517 The Flood, Ch. 30




Chapter Thirty


Great. I fucking get it. Grok, check. Now what? 

Above the surface, I see the water is receding. The initial flooding seems to be  over, and now I'm being sucked in a circle, a giant whirlpooling eddy. I watch Mount Olympus to the north as I'm swept south and west, around toward Mount Davidson. Only the tops of the mountains and a couple of connecting ridges are visible. The hills have become an island, the rest of the city is gone, I'm currently floating over it.

The dinghy drifts closer, and I am able to grab onto a line trailing behind. Wrapping the line around my wrist, I pull myself toward the boat, or the boat toward me, either way, I finally have something solid and familiar to hold onto. 

The dagger board isn't in, but neither is the mast and sail, so flipping the dinghy upright isn't too hard. The rigging is long gone, my sailboat has been reduced to a paddle device, with six inches of water in the bottom, but climbing in feels like I've arrived at the most fashionable yacht in Cannes. For a few minutes, I just sprawl there in the puddle.

The current begins taking me north again, along the new shoreline. Now the water has receded enough that the top of Liberty Hill is visible. The former multimillion dollar homes have been reduced to a few muddy sticks and chimneys.

Baling with my hands cupped, my old neighborhood comes into view. The water is still above our building's elevation, but I can see the stairs leading up to Mount Olympus, and the condo building I took refuge in. The front of it is gone, it's now three partial walls filled with debris.

Snagging a board floating by, I begin to paddle.






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