Wearing his new, stolen clothes and sneakers, Donnie returned to the main body of the mall. He passed the camping store and headed back toward the food court. Donnie had no idea what his next move should be. Maybe he could improvise another raft. Something like the table and water jugs contraption he had before wasn’t going to get him across the city though, he needed a real boat. He hoped Alessa and the baby were alright in the meantime.

He should eat something while he had the chance, Donnie thought. The lights and noise of the food court got closer and he shut off his borrowed flashlight, tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. As he was passing the cinema, Jody jogged over. Her boyfriend or friend, Elliot, trotted after her.

“Hey! You got changed, good idea,” Jody said. “I heard of something that could help you!”

“Something to help?” Donnie asked.

“Come on, we’ll show you,” Jody said.

Donnie followed Jody and Elliot as she led him past the food court and back toward the middle of the mall. Another set of escalators flanked by plastic ferns led up into the parking garage. At top of the escalators, the automatic doors weren’t working but the emergency exit to one side had been propped open.

“I told one of the other guys about you and what you were trying to do,” Jody said. “They said they’d just spotted something out here.”

The walls of the parking garage opened up, bathing them with grey sunlight. Parked cars dotted that level of the garage but, unsurprisingly given the amount of people inside, there weren’t many to be seen. Other levels would be above and below them, the lower levels flooded. Rain fell in sheets beyond the open walls. Jody led them to the far end of the garage.

“What were they doing out here?” Donnie asked.

“They’ve been looking out for rescue, or boats,” Jody said. “When the rain stops, we’re going to make a sign for helicopters.”

“If this rain ever stops,” Donnie said.

The three of them reached the far side of the garage. A light wind caused rain to spray back in their faces. That level of the parking garage was higher than most of the surrounding buildings except for the occasional jutting office tower. Most of the really tall buildings were on the other side of the mall. The street below was flooded, any vehicles down there invisible beneath the filthy water along with the entrance to the garage. Donnie could see numerous streets branching off from under them, all of them heavily flooded. Water covered the first or even second floors of buildings, depending on how high that particular street was above sea level. Jody pointed down one street.

“Look, it’s a boat, if you could get to it you could use it!” Jody said.

Donnie scanned the direction she was pointing at and saw a flash of orange. A large, white boat rested against a row of stores. The orange was an inflatable raft attached to its rear. Squinting, he looked harder but couldn’t see any kind of movement on or around the vessel, at least not through the rain.

“How come the others didn’t take it?” Donnie asked. “They could have rowed to it and taken more people on board, it’s got a cabin and everything.”

“It wasn’t there this morning, apparently,” Jody said. “The guy who saw it said he tried to signal them but couldn’t see anyone on board.”

“Maybe it was washed in by the tidal wave and just drifted there? It could just be caught on something.”

“You could use it to get home to your wife!”

Donnie thought about the boat and how to get to it. It was probably a little further away than he’d had to travel to reach the mall but other than the distance involved it looked straightforward enough. If he could find a more serviceable raft than the table he’d used before it might be a safe enough trip. Certainly, the flood still didn’t seem to be going anywhere and the boat would be his best chance of reaching Alessa.

“Thank you, I’ll-, I can figure it out,” Donnie said.

Leaving Jody and Elliot, Donnie went back inside. Rubbing his damp hands together, his mind raced for solutions. Ignoring the crowd gathered in the food court, Donnie passed the restaurants and the cinema and returned back the way he had come.

In spite of his earlier embarrassment, Donnie returned to the department store with his flashlight. This time he circled around the clothing departments, away from the dressing rooms, and into the outdoor area. Barbecues and picnic furniture sat on display. Donnie’s flashlight swept over kids bicycles next to a section of exercise equipment. In the dark, it created a crazy jumble. He didn’t see anything like canoes or kayaks, nor did he really expect to. Finally, he found some shelves with pool supplies and pool toys.

A whole stack of shallow, bathtub-sized plastic pools for toddlers stood at the end of one aisle. Donnie studied them for a moment, they were shaped like giant clamshells and might have made appropriate rafts for children but they wouldn’t support an adult’s weight. The shelves with pool toys had been combed through already. Various boxes had been pulled down and left scattered on the floor. Donnie turned some of the boxes over and searched the shelves with his light. Inflatable pineapples, alligators, submarines and other junk. There were no actual boats that he could see. He couldn’t risk trying to make the journey with something like the inflatable toys, they’d sink or pop and he’d end up swimming no matter what. Maybe if he was desperate enough he could lash a bunch together with duct tape and make some sort of Frankenstein raft of alligators and pineapples and penguins, but only if he were insanely desperate. It would be a lot of wasted time and breath to blow them all up.

After searching for a little while longer, finding nothing better than rafts meant for drifting peacefully around a pool, Donnie left the department store. The pool toys had given him a better idea. Returning to the camping store, he played his flashlight across the shelves. After a couple of minutes, Donnie found what he was looking for.

“Hey? How are you going?” Jody’s voice came from up front. “We thought we’d come check on you.”

Jody and Elliot held flashlights at the entrance of the store. Donnie walked over and showed them the box he was holding. The front of the box had a picture of a large inflatable mattress.

“I could use this as a raft to reach the boat. It's thicker, more supportive than a pool raft or whatever,” Donnie said. “The only problem is you can’t just blow it up with your breath.”

Since there wasn’t a lot of room in the crowded camping store, and no light, Donnie took the inflatable mattress out into the corridor where there was plenty of floorspace and a weak glow from the skylights. He opened the box and unravelled the mattress as Jody and Elliot watched. The mattress, the biggest one Donnie could find, was roughly as long and wide as a queen mattress although crinkly and flaccid. A tube jutted from the side. Donnie studied it. It seemed designed for an air compressor or an attachment from a vacuum cleaner. That would be easy to find but of course there was no power, it wasn’t as if they could plug one into a wall socket.

“Do you know-, back in the food court, do you know if whoever was working in the camping store is still here?” Donnie asked. “Maybe they could help?”

“I’m pretty sure they left with the people who took all the canoes,” Elliot said. “They left it open in case anything in here would help us.”

“Damn, uh, thanks I guess?” Donnie said. “I’m just going to have to figure this out myself.”

“We can help!” Jody said.

Using his flashlight, Donnie went back into the camping store and hunted the shelves. He had never owned an air mattress and wasn’t even sure what he should be looking for. Jody and Elliot, despite offering to help, hung back in the entryway. Although the canoes and inflatable boats and some clothing had been cleared out, the store was still cluttered. Even with his flashlight it was difficult finding things in the dark. Eventually, he found an air compressor in a box that seemed like it would work. Still, he needed something to power it.

“What about in the back?” Jody said.

Donnie left the air compressor on the counter and searched the back of the store. Among the tents and camping furniture he almost kicked over a squat, boxy device. Set next to a fake campfire was a small generator with a hand crank on the side.

“This is it! This could work,” Donnie said.

Set up in the corridor, Donnie attached the air compressor to the deflated mattress and then plugged the compressor into the generator. It all seemed straightforward. Kneeling, Donnie started to work the crank on the back of the generator. It turned easily enough in his hand, whirring, but the air compressor needed a lot of energy. It took a minute to kick in, humming at first and then starting to blow. Donnie kept turning, around and around. There were ripples through the mattress but his arm was already starting to ache.

“Shit, this is going to take forever.”

“Do you need help? Elliot here could-,” Jody started.

“It’s okay, I’ve just got to find a rhythm,” Donnie said. “I appreciate it though.”

Donnie continued until his arm felt like it was going to fall out of its socket. The air mattress still looked flaccid but it had risen a couple of inches off the floor. Hungry, he decided to get some food while he gave himself a break. Leaving the mattress for the time being, he got up and returned to the food court.

The radio chattered with the same useless information as before but the guy with the guitar had taken a break. Across the food court, Donnie saw the couple he’d interrupted in the dressing rooms. He avoided staring at them and headed to the sandwich shop. The counter was open and everyone was free to serve themselves. The meat and veggies behind the counter wouldn’t last forever. Already they had spent the night without refrigeration and would probably start collecting bacteria. Donnie cut open a roll and started adding to it. Nearby, an older man with a scholarly look spoke to a group of people, his hands animated. He half-listened as he made his sandwich.

“It doesn’t make any sense! No, I am not an expert but this was a tidal wave, tidal,” the older man said. “First, no one felt a tremor of the earthquake that would be needed to cause such a thing all the way up and down the coast. And, by now, there is no doubt the water should have receded. We are far above sea level here, above the marina, and yet the water has not drawn back! Why?”

“Impossible or not, it’s still there,” someone said.

“There must be some other explanation! Gravity, the tides, the poles. I’m sure if the magnetic poles had switched places things would be a good deal more devastating but still! The water and this endless, endless rain, it’s like something is controlling it all.”

“Something like, God?” another person asked.

“If you are so inclined, perhaps. Certainly I can’t claim to have better answers, but I do think we need to approach this scientifically.”

Donnie wrapped his sandwich and took a drink from the warming refrigerator then headed back down the corridor. Thankfully, the mattress hadn’t deflated any while he was away. He sat and ate his lunch on a nearby bench, nursing his arm. Once he was finished, he knew he had no other choice but to get back to work. Kneeling on the linoleum, Donnie started again on the crank.

It took Donnie over an hour to fully inflate the mattress. He had no idea how long the air compressor would normally take but plugged into the hand-cranked generator it was clearly underpowered. It did work though, so in the end he supposed he shouldn’t complain. To make the best possible raft he didn’t stop until the air mattress was totally solid, almost as firm as a normal mattress. Removing the air compressor, Donnie sealed the plug and admired his work. Both arms throbbed from the effort, and his knees were sore from kneeling.

“Wow, that looks great!” Jody reappeared with Elliot in tow. “You really think it will float?”

“I hope so, I hope it gets me to that boat, anyway,” Donnie said.

Before dragging his new raft outside, Donnie returned to the camping store. Rain hammered the skylights. If he was going back out there, he wanted to stay as dry as possible. The rain slicker he’d found back in his own building was tattered and had been pretty useless anyway. Keeping the grey hoodie, Donnie found a brown, waterproof coat, oilskin, that would fit him. Wearing it made him look bulky and like a bit of a cowboy. He found a broad-brimmed hat, more like a fisherman’s hat, as well. It didn’t exactly go with his coat but it would keep the rain off his face and out of his collar.

Donnie’s new sneakers would let in water too easily. Measuring his feet, he took a pair of waterproof boots from the camping store to replace them. He still had the knife he’d taken from the store earlier. He strapped the sheath to his belt behind his right hip. It felt weird but he was still worried about those crabs and whatever else could be out there. Before he left, Donnie took one of the remaining oars from the rack on the wall, tucking it under his arm.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Donnie said. “For Alessa.”

Donnie dragged the air mattress through the mall with Jody and Elliot’s help. He got a few comments as they returned to the food court for supplies. People were curious where he’d gotten the makeshift raft and how he’d blown it up. Donnie explained and pointed them back toward the camping store.

Awkwardly, Donnie carried the mattress up the escalator and through the emergency door. He had to launch from one of the ramps that led down to the flooded lower level of the garage. The water was high enough that he’d be scraping his head across the ceiling until he got free of the building. Donnie climbed on board. He was careful not to scuff the mattress too hard with his new boots. The bag he’d brought with him from work was loaded with more bottles of water and some food he’d taken from the food court, sandwiches wrapped in plastic. The air mattress wobbled but it supported Donnie’s weight easily.

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“Alright, I guess this is it,” Donnie said. “Thank you for your help!”

“Don’t mention it,” Elliot said.

“Good luck!” Jody told him.

Using his stolen oar, Donnie paddled through the flooded garage. Ducking his head, he had to avoid cars under the surface as well as concrete pillars, anything that threatened the air mattress.

Leaving the garage, the world opened up around Donnie. It felt like he should expect a sudden drop but of course the water was still almost two stories high, level with the flooding in the parking structure. Spray from the rain hit his face and started soaking the mattress around him. He huddled inside his waterproof coat, tucking his hat low, and kept stroking with the paddle. Glancing back, he saw Jody and Elliot return to the edge of the garage to watch him go. Jody waved and Donnie gave her a quick wave of acknowledgement. It occurred to him he’d never asked if there was anyone he could pass a message onto if he got clear of the flood, like he had offered Peggy and Kellie. He reasoned the mall survivors would probably be alright though.

Surprisingly, the currents actually helped him this time. They certainly didn’t seem to be as rough as when he’d been floundering on the other makeshift raft. Donnie paddled down the street, away from the parking garage, and onto the main avenue. The current propelled him in the right direction. The buildings were lower and he was almost level with some of the flat rooftops. More signs of destruction were all around him. Thick carpets of trash floated along the surface, plastic and clothing, bits of trees. He was careful to avoid them as some of the jagged branches looked like they could easily tear through the skin of his mattress. Then, there were the bodies. He saw several floating through the water and turned away in sadness and disgust. His oar came down on something solid and he realised he’d hit a corpse, floating facedown, as it bobbed along on the surface. He pushed it away instinctually, hard enough to propel his raft sideways.

The rain was as light as it had been at any point since last night but instead of tapering off the storm gathered strength again. Dark clouds boiled in from the ocean. Donnie thought of the older man who’d been lecturing in the food court about the tsunami and the rains. It certainly did seem unnatural, like some kind of nightmare. He’d tuned out when someone suggested God was behind it but if the rain went on for forty days and forty nights then maybe he’d have to reconsider. The disaster was horrifying and deeply weird. He certainly hadn’t felt any earthquakes before the wave and there were people who monitored that sort of thing, so surely if there had been a quake then there would have been some kind of warning. Maybe something like a meteor had fallen in the ocean, like in one of those disaster movies, or the magnetic poles had shifted as the old guy had said. Donnie knew nothing about that sort of thing. It was hard to explain why the water didn’t drain away this long after the tsunami had struck. Unless maybe further waves kept feeding the flood, which might, he supposed, explain the constant, twisting currents.

Donnie could see the boat he wanted up ahead. It had a tall, white cabin and the bright orange inflatable on the back, standing out in the rain. There was still no movement on board that he could see. It looked too clearly moored in place to have simply washed up. Another mystery, but one he might find answers for once he actually reached it. Paddling with the current, avoiding trash, he kept the mattress moving.

Suddenly, the mattress jerked to a stop. The boat was only about a block away. Donnie, in his haste, put his paddle in the water and shoved away from whatever had caught the mattress without thinking. He felt rather than heard the mattress tear, the rip vibrating through the skin of the makeshift raft.

“Oh, shit!” Donnie said. “Shit!”

Bubbles started frothing from under the mattress, all along its side. The inflatable mattress had clearly caught on something, a tree branch or piece of metal hidden by the filthy water, and ripped open. The gash must have been big because air gushed out with incredible speed. The mattress sagged under Donnie’s knees. After all the effort he had gone to putting the air in, he was losing it fast. If he didn’t find a solution in the next few seconds, he was going down with it. The boat was in sight but the way the mattress was floundering there was no way he could make it just by paddling.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Buildings stretched to either side of Donnie. Along the same side of the street that the boat was moored against were rooftops of various stores. The nearest store was too high, Donnie wouldn’t have been able to climb it. The next one along, however, had a metal awning that was close to the water. Slapping the surface, Donnie propelled his sinking raft toward the awning and left a trail of bubbles in his wake. Every passing second the raft lost shape, becoming less and less capable of carrying his weight. If he went in the water he could swim for the boat but he’d probably have to lose his coat and maybe his boots, and his remaining clothes would become dangerously heavy. He was less worried about drowning though than about getting tangled in trash and bodies, about disease, or what might be swimming in the water with him. Trying to focus, he kept paddling hard.

Thrashing, Donnie drew up level with the metal awning. The mattress sank through the middle. He dropped the oar and grabbed for the awning, wet and scaled with rust. He clawed at it as he tried to get upright, finding no support from the mattress. His feet sunk into the deflating surface as if into thick mud. Throwing himself at the awning, however, pleading with grunts and groans, he clamoured onto the rusty metal.

Rain hitting his face, Donnie fell on his back, panting. Behind him, anticlimactically, the mattress refused to sink. Without his weight pushing down on it, the mattress was mostly rubber and could float on its own. The bubbles from the gash underneath it slowed down, although they did keep leaking out. Flat and soggy, the makeshift raft drifted away. Donnie had left his work satchel on the raft, full of water and food. As it was now the heaviest thing left on the mattress, it rolled off one deflated corner and sank immediately.

Water ran down the side of the building and across the awning, wetting Donnie’s coat as he lay there for a few moments. The desperate climb had exacerbated the pain in his arms from all the cranking he had done. The awning groaned underneath him. It was held to the building by a couple of long, thin struts. Donnie sat up and felt it vibrate again. The awning was old and not meant to hold his weight, he couldn’t risk sitting around.

Gripping one of the supports, Donnie pulled himself up and got his new boots under him. Wet rust flaked off on his palms. There were other awnings on buildings along the street but not on the buildings immediately to either side of him. The only direction he could go, apart from into the water, was up. Donnie hitched a foot on one of the awning’s struts and started clawing at the brickwork. It was wet and slick. One wrong move and he was going for a swim. He heaved himself up, supporting himself for one perilous second on just one foot with the thin strut underneath him, like a high wire walker, and then got his hands and elbows over the lip of the building’s roof. Arms burning, he climbed and squirmed up the side of the building and onto the roof.

Lightning crackled and then thunder roared, rattling off the windows of the nearby office towers. Rain picked up in strength, falling in sheets. Donnie rolled across the roof, covering himself with his coat before his clothing was totally soaked. His wide-brimmed hat still protected his face.

The roof was flat and square, with only a boxy air conditioning unit standing out. A few leaves and bits of trash floated in puddles. The next building along, travelling in the direction of the boat, was only a little bit taller than the one Donnie was standing on. The lip of its rooftop came up to Donnie’s thigh. He stumbled over and climbed onto the next rooftop. It was flat as well and much the same, with another air conditioning unit in the corner and nothing else taking up space. All the roofs on that side of the street, leading up to the boat, were flat and he could keep moving across them to reach the craft.

Unfortunately, the building he was standing on wasn’t flush with the next building in the row. An alley, luckily a very narrow one, ran between the two of them. Battered by rain, Donnie eased over to the alley and looked down. Water rushed the length of the alleyway. The enclosed space had become a trap for refuse floating on the currents. Tree branches, trash, bits of cars and more bodies formed a snarled mass. If Donnie fell, he might become trapped too. Spikes jutted out of the water like a pit trap. He looked around but another taller, plain wall ran behind the buildings and the alley. He couldn’t go around it, he’d have to go over it if he wanted to reach the boat.

“Goddamnit, Alessa, I’m coming, I’m trying I swear,” Donnie said. “I’d say I hope you appreciate this but I guess I’m just making up for being an asshole in the first place.”

Rain and wind swirled around him, making the jump feel even more perilous. Donnie tried to reason things out. The next building along, the one he would be jumping to, was the same height as the one he was jumping from. The alley really wasn’t that wide, about as skinny as an average sidewalk. If he had been on the ground and leaping over a small stream of about the same width he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But all that refuse made the prospect of failure much more dangerous.

Donnie backed up almost all the way across the roof, braced himself, and ran. He was careful not to slip. Spraying water behind him, Donnie ran to the edge of the roof and jumped. Moments before he leapt, lightning flashed across the sky. As he was in midair another crack of thunder split the surrounding streets. Donnie’s heart seized as he thought for a moment he’d somehow been struck. Gracelessly, Donnie landed and his leading foot buckled. He twisted, tripped, and fell to the wet surface of the rooftop. Luckily, the layers of clothing he was wearing protected him from the fall. He scraped across the roof and came to a stop. Heart thumping, Donnie realised he had made it and breathed a sigh of relief.

Legs wobbling, Donnie picked himself up and continued across the rooftop. He crossed between buildings that were flush with each other and then, without knowing the significance, lowered himself down onto the jewellery store that the men from the boat had originally arrived to rob. Rain pounded him and the surrounding buildings, turning the street into foam. Donnie climbed over the lip of the roof and onto the jewellery store’s awning. It was flat and more solid than the awning he’d originally had to climb. Scrabbling across it, Donnie finally reached the moored boat. He jumped onto the rain-slick nose of the boat. Struggling to keep his footing, he squeezed along the side of the vessel around its cabin. There was no sign of anyone else on board.

“Hello? Anyone?” Donnie said.

No answer came from the boat. The back deck had no sign of occupants. Donnie slipped inside the open cabin and out of the rain. It took him a few moments to take in the dim interior.

“What the-, oh, my God, what happened here?”

First thing that Donnie noticed was the blood. It covered the controls at the front of the cabin, splattering them and in one spot running down and pooling on the floor. One streak arced across the windshield. His feet slid in something as he stepped back. Water puddled on the floor from the open doorway. More blood streaked across the floor as if whoever had been bleeding had walked or been dragged out. It wasn’t water or blood that Donnie had slipped in, however. Raising his boot, he found some kind of ooze sticking to the sole. The clear, viscous fluid was slimed across the floor, and seemed to be splattered on the wall as well.

Where most of the blood was pooled, to one side of the controls, was a gouged hole. It wasn’t a bullet hole, it was outwardly ragged around the edges and the size of a child’s fist. Donnie looked it over. It was like something had been punched into the console and then ripped out, maybe impaling someone or something. That would explain the blood drenching the whole area.

“What the fuck?” Donnie said.

At first, Donnie thought it was some kind of accident. Maybe during the tsunami or sometime after, someone had gotten impaled on wreckage and they’d had to leave the boat to seek help for whatever reason. Then he saw the gun. Partially hidden under a table to one side of the room was a short, black shotgun lying on the ground. Looking around again, Donnie saw a blasted crater to one side of the doorway.

“Shit, this is a crime scene,” Donnie said.

Unthinking, Donnie crossed the room, keeping his footing in spite of the mysterious slime. Despite the fact he had just said aloud it was a crime scene, Donnie stood over the console and stuck his finger right into the blood. His fingertip peeled away like velcro, tacky. It left behind a perfect print in the redness, waves and whorls clearly stamped. The blood was drying but not dried so he assumed it was an hour or two old, but he was hardly a forensic scientist

“Why the fuck did I touch that?” Donnie said. “Oh, God, this is a fucking crime scene, I shouldn’t be messing around in here!”

Donnie drew away to the doorway again. His clothing, the hat and coat, dripped water all over the blood and ooze. His boots left prints to and fro across the cabin. Wondering what to do next, he hesitated by the back deck. Lightning crackled and thunder rolled across the sky. Rain came down almost as hard as it had last night.

He could take the orange inflatable boat, Donnie thought. It had been his plan to take it if the bigger boat was stuck or he couldn’t drive it. The owner though was dead and gone, somewhere, with bigger problems. And in the smaller boat, he’d be unprotected from the rain and would quickly find himself wet and freezing. Crime scene or not, inside the cabin was dry and felt safer. The small orange boat would also be at risk from those crab creatures and other animals, or at risk of tearing open on some wreckage even if it was much tougher material than his inflatable mattress.

A strange thought occurred to Donnie. What if something out of the flood had done this to whoever was on the boat before him? It was ridiculous, but then this whole tsunami situation was insane. The behaviour of those crab things before, a kind of animal he’d never seen, was bizarre as well. Looking at all the blood, those crabs hadn’t done this but what about something bigger? He peered across the cabin at the bloody console again. No, that hole by the controls had to have been made with some kind of tool or maybe a piece of wreckage used as a weapon. It hadn’t been created by an animal.

The shotgun on the floor suggested whoever was here before Donnie was defending themselves from someone or something. So did the hole blown in the wall beside the door, a collection of small holes made by twelve gauge buckshot creating one big crater, close enough to the shooter that it was blackened by burnt powder expelled by the shot. As if unable to help himself, Donnie was drawn to the gun. He’d already trampled all over the evidence in the room as it was. The weapon was short for a shotgun, about one-and-a-third foot long with a stubby barrel, pump action, and grip like a handgun. Black, dense, and heavier than most objects that size would be.

Donnie didn’t know a lot about guns and didn’t own one. He’d had an uncle though who enjoyed hunting, and who had insisted on taking Donnie and his father camping and hunting a few times. He’d drilled how to use guns safely into him a number of times. He had never shot a living thing, except tree trunks if they counted, not in anger or for sport or for any other reason, but he was surprised at how much he’d retained. He eased the shotgun’s pump back enough to expose the chamber. The shotgun was loaded. Between the chamber and tube the compact shotgun could have held three shells but there was only the one ready to fire. Making sure the safety was on, he set the shotgun down on the cabin’s table, pointed away from him. He thought about wiping his prints off of it but then wondered what would be worse, having to explain why his prints were on it or having to explain why he’d wiped them off, along with the prints of whoever had been holding it before?

If whoever or whatever had attacked the boat came back, Donnie might have to defend himself. He wondered if he should look for more shells. He decided to check his phone instead. Although he’d lost his bag holding his food and water he’d thankfully been keeping his phone in the pocket of his looted jeans. The screen and case were damp but it turned on. The phone still didn’t have a signal, however. Donnie tried Alessa’s number anyway but nothing happened. He tapped out a message instead and sent it, hoping through the mysteries of satellites and technology it might eventually get through somehow.

‘Hi, I’m okay. Have found a boat and am going to try to use it to get home to you and the baby. Hope you are safe and this gets to you. Will keep checking and call when I can. Love you so much.’

Donnie made up his mind. Crime scene or not, he was going to take the boat. Part of him, selfishly, didn’t want to go back to being exposed in the storm. But the most important thing was getting home to Alessa and taking the bigger boat meant a better chance of getting there, and faster. Pragmatically, it also meant he had two boats instead of one. If the bigger craft got stuck he could take the orange inflatable. Maybe there were more people along the way he could help as well.

Looking back at the rain, Donnie wondered what it would look like if the unnatural downfall really did keep going for forty days and forty nights. He didn’t know how far the flood waters reached, if they even went as far as his home. If the flood went on and on, they’d definitely want the bigger boat.

Keys dangled from the ignition beside the boat’s steering wheel. With the hole in the dash, he worried the boat might not start but as soon as he turned the ignition the engine rumbled to life. Dual motors at the back of the boat kicked and started thrumming. The controls seemed simple, a wooden steering wheel and a thick lever that controlled the boat’s speed, forward or backward.

Donnie untied the boat and hauled up the anchor, engines running. He dropped it so that rope and chains coiled across the deck. The boat rocked and drifted away from the buildings on the currents. Rain drenched the vessel and him as he ran around outside, waves beating the sides of the boat.

Avoiding the drying blood, Donnie took to the controls again. He removed his hat and shrugged out of his wet coat. Donnie pushed the throttle up and was surprised how quickly the boat lurched forward. It missiled toward the buildings on the other side of the flooded street and Donnie yanked the lever back, twisting the steering wheel to the side. It took some getting used to but he got the boat jerking back and forth down the street.

The boat was harder to steer than Donnie had anticipated, it needed much more room to turn than a car. A thick skim of trash covered the surface of the water. Visibility was awful as well thanks to the rain. Switching the wipers on, they cut across the panes of glass and swiped the drops and runs of water away. For a water-going vessel, the wiper blades seemed even shittier than the ones on a car and didn’t clear the rain away as much as he was hoping.

“Fucking rain.” Donnie wiped at the condensation on the inside of the windshield.