Next is Alaina. “I didn’t see anyone following us. Not even a turtle.”

  I stop in the doorway and look back in the direction of our apartment building.

  I’d be lying if I said I could see it in the dark. Maybe an outline, but even that would be difficult at this distance and with the cloud cover and ceaseless rain. I hope the building makes it through the storm. I hope Lloyd and Catalina stay safe. Who knows? Maybe it will all work out.

  I take one last deep breath of fresh air before I draw the door shut, closing us all inside the little concrete box.

  Seventy-Four

  7:07 a.m.

  It’s tight and close.

  The air is more dank than I imagined. Far worse than in the hallway in Lloyd’s apartment.

  We open two folding chairs, for Hazel and Sawyer. The rest of us stand, shoulder to shoulder, butt cheek to butt cheek.

  “We should turn off our flashlights,” I say. “Save the batteries.”

  Everyone does what I ask, snapping off their flashlights. It’s darker than dark. Darker than any place I’ve ever been in. Darker than a cave we once toured during a family trip to Kentucky when I was a kid.

  No one says a word.

  Rain pelts the shed, muffled by the thick walls and steel door.

  “I hate to ask, Jake,” Sawyer says, “but do you think your family made it to shore by now?”

  “They would have had to. It’s been almost two hours.”

  “So they could be sending help soon.”

  I sigh. I don’t like to think about the situation we’re in any more than I have to. “Not right away. The water’s going to be rough until the storm calms down.”

  “How long will that be?” Nina asks.

  “I’m guessing an hour or so. Maybe two. By then it will be full daylight. Or darn close to it.”

  “How will they find us?” Ethan asks.

  “Lloyd will tell them where we went,” Kiara says.

  “What if the building’s fallen on top of him and Catalina?” Nina asks.

  “Jesus,” I say, “can we all just shut up? Please? For just a minute, can we all shut up?”

  An uneasy, awkward silence settles over the space. People shuffle their feet on the wet floor. Something scurries up one of the walls. Most likely a lizard wondering why we’ve all invaded its private lair.

  I stand by the door, my head leaning against the cold wall. I try to visualize the trip Jordan and Mackenzie took across the water. I picture Jordan’s steady hand on the tiller, Mackenzie behind her, holding on to one side with both hands. The boat travels in a straight line, the most direct route possible, the prow cutting through the low chop, avoiding any unseen debris. There are no waves large enough to swamp them.

  They pull up onshore and find themselves just a few hundred feet from the police station. Sgt. Fernandez is still on duty. She remembers them from before. She remembers me. She wraps them in blankets, offers them warm drinks and something to eat.

  Fernandez summons help. The Coast Guard or a police boat. The storm is winding down, so it’s a quick, easy trip.

  Lloyd tells them where to find us. We emerge from the shed, blinking in the morning light. Like small children on a holiday morning.

  We are saved.

  They give us towels and blankets. We return to the mainland by boat. Jordan and Mackenzie are waiting onshore.

  I take them both in my arms and vow to never, ever leave them again.

  It’s a dream, a fantasy, but I will it to be real.

  “Sorry, Jake,” Nina says.

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s just—I’m sorry.”

  Quiet settles over us again. Leaving us with nothing to do but wait.

  The minutes pass slowly. They drip by like hours.

  “Something moved,” Hazel says, breaking the silence. “By my feet.” Her voice sounds louder in this closed, quiet space.

  “Probably a lizard,” Ethan says. “Harmless.”

  “No, no, it’s still there,” she says.

  Maybe she’s imagining things again. I think this, but don’t say it.

  “Now I feel it too,” Kiara says. “How many lizards are in here? And how big are they?”

  “Could it be a snake?” Nina asks. “Is it slithering around us?”

  “It’s not a snake,” Sawyer says. “No snake would be in here.”

  Sawyer’s full of shit, but I keep my mouth shut, let them work it out on their own.

  “I know what I feel,” Hazel says.

  I want to dismiss her. I want to believe they’re all imagining things. That the stress of the long night has taken its toll. That they’re feeling things where there’s nothing to feel.

  Except—now I feel it too.

  And I have a terrible sense about what it really is.

  I flick my flashlight on, shine it at the floor.

  Water. Lots of water. It’s coming under the door and swirling around our feet.

  Seventy-Five

  The water rises slowly.

  After ten minutes, it’s up to the laces of my shoes. Ten minutes later, my ankles.

  Now it’s coming through either side of the door, where the metal meets the jamb. About a foot off the ground.

  “It can’t get much higher, can it?” Sawyer asks.

  “If the whole island floods—” Nina says.

  “But that’s not possible,” Sawyer says. “The whole island can’t flood. I mean—then it wouldn’t be an island anymore.”

  “Hazel?” Ethan says. “You know about this, right?”

  Hazel remains uncharacteristically silent. Almost like she hasn’t heard her name being spoken. I’ve never really known her to shrink from the chance to speak. Like any college professor, she’s always happy to share her wisdom.

  “Hazel? Did you hear me? What do you know about the island flooding?”

  Sawyer flicks his flashlight on. The water swirls over our feet. It’s picked up an oily sheen that looks like a rainbow in the dark.

  “Well”—Hazel pats her hair like she’s overdue for a trip to the beauty salon—“there is a history of the island flooding. Of total submersion. It’s incredibly rare, but it happens.”

  “How rare?” Kiara asks. “Like, once-in-five-hundred-years rare? Or once-in-fifty-years rare?”

  “Oh,” Hazel says, “the Native people recorded quite a few large storms and floods. They show up in some of the ancient drawings they left behind. As recently as the early twentieth century, a large hurricane hit and flooded the island completely. It was uninhabitable for a decade or so before the water receded.”

  “This island has been underwater more than once?” Nina asks.

  “Oh, yes, dear.” Hazel says this as though it’s a curious fact about a distant world, not something that could doom us all in the next thirty minutes. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to build here at all. With the climate changing, the waters are just going to rise, the beaches erode. But…I guess oceanfront property is one thing they aren’t making any more of….”

  “So this whole island could end up underwater?” Nina asks with real panic in her voice. “But I don’t know how to swim.” Even in the dark, I can tell she’s shaking her head. “Why are we out here with the sea turtles when we could be on the second floor, where the water’s less likely to reach?”

  “I think,” Ethan says. “Well, I know…Jake…I guess Jake wanted us to come out here.”

  The conversation stops for a moment.

  The air feels sticky. I’m drenched with sweat. Except around my feet and ankles, which are covered with water. Slowly rising water.

  “If we have to, we’ll go back,” I say.

  “Back?” Ethan asks. “We were lucky to get here with just a few inches of water on the ground. I don’t think all of us could make it back without being swept away. Maybe none of us could.”

  “More of us should have gone in that boat,” Nina says.

  “Shhh.” Kiara’s voice is harsh.

  “It’s true. Maybe more of us should have left.”

  “You had a chance, and you didn’t take it,” Sawyer says. “Don’t start trying to rewrite history now.”

  “I didn’t know this could happen,” Nina says. “I didn’t have all the information. I thought we’d be okay out here. And now—”

  “Just cool it.”

  The voice surprises me. Like something that burst out of the walls. The sound bounces off the cinder blocks and ricochets between us, shutting down all talk.

  I turn toward the speaker. Even in the dark, I can see the outline of Alaina’s body. She holds a hand in the air, index finger extended, like she’s about to lecture a bunch of schoolchildren.

  “You all need to shut up.” Alaina’s voice is surprisingly loud, especially coming from such a small body. “Jake’s doing his best, and you all need to appreciate that. We’re still alive, and if we want to stay that way, we need to shut up. I haven’t seen anyone else coming up with any great ideas. And Sawyer’s right. You had a chance to get on that dinghy, but you didn’t take it. Probably because you were afraid. Like I was. So just deal.”

  Everyone grows really quiet again. The rain sounds like thousands of darts hitting the metal door. The wind rattles it in its frame.

  Water continues to flow inside. By now it’s risen to the level of my shins. Alaina’s defense is appreciated, but I’m running out of ideas.

  We all are.

  But Alaina isn’t finished.

  “This thing isn’t going to fill with water. The worst of the storm surge has probably already passed. We just need to ride this out. Okay?”

  No one says another word.

  There’s no way to know if Alaina is right. She might be saying whatever she has to say to keep everybody calm. Even if that’s so, I appreciate it.

  I look down.

  The water is approaching my knees.

  Seventy-Six

  When the water passes my knees, I become convinced I’ve done everything wrong.

  I never should have led the group out here.

  I never should have left Lloyd and Catalina alone.

  I never should have let Jordan and Mackenzie go.

  I never should have come to Florida at all.

  The weight of anxiety returns to my chest. It rises like the water, threatening to cut off all the air.

  If the water keeps rising, we’ll have no choice but to leave. Outside, we’ll be exposed to the elements. The water may be even higher. The current rougher.

  Not to mention the wind and rain.

  Did I miscalculate? I thought the storm was close to being over, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it still has a long way to go. Maybe it will kill us.

  Everyone in the shed remains quiet. Either because Alaina shamed them or because the same realization hitting me is landing on each of them.

  They’re wondering if this shed is the last place they’ll ever see. A watery coffin.

  “I’m going out.” I’m facing the door, my back to the group. But I speak loudly enough to be heard. “I’ll risk it. Maybe I can find a boat or some floating debris we can hang on to. Maybe help has arrived, and I can flag them down.”

  “No, Jake,” Alaina says. “Just stay here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Not with this water rising so fast, Jake,” Sawyer says. “It could…you could…get swept away. Like a twig.”

  Hazel starts chanting again.

  But this time, it doesn’t annoy me. It brings me comfort. It might be the last sound I ever hear. And at this point, I’m willing to try anything.

  Hazel goes on for a few minutes. Until Ethan leans down to her.

  “Hazel, maybe you should stand up. You and Sawyer. We can help you.”

  She keeps chanting, ignoring Ethan, acting like none of us are here.

  I close my eyes, listen to the sound of her voice. I don’t know what any of her chanting means, but the more I listen, the more it makes a strange kind of sense. I start to really hear the rhythm, the beats. I feel them. I hum along with Hazel. Who knows? Maybe it will help. Maybe Jordan and Mackenzie can hear us, all the way across the water. The sound of our voices will act as a beacon, leading them to the shed, leading them to rescue us.

  “Hey, look….”

  I ignore the voice and keep muttering along with Hazel.

  “Do you see that?”

  I keep going until I realize Hazel has stopped. I’m the only one making noises now. I’ve lost myself in the sound. Almost like a meditation.

  “Look, look.” It’s Sawyer. I don’t think I’ve ever before heard excitement in his voice.

  “I see it too,” Alaina says with an almost undetectable optimism.

  Nina doesn’t bother to hide her joy. “Me too.”

  I turn around to face the others. They all have their flashlights pointed at the water. It takes a moment for me to understand. But then I see it too. “Holy shit.”

  Is it an illusion? Is it just what I want to see? But we’re all seeing the same thing.

  “The water’s going down,” Sawyer says. “It’s fucking going down.”

  The waterline is now below my knees, slowly approaching my mid-shin.

  “Oh, my God, we’re going to be okay,” Kiara says.

  The pressure in my chest eases, receding with the water.

  “We may not be saved,” I say. “Not yet. But this gives us a chance to get out of here.”

  Seventy-Seven

  7:43 a.m.

  The water level falls to just above the soles of our shoes.

  It’s grown even hotter and more humid.

  Stiflingly hot. Sweat sticks to my body like motor oil.

  It’s hard to breathe, the air as thick as cottage cheese.

  We’ve waited as long as possible. I press my ear to the door. The wind still blows, but it sounds lighter. Rain splats against the door, but it doesn’t drum incessantly, as it did earlier.

  The storm should be moving past us soon. Things should be starting to clear.

  “We need to open the door,” I say. “We need to see how things look.”

  “Why don’t we wait?” Nina asks. “You sent for help. Someone will come.”

  “It’s sickeningly hot in here,” I say. “We can all feel it. And it’s not doing any of us any good.”

  “That’s true,” Ethan says.

  “Besides…” I try to form the words, but they turn to dust in my mouth. I can’t force them out. I swallow, trying to summon the moisture I need to speak. “Besides, we don’t know for sure if Jordan and Mackenzie made it across. If they didn’t, we don’t know how long we’ll have to wait. One cop over there knows Dallas was killed, but they’re going to be occupied with a lot of other problems. I think it’s best if I look and see.”

  “What are you going to do?” Alaina asks.

  “I have no idea. Maybe there’s another dinghy. Maybe someone will sail by. I’ll just have to see.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Alaina asks.

  “No, stay here with everyone else. Watch the door. Lock it after me. We’ll use the same knock. If I’m not back in a little while…well, just keep waiting.”

  No one offers any objections. And no one else offers to join me.

  I’d almost rather be alone.

  When the lock is undone and my hand is on the knob, I try to think of anything else to say. But there’s nothing. I’m on my own now.

  When I pull the door open, I immediately feel the change. The storm has cooled the air and lowered the humidity. A light rain falls, splatting softly in the standing water on the ground. The sky has brightened on the horizon, a band of light gray visible where the clouds break.

  I want to feel hopeful, but I can’t quite get there yet.

  As I close the door behind me, Alaina’s is the last face I see. She mouths the words Good luck.

  The door clunks shut, and I’m alone on the lawn, facing the building we all used to live in.

  In the half-light, I can see it still stands, though even more of the top of the building has been destroyed. I feel a measure of relief. Lloyd and Catalina are okay.

  For now.

  As I squish over the grass, my eyes scan left and right, watching for any sign of trouble. I’m waiting for someone to jump out from behind a palm tree, wielding a gun or a club.

  The Glock remains at my back, a heavy presence against my soaked skin.

  I doubt I could shoot another human being. If confronted by a deranged killer, I’d be willing to fight, but not with the gun. That might mean I’m doomed no matter what. But I have to accept my own limitations.

  The wind still blows, but compared to what it was before, it feels almost pleasant now. Almost like a lovely fall day—except for all the destruction and death.

  I step through debris like I’m navigating a minefield. Stanley’s body lies uncovered, his eyes staring at the clearing sky. He looks small and vulnerable, exposed. I know he can’t be hurt, but somehow it seems undignified and disrespectful to leave him there like that. An unburied body.

  I don’t have time to bury him, but I grab the sheet of metal from the roof, one side jagged like it’s been cut with a giant knife, and slide it toward him. It takes a moment—and I have to be careful not to slice my own hand wide-open—but I get it over his body.

  I have no idea if Stanley cares—wherever he might be—but somehow it makes me feel better.

  “Okay.” I wipe my hands together, brushing dirt and twigs off them.

  I look up at the building. Lloyd’s door remains closed.

  I’ll check on them in a minute, but first, I’m going to the water’s edge to see what I find.

  Seventy-Eight