Marcus burst into the condo, Matty clutched in his arms. The faux leather of the pale blue sofa softly squealed as he set his son down. Matty blinked up at him, his expression confused.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“In another condo, buddy.”

“What happened to ours?”

Marcus smiled but decided not to answer. “I’ve gotta talk to your mama for a minute, ok?”

Matty offered a somber nod but otherwise lay still.

Marcus strode toward the bedroom as Bella’s cries rose from within. He had pushed her inside without explanation for Esme before they hurried to find Matty.

When he cracked the door open, his baby girl only cried harder and ran into his waiting embrace. He lifted her to a hip, murmuring comfort as he approached Esme.

His wife hadn’t moved an inch, but her tense face tracked his. He held up his hand before she burst into a torrent of questions

“Matty ran off, but we found him.” And had to resuscitate him, he didn’t add. “He’s out on the couch now.” Marcus hesitated. “But he needs a hospital.”

“What did I say?” Esme asked with ice in her voice. “Go. Why on earth are you waiting?”

“I had to leave this discussion to save him—I’m so sorry for not finding a hospital,” Marcus spat in a rush.

Esme’s eyebrows lifted.

“Who goes and who stays?” Marcus asked.

“You go, obviously,” she said. “I’ll stay here with the firefighter and Bella.”

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t like that. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not doing so hot either.”

Esme rolled her eyes. “I don’t care. You can’t take all of us–Matty takes priority.”

“We don’t know that we all can’t go,” Marcus shot back.

“Obviously—.”

“Geez, Es, just let me think for two minutes without inserting your very loud opinion.”

“What did you say to me?” Esme sputtered.

“I came to update you. Let me think. I’ll talk to Fitz, and we’ll make a plan.”

With his toddler curled into his shoulder, Marcus swiveled, walked out of the room, and shut the door on his wife’s hissed Spanish curses.

Sofia shielded her eyes from the rain that pelted her with a wild rage. She peered around the intersection but saw only the flash of emergency lights straight ahead.

As she stepped off the curb, her foot landed in six inches of rushing water-the city’s drainage system had long since overrun. Her battered body barked as she plodded across the saturated roadway.

Sofia glanced toward her destination; without warning, a solid mass rammed her sideways. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to cushion her fall and her shoulder hit the pavement with a crack.

Terror displaced her pain as it wrenched her stomach into her throat. She waited to see if Jax would tower over her, a cruel smile painting his handsome visage.

But after a few more breaths, she blinked through the storm and spotted a large sandwich sign flattened next to her. It read, “Sunday Special: Reuben Sandwich with two supreme sides and a drink! $14.99 plus tip.”

Groaning, she stood and cradled her newly injured arm, which throbbed with new vigor as her panic subsided. Sofia clenched her teeth and continued.

She picked up her pace, hoping to avoid any more debris collisions. Wind-carried litter bombarded her along with stinging raindrops, but she approached the front bumper without interruptions.

Sofia raised a hand to shield her eyes and peered at the windshield, which shimmered with moisture in the intermittent glow coming from the roof. She spied nothing through the glass, and her gaze traveled down to the crumpled metal curved around a lamppost. They must’ve crashed.

Her fingers slid against the smooth metal exterior as Sofia waded toward the vehicle’s rear, where she knew she would find some shelter and medical supplies.

She cradled her right arm against her chest, hissing at the pain in her shoulder. Finally, Sofia rounded the corner, reached her good arm up, grasped the slick handle, and yanked.

Surprise and relief flooded her as the door swung open, revealing a well-lit interior. Uncertainty stained her reprieve though, as she beheld five startled faces staring back at her.

Marcus craned his neck as he leaned over the central lobby stairwell railing. The sea had continued its climb and had covered the reception desk and all the furniture. Some lighter pieces had risen with the water line and now bobbed aimlessly.

Where are they?

Fitz had argued against this search, saying the risk was too high. But Marcus had to try. Even though he couldn’t know for certain without advanced imaging equipment, he almost sensed the blood collecting against Matty’s brain. Each of his son’s heartbeats pushed more into that space, crowded his skull, and counted down like a ticking time bomb.

A flash of red paint snapped Marcus out of his grim thoughts. There! The crimson kayak floated into view. He stood up straight and bit his lip. What are the odds they only have one kayak?

With a relentless breath, he swiveled toward the staircase behind him. Murky water awaited him four steps down.

Marcus strode down into the tepid indoor sea before he could talk himself out of his plan. His bare feet reached the landing, and he followed the inner curve of the stairwell, continuing his descent. After the third step, his feet no longer touched the floor.

Marcus’s muscles complained as he treaded water. I have to make it to the boat.

He swam, fighting exhaustion, and his floating salvation drew closer with each kick and each stroke of his arms. With one last thrust, Marcus gripped the boat’s side and hung limp against the fiberglass.

He let several minutes pass this way as he dragged air into his screaming lungs. When the fire in his muscles quieted and his breaths slowed, Marcus swiveled his body to inspect the rest of the lobby.

Besides floating coffee tables, he didn’t see any other buoyant objects—definitely no marine sports equipment. Marcus looked up at the boat’s edge imagined pulling himself into the seat. He huffed and shook his head. Ain’t gonna happen.

After several awkward minutes, Marcus maneuvered the kayak against the stairwell’s railing. Gripping the boat with one hand, he found a step with his toes, stood, and climbed into the seat by the rail. Reaching inside the hollow space around the seat, he felt for oars. Do they even keep oars in kayaks?

The weight of his plan settled heavily on his chest, and his limited knowledge suddenly became clear. After a moment of glassy-eyed surrender, Marcus set his jaw and propelled the boat forward inch by inch with cupped hands.

As he floated forward, more of the lobby came into view. Towels, sunglasses, disposable plastic cups, and bits of abandoned food floated around him and he pushed them aside as he moved through the debris.

Oppressive heat pressed against him and tried to steal his focus. The continued lashing of droplets against the glass surrounding him created a distracting and hypnotic cacophony. But he kept going.

He pushed into the center of the lobby’s rear area and studied every wall, every floating lump, every–

Yes!

In a dark corner to his left, two more kayaks–one yellow, one green–floated in the gloom.

Sophia stood, uncertainty and fear painting her expression.

“Oh my God, get in here, sweetie!” said a plump woman with frizzy short curls, reaching to help her up.

Biting her lip, Sofia peered at the others one by one. A man and woman wore EMT uniforms. A gray-haired man sat beside an old lady on a stretcher, his hands enveloping hers.

Without a word, she stepped out of the rain and shut both doors behind her.

Rain battered the ambulance, but its volume was now low. Sofia faced the silent group.

The young male EMT moved toward her, but Sofia flinched back. He stopped.

“Can I examine you?” he asked, voice lined with kindness. “You look pretty beat up.”

“Not you,” Sofia mumbled. “Her.”

The woman in the front cab glanced at her partner and nodded. “Sure thing, hon.” She squeezed between the old couple, who gripped each other as soon as she passed. Frizzy-hair scooted over to make room.

“My name’s Theresa,” the EMT said gently. “What happened to you? Where did you come from?”

“I was in the stadium, but…I…” Sofia burst into tears that turned into massive heaving gulps of air. She couldn’t breathe. Her gasps came faster and bright spots danced in her vision.

“She’s hyperventilating,” Theresa said. “Get me a non-re-breather mask.”

Her partner jumped and tossed a plastic bag across the small space. Theresa ripped it open and removed an oxygen mask with a clear pouch.  She returned one end of the attached narrow tubing to the other EMT. “I’m going to put this over your nose and mouth to help you breathe,” she told Sofia.

The cushioned silicone pressed against Sofia’s skin, and dry, metallic cool filled her lungs. Several minutes passed as her breaths slowed and deepened. Finally, she pulled the mask away and looked up at Theresa.

“Better?” the EMT asked.

Sofia’s face crumpled. Hot tears slid down her cheeks and sobs wracked her slight frame. Theresa gathered her into an embrace and Sofia gave in to her grief.