberdeen, Maryland. Jack and Susan Woodson, along with their daughters Rebecca and Amy, had planned on spending a week at the oceanside that July.  Seven days was nearly double the time they normally allotted for their summer vacation. This was the first year that Rebecca Woodson would be capable of venturing into the ocean depths unsupervised. On previous family sojourns, the perennial threat of their youngest child’s meeting with disaster the moment their backs were turned had always proved taxing for her parents. As a result, the couple had set four days as the upward limit on subsequent seaside adventures.

We’re here! Rebecca Woodson, a five-year-old girl with short black hair that hung down her forehead in bangs, shouted as the car came to a stop. She jumped out of the vehicle. She then rushed up to the door of the house gushing with energy built-up over 180 days of elementary school classroom incarceration. "Open it," she shouted at her father, incapable of waiting a moment longer for a glimpse of the seaside bungalow’s interior.

Amy Woodson, nine years old with short brown parted hair, emerged from the car a few moments after her sibling. With one hand, she carried a small light-blue suitcase. With her other she held the string of a purse draped over her shoulder. The feel of its leather strap against her fingers reminded her that she now wore a pocketbook. Tucked below this arm was a copy of Anne of Greene Gables. For the precocious young lady, summer meant not only science camp but the unlimited freedom to indulge in the fiction she was unable to enjoy at her leisure over the academic year. 

As Jack heaved suitcases, groceries and a day bag up the front path, he could feel the khaki shorts and striped blue button-down he’d soaked with perspiration packing the family’s car clinging to his skin. He attempted to balance the day bag on his knee as he pulled at the screen door with the hand that held the sack of groceries—including a carton of eggs. Finally giving up, he laid the bag of beach toys down causing all its contents to spill out. Jack would delegate the task of collecting the loose items. He’d saved the eggs. He could take some solace in that victory alone.

Rebecca rushed in under her father’s arm the moment Jack pushed the door open. Wow, you can see the whole beach right from our window! she exclaimed as she admired the view through the panoramic living room plate glass. Which room is ours? she asked as she ran to explore the rest of the house.

Second one on the right, her father replied, only assigning these particular quarters to his children moments after their entrance. This room was farthest from the dining area—the place in the house where his wife would be churning out a report she had only two days to finish and where he himself hoped to enjoy at least one glass of wine with Susan in peace.

Rebecca had insisted on taking the window-side bed so as to be afforded a direct view of the ocean upon waking every morning. Amy was tempted to exercise her authority as the elder sibling to claim her right to first choice in the determination of sleeping accommodations. She was reminded, however, by past experiences of the value in selecting her battles wisely. Amy began to unpack her suitcase, refolding all of the clothing items she took out of her luggage before putting them into the turquoise chest of drawers that stood next to her bed. 

Early the following morning, Rebecca awoke and threw off her covers just minutes after the sun made its first appearance over the watery horizon. She walked into the living room and tried with little success not to wake her family while she performed a series of preparation exercises she’d been taught by her swimming instructor. She was soon joined in the house’s common area by her mother and sister, who rubbed their eyes as the three of them began preparing the first meal of the day together. Both Susan and Amy had lain in bed for nearly half an hour lacking the energy to arise and march into the living room in order to murder the young aerobicizer. Wolfing down her breakfast, Rebecca stared at her sister taking her time as she prepared her morning finger food, small collections of egg she carefully forked onto her toast. Rebecca expressed her irritation with a series of exasperated exhales. After observing her sister’s eating ritual for another 10 minutes, she lost her patience altogether. 

Come on! she shouted at Amy refusing to tolerate any more delay of her first venture onto the golden sands just beyond the cottage doorstep.

By the time Amy had finished her breakfast, Rebecca was standing in the house’s entryway holding the bag full of beach toys. 

You’re not going anywhere until you’ve put on sunscreen, her mother announced. In spite of Rebecca’s newly acquired proficiency as an aqua-tot, Jack and Susan were reluctant to allow their children to spend the majority of the day alone at the beach. However, Susan’s deadline obviated the possibility of her serving as a watchful guardian. In Jack’s case, a sunburn from a trip to the local swimming pool had rendered him loath to sit outside for an extended period of time. 

After returning from the bathroom holding the tube of Banana Boat that she’d sloshed about her person, Rebecca supplicated her mother for permission to leave before her sister was ready to accompany her. 

Susan’s reply, Not without Amy, was about to draw a dramatic exhibition of her daughter’s increasing ire before Amy let out a placating, "Okay, let’s go," to spare them both from the impending tantrum. 

Susan watched the two girls as they finally exited the house and began making their way along the sand. She couldn’t shake the nagging awareness of how ineffective her younger daughter’s touted swimming ability would prove in the face of a single wave that equaled her in height.

Don’t let her out of your sight! Susan shouted to Amy.

Don’t worry, Mom, her elder daughter responded without looking back.

After trudging over five feet of sand, Rebecca dropped the toy bag and her towel and sprinted towards the surf, kicking the knee-high waves with her feet as she ran. Amy laid down her own bag, checking to make sure that it was still zipped so as to avoid losing items on the beach. She then spread out her towel before herself continuing to the water where she waded in the ripples behind her sister. She paused in her advance the moment she felt the cold June seawater sending needles up her legs. 

She finally dove in and swam until she was five feet from her squealing siblings exposed legs. Rebecca knew what was coming—shark attack. Amy continued to indulge in half an hour of frolic with her younger sister until chattering teeth told her it was time for a novel break. As she made her way back through the surf towards her towel, she stopped at the water’s edge and looked again at Rebecca.

See that, Amy said pointing at a red buoy about 20 feet from the shore. Don’t go past it!

Amy then continued towards their designated location on the sand. When she reached her bag, she took out her Walkman headphones and slid them down around her ears. She lay on her stomach placing her chin in her hands and drank in the delicious feeling of the early summer sun’s rays on her back. She switched on Vanessa William’s Save the Best for Last, and stared out into the glistening water, watching foam crests forming just beyond where her sister dove headlong into wave after wave.

Finally having herself gotten her fix of ocean surf, Rebecca walked back up the sand to where her sister lay sprawled out with one eye on her and one on her reading material. A stiff breeze had begun to blow off the water. Rebecca donned a jacket and some elastic pants she’d brought, and Amy, who’d also started to feel the chill, took a summer dress out of her bag and slipped it on over her suit. Steeled against the wind, Rebecca grabbed a plastic bucket and strolled back down the beach to collect cement-mixing water. Upon raising her eyes after filling her pail, Rebecca noticed that the surf appeared to be edging further and further away. 

Look! she shouted. The water’s disappearing.

It’s called low-tide, Amy explained calling upon knowledge gleaned from her fourth-grade science class. The waves come in and out every day as a result of the moon’s gravitational pull. 

Yet, as Amy observed the ocean, the water seemed to be moving precipitously farther out with each break of the surf.  It appeared as if the sea’s daily rhythm had been thrust into hyper-drive. Amy soon realized that what she was witnessing was far from normal.

Within less than a minute, the water had receded over 100 yards from shore. 

Does the tide do that every day? Rebecca asked in amazement. 

No, Amy replied attempting to stifle evidence of her own increasing trepidation.

Let’s go get sea shells! Rebecca shouted. 

I don’t—

Come on! Rebecca screamed already having run 10 feet down the exposed beach.

After standing up, Amy kept her feet planted on her towel for a few moments before following her sister. The two girls started making their way out onto the barren sand watching as the water laid bare greater stretches of the ocean floor with each passing moment. Amy stopped to admire a group of Arrow Dwarf Tritons that’d collected about 50 feet from shore. Rebecca paused to look at the shells for a moment before tiring of the small collection. She’d already had her eye on booty that lay much further along the nearly naked sand. 

Don’t go so far Becca! Amy shouted as her sister began proceeding far beyond the other beach-goers. 

Rebecca ignored her sibling and continued until she reached a giant Horse Conch that lay just at the edge of the vanishing surf. 

At that moment, a siren began to sound. One of the lifeguards stood up from his chair. "Get off the beach!" he yelled.

Parents started grabbing their children and running towards the head of the sand. 

Amy looked up and saw a massive swell beginning to form.  "Becca!" 

As she stood admiring the dazzling white shell she held with both hands, Rebecca only nominally recognized the sound of her sister’s voice. Amy began rushing out to where her sibling stood transfixed by the sloping curves of the conch. The moment she reached her, she grabbed Rebecca’s hand and started pulling her, causing her to drop the shell. 

"Wait," Rebecca said reaching out to retrieve her treasure. 

No! Amy exclaimed as she began running with her younger sister straggling behind towards the beach. A quick glance over her shoulder as she sprinted with Rebecca in tow revealed to Amy that the wave had now developed into a towering wall of water that all but obstructed the light of the sun behind it. They’d just reached the top of the sand when the wave came crashing down, engulfing them both in the tidal bore. 

Don’t let go of my hand! Amy shouted as she and her sister bobbed along in the powerful current. 

The two girls were washed beyond the head of the beach and down the street past a line of now fully-submerged stores. As the water carried them along past T-shirt and fudge shops with other swimmers struggling to stay afloat, Amy grabbed on to a light post. Holding her head just above water, Rebecca watched as a car floated by right beyond her feet. Shouts of another child who’d been washed up onto a pile of debris could be heard echoing in the distance. Amy tried with increasing difficulty to hold on to her sister’s hand, but the force of the current slowly loosened her grip. Now a ring on Rebecca’s left index finger was all that provided the traction Amy needed to prevent the fledgling swimmer from being pulled from her into the torrent. As she finally lost hold of her sister’s left hand, Amy could do nothing but watch as the girl who had all but depended on her for the very breath she drew was dragged away by the rushing water.

Chapter 2

AFTER THAT DAY, THE ocean became a menace to Amy. Whenever her family would vacation at the seashore, she would sit on the sand reading magazines with her headphones turned up loud enough to drown out the sound of the surf. She refused to ever set foot in the water.

In high school, Amy’s class took a trip to the Cape Charles waterfront at the end of the academic year. With the encouragement of her friends, she garnered enough temerity to dip a toe into a set of two-inch ripples. After this, she was able to wade in ankle-high water but couldn’t bring herself to venture any further out into the ocean. Two boys, who saw Amy’s skittishness as some kind of juvenile inhibition, decided to baptize their classmate by inferno. They crept up behind her and pushed her down into a five-foot wave coming crashing down at that moment. Water ran up Amy’s nose as her face hit the surf. Seconds later another wave overtook her enveloping her in a blur of salt water that filled her mouth with a bitter saline taste. Amy stood up in tears and ran back towards her towel. After grabbing the backpack she’d left on the sand, she headed out into the parking lot and boarded the school bus. There she spent the rest of the afternoon with her nose in a book facing away from the water.

In spite of her continued aversion to all things nautical, the erudite young lady became fascinated during a college geology course by the study of the tectonic plates that existed underneath the ocean surface. It had never occurred to her how integral a connection existed between the different gravitational forces of the earth. Amy found herself particularly entranced by the idea of marine volcanoes. An eruption with all the fury of a flaming Mt. Vesuvius occurring in the most remote, uninhabited regions of the planet. Such a phenomenon felt utterly surreal to the young geologist. In spite of Amy’s childhood anxieties, the vast unexplored deep with its array of undiscovered luminescent creatures slowly began to captivate her. She decided that one day she’d work as a scientist manning vessels that excavated underwater canyons at depths man had not yet reached. 

After college, Amy attended a graduate program in Oceanography at the University of Maryland. A few months after receiving her PhD, she was hired by the Center for Marine Geology in Baltimore. She had just begun her post-doc when she was assigned to work on a project with a colleague named George Campbell. George was a bespectacled academic type in his thirties. Amy couldn’t help but find herself slightly attracted to him. This was in spite of the way that his glasses always migrated to the edge of his nose, and his T-shirts, without exception, stuck out below his sweaters.

As George and Amy spent more and more time collaborating, they’d often stray into conversations wholly unrelated to aquatic species and Hadapelagic Zone fissures. Amy began to feel a bit uncomfortable with the increasing familiarity that appeared to be developing between them. She’d always made it a point to keep her work and personal lives separate. In college she’d declared dormmates strictly off-limits as romantic partners, even the ones with whom she’d listen to the Eurythmics into the wee hours of the morning. In graduate school, she refused to have anything to do with gentlemen even tangentially connected to her PhD program. When Amy began to sense George developing an emotional attachment to her, she panicked. She admonished herself for breaking her own rules and decided it was time to set some firm limits.

One weekend George invited Amy on a trip to the National Aquarium situated on the Baltimore waterfront. To prove to herself that this was professionally-related, Amy spent the train ride to the wharf cataloging the many ways that observing fish in their native habitat was integral to the work of a marine biologist. 

In spite of her determination, Amy’s efforts to note the mating habits or diet of each creature she viewed fell by the wayside minutes after her outing with her colleague began. She spent the majority of