Flooded

It has been seven years and four months since the world ended.

He rose from his bed, made up from an old mattress placed up against the wall, and began to go about his day. He threw on his clothes, rinsed out his mouth, and head out into the main area of him home.

His first step is to check is water supply - it’s running low, he’ll have to conserve until he can obtain more. For the hundredth time, he marvels on the irony of having to conserve water in what’s left of the world. As he walks to the windows of his home, he remains amazed at what he sees.

Water. Nothing but water in every direction.

He remembers what the skyline used to look like - buildings raising like stalks of grass toward the sun, with colored lights in every direction, an incessant bustle of people, all with somewhere to be. Now there was only water in every direction, burying the buildings, and the lights, and the people. A drowned world. He remembered reading a book about that once. The author had believed that global warming would be the cause. How optimistic he’d been. What had destroyed the world wasn’t man’s neglect, but man’s arrogance and stupidity. We’d thought that, with all our knowledge and technology, we could use the oceans to create a limitless source of power.

We’d been wrong.

Now, all that was left to show for our hubris was what remained of a once great civilization, buried under the nature it had thought it had dominion over.

Sighing, he checked his radio once again, as he had every morning for over seven years. He never heard anything - he knew that there was nothing to hear, but he could not help but keep trying. What else was he to do?

Accepting his daily disappointment, he left the radio and went to check on his most important possession. Fortunately, the skyscraper he was trapped in had contained a laboratory before the flood, and he’d been able to use his scientific knowledge and the chemicals and supplies stored there to construct a rudimentary hydroponic garden. He didn’t know what they previous occupants of the building had used those supplies for, and he didn’t care - they kept him alive, and he was thankful.

Making himself a quick breakfast of lettuce, herbs, peppers, and strawberries, he went to survey his surroundings. He had long since seen everything there was to see, but there was little else to occupy his time now. He remembered when there had been no end of distractions - sports, video games, Netflix - but those days were long past. Now there was only exploring. That, and the water.

As he finished his morning jog - three laps around the perimeter of the floor, though he could only estimate how many miles tht was - and toured his prison, he asked himself, as he had many times before, how mankind could be so stupid? Like the emperor from the children’s fable, we’d thought we’d had everything, when really, we’d had nothing. Only in our case, rather than clothes, we’d thought we had dominion over the earth. And unfortunately, we’d had no child to tell us the truth, and our fate was worse than humiliation. Would that we had only suffered thus.

As he circled back to the start of his journey, he heard something that made his heart stop. Convinced he was going mad, he raced to the radio.

“...lo? Hello? Is anyone there?”

Shocking himself out of his paralysis, he reached out and twisted the dials. “Hello? Hello? Are you still there? Hello?”

There was a pause. And then… “Hello! I can hear you!”

It was a woman’s voice, and she sounded no less desperate and relieved than he was. He immediately responded, his heart nearly exploding in his chest.

“Hello? My name is Mark. What’s yours?”

“My name is Jill. It’s nice to meet you, Mark. Yours is the first voice I’ve heard in forever. I was beginning to think I’d never hear another voice again. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear another person.”

He could practically feel the blood rushing through his veins. Finally. Finally.

“How are you, Jill? Are you well?”

“Well, I don’t know if ‘well’ is the word - the water is high and my supplies are low - but I'm OK for now.”

He exhaled in relief. “That’s great to hear, Jill. I thought I was alone, as well. Is there anyone else with you?”

There was a pause, and Mark thought he heard a slight sob. “There was. He… he didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied sincerely. “Was he someone you knew?”

“My brother.”

“Oh,” he replied, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago, now.”

They spoke for hours, until Mark noticed the power on his radio running low. “I’m sorry, Jill - the power is dying in my radio and I need to recharge it. But I’ve really enjoyed speaking with you. Do you think it would be alright if we did it again tomorrow?”

Jill replied with an amused tone. “Well, I did have other plans tomorrow, but I suppose I can move some things around.”

Mark grinned. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, milady. Thanks for fitting me into your schedule. Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow.”

And with that, Mark ended the connection. He noticed for the first time that the sun had begun to set. And as he began his evening routine, he realized that, for the first time in a long time, he was smiling.

The following weeks saw Mark fall into a new routine. He still tended his garden, and worked out, and toured the floor on which he lived, but those things became only interludes between the times that he could speak with Jill. They spoke about their lives, and losses, and hopes, and dreams. He found himself looking forward to speaking with her each day, and dreaming of her every night.

One day, during their conversation, Mark could hear something different in Jill’s voice. It was something he recognized - he’d felt it often during the early days after the flood.

Fear.

“What’s wrong, Jill?”

“Nothing,” she’d said, but he knew better - after the past few weeks, he knew her voice so well that he felt that he could picture her.

“Really, Jill, I’m not buying. What is it?”

She sighed. “It’s nothing, Mark. It’s just that my latest bunch of crops came in this morning, and they’re inedible. I’ve been recycling soil for a while now, but I think it’s finally lost its efficacy. Without it, I can’t grow food. And without food…”

She said nothing. Nothing needed to be said - they both knew what that meant.

“Don’t worry, Jill. Let me think on it - I’ll come up with something.”

“OK, Mark,” she said, “thank you.” But he could tell that she said it more to humor him than because she had any faith that there was a solution.

“I’ll think of something, Jill. Don’t give up.”

He spend the following days trying plan after plan over and over in him mind, but only one seemed to stand any chance of success. So he decided to share it with her.

“OK, Jill. I have a plan. Or at least the beginnings of one. Don’t freak out.”

He could hear her voice perk up. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Mark. What is it?”

“Well, I’ve thought about this, and the only thing I can come up with is for me to come there. I’d bring over my supplied and garden, but there’s no way for me to carry it all. But if I can get there, then we can build a boat to carry us both back over here. I have enough food her to keep us going for years.”

And with that, he heard her voice deflate. “Come on, Mark. Have you looked outside? Nothing we can build is going to survive that. And have you forgotten that we’re both at the tops of skyscrapers a hundred floors up. If we fall overboard, it’s a long way down.”

But Mark insisted. “Don’t give up, Jill. We can make it work.”

There was a pause. “OK,” she replied resignedly, “if you’re sure. But don’t risk your life for me Mark. Promise me that, if it doesn’t work…”

“Don’t worry, Jill,” he interrupted her before she could finish the thought, “I’ve got this.”

He spent the next days making plans, performing calculations, and determining how to build the best boat possible from the materials he had available. He had chairs he could break apart, grain sealer to treat the wood, and duct tape to lash it together. He knew there were processes to make these things into a serviceable craft, but like so many other pieces of knowledge, the methods had been lost to time. For the thousandth time he cursed mankind for dooming themselves and for not finding a way to make the internet, with its endless supply of knowledge, outlast them. One more thing their hubris had cost.

And then, one day, he had it. A working copy of a craft. He loaded up everything he’d need - some clothes packed in a waterproof bag, some seeds, and an old cigarette lighter for fire and warmth - tied the pack securely to this back, and pushed his boat out of an open door and onto the attached balcony. He’d never had use for his balcony before, but now he could not overstate his gratitude for it. .

With one last prayer to whatever gods were still listening, he pushed the boat over the balcony’s edge and into the water.

Once he’d settled himself into this makeshift craft, he picked up taped-together chair legs that he’d fashioned into paddles and began to row. He knew the direction of Jill’s building - they’d discussed it many times during their talks, being amazed that they happened to be in the same city - and he pointed his boat towards it.

Things were going well. For the first time in years, he remembered what it was like to be out in the sun and fresh air. His luxury prison may have been surrounded in floor to ceiling windows, but seeing the world through glass couldn’t match experiencing it in person. He marveled again at everything humanity had thrown away. Nature, beauty, humanity, technology, art, life - all gone in a fit of arrogance. Maybe nature was simply reclaiming what it has owned all along. Maybe mankind had gotten what it deserved. Maybe whoever, or whatever, came next would do better.

And then, with a jerk, catastrophe struck. He felt a fountain of water begin to shoot up under his feet.

He’d brought extra duct tape just in case, and reached for it now. He began to tear off strips to plug the whole, but it was no use - for every hole he plugged, two more took its place. He realized that it was a lost cause - his miracle craft was going to sink.And he realized he was feeling something that, in his relative comfort, he hadn’t felt in years - fear.

Hurriedly, he resecured his pack on his back. He hadn’t come that far, really - he could swim back. That sounded like a totally reasonable plan until he looked down. He’s always preferred swimming in a pool to swimming in the ocean - both were bodies of water, but he could touch the bottom of the pool, whereas the ocean seemed to contain untold horrors within its opaque depths. But now, he was at the top of a 100-story ocean and he had no choice. Conquering his age-old fear, he stepped to the edge of the rapidly sinking boat and dove overboard.

He was afraid, but there was no time for fear - there was only time now for survival. He began kicking his legs and moving his arms. If he could just make it back to the balcony, he would be alright, He would survive. And he could try again.

Though he had only been sailing for the better part of an hour, the trip back seemed interminable. His legs grew tired and his arms felt like lead, but he kept pushing - there was no choice. He tried not to think about what might be under the water - how many dead things might be below the surface, and even worse, how many live ones. There was nothing he could do about it now.

More than once, he felt he was going to sink below the surface, but he refused to allow himself to give up - he had to get back so that he could try again. He was tired, and hungry, and his mind began to wander - he thought he was seeing images of creatures awaiting him, but he was just lucid enough to realize that he must be hallucinating. At one point he felt something dragging him down and thought he must be done for, but he realized that it was the weight of his pack. Realizing he did not have the strength to carry it any longer, he removed it and let it sink into the darkness below.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, or days, he did not know, he saw the balcony in the distance. It was still too far away, but he had come too far to give up now. With one final burst of strength, he extended his arm and his hand found the railing. With the last of his strength, he pulled himself up over the side and collapsed, exhausted, onto his back.

No floor had ever felt as good as this one.

He laid on the floor of the balcony, watching the water lap at the edge of the building a foot below. Eventually he rose and crawled back into his prison that now looked like a sanctuary.

And then he remembered. And he despaired.

The exhausting, and disappointment, and fear caught up to him all at once, crushing him like a thousand pound weight on his chest. In his frustration and anguish, he screamed. It was the first time he had screamed in years - he had determined early on that he would not give in to the hopelessness, as it would serve no purpose. But he gave in to it now.

And then he began to plan improvements. He thought about ways to make the boat stronger, ways to make it last longer, ways to make it work this time. But all of a sudden, it hit him. He was almost out of duct tape. He had used a great deal of his supply to make the boat, and most of what was left had been in the pack that he had carelessly abandoned to the sea.

He was an idiot. Again he despaired. He didn’t know what he would do. But he would think of something. He had to. She was counting on him.

She. Jill.

He ran to the radio to update her and reassure her that he was fine. He’d had a setback, but he’s get it right next time. How? A traitorous voice in the back of his mind asked. With what supplies? What makes you think you can do better? But he crushed that voice ruthlessly and turned on the radio.

“Jill? Are you there? I’m back in my skyscraper. The first attempt didn’t work, but it’s OK. I’ll think of something else. I swear, I’lll find a way. Don’t lose hope.”

He waited on her response, ready to reassure her again that he was fine and not giving up, but there was only silence.

Concerned, he tried again. “Jill? Hello? Are you there? Jill?”

Silence.

“Jill, if you’re there, please say something. Come on, you’ve got me worried over here. Take it easy on me. Jill? Jill?”

But there was still no sound, and a cold dread began to fill his chest.

“Mark?”

He heard his name, but it sounded strange. And then he realized - it wasn’t from the radio.

He looked over toward the balcony, and there, standing in wet clothes and carrying a partially torn bag, was a woman. She was medium height, with brunette hair and delicate features. Her nose was slightly too big for her face, and there was a cut on her cheek that was shedding blood.

She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Jill?”

Her look of trepidation turned to one of joy. “I’m so glad to see you! For a while I thought I wouldn't make it - my raft wasn’t that great - but I knew I had to try. I thought that you…”

Her words were cut off when she found herself in his embrace.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “Let’s get you some dry clothes, a blanket, and something to eat, in that order. Then you can sleep. I won’t bother you for the details tonight - we can talk about it all tomorrow. Is that ok?”

She smiled at him. “Well, I did have other plans tomorrow, but I suppose I can move some things around.”

He smiled back.

*****

THE END