Gregg Hurwitz - The Tower

On Level Three, Mills roared in terror as he watched the river of water flow past his unit. He looked down at his feet and saw the seething mass of liquid rising toward him through the bars of the floor. It deluged Level Two now, and it would be only another few seconds before it reached him.

He seized the unit wall fiercely with both hands, his hairy fingers squeezing the bars. The water flew up, striking his bottom and groin, and he bellowed in pain. He did not release his grip, even as the water yanked his body from the ground. The void over his head filled, and he slowly pulled himself back down to a standing position beneath the ocean's roar. He finally opened his mouth, forced to inhale, and a peace spread through his body as his lungs drew the water inward.

Cyprus moaned and paced madly about his unit, feeling the walls and jumping to grab the ceiling bars and hold his body up off the ground.

Above him, Spade laughed and stepped on his hands. "He got us, Aryan boy. He got us good," he called down tauntingly.

Cyprus squealed in pain and fear and collapsed to the floor. The water appeared to be moving more slowly now. It rose from Level Eight and when Cyprus's feet got wet, he screamed as if they'd been touched by acid. He jumped onto his bed.

"Any chance?" he cried, his breath catching in his chest. "Any chance it'll stop, that it'll level off? Come on, Spade, tell me. Tell me now. Oh, Jesus God."

The water reached his bed and continued to rise, claiming his calves, then his thighs. Again he leapt up and grabbed the ceiling bars. And again, Spade placed one of his size-fourteen feet over both hands. Cyprus whimpered like a puppy.

"None at all, white boy. None at all. Maybe by the time it hits Level Ten, or maybe not. But you got no hope. No hope at all for Level Nine." He smiled. "And I'll be right here watching you go."

He lifted his foot from Cyprus's hand, but this time Cyprus did not fall away. The water buoyed him until he was pressed against the ceiling. Spade sat clumsily on the floor, his legs spread so he could see Cyprus's face between them, and he watched as the water slowly covered Cyprus's frantic eyes. His blond hair flowed gracefully in the water, making him look like a distorted mermaid. He struggled against the bars, and as Spade's pants began to soak up water, Cyprus's breath left him in a bubbled cough. Sucking in painfully, he jerked about before drifting away from the ceiling.

Spade stood up and pulled off his shirt, throwing it into the corner. He sloshed over to his bed and sat, resting his chin on his fist, his black body sculpted and organic against the sterile steel bars. The water had slowed, but each wave pushed another gasp through the tenth-level vents into the Tower.

He looked at his hands. Opening and closing them, he flexed them before his face, his massive fists like sledgehammers. He watched until liquid flowed over them and then he stood to face the water. It rose over his bulging pectorals, then over his deltoids and trapezoids. Little bubbles clung to him as he felt his feet leave the ground. He welcomed the cold water flowing over his body. It had been a long drought.

He rose, treading water though barely moving, until his head struck the ceiling and stopped his ascent. "Allander, my child," he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. "Allander, my child." Water rushed over the smile that had formed on his lips, and a small funnel of air pushed into the water as he breathed from his nose. His glassy eyes did not blink as they went under.

By then, Allander was already off in the transport speedboat that had been loosely moored to the side of the Tower. As the water rose to Level Eleven, he used a pair of wire cutters to make a hole in the fence large enough to guide the speedboat through.

Breaking from the reflection of the Tower that rippled in the day's last light, Allander steered into open water. He buzzed toward the bleak glow at the horizon, nibbling from a cup of yogurt. The high tide rose to its peak, and sat defiantly around and throughout the Tower.

Allander stood in the rocking speedboat about a mile offshore and nosed it around until the bow faced open water. He wedged an iron rod into place between the floor and the wheel, turned the motor over, and started the boat again. It was getting low on gas. He tried to ease the throttle a bit higher, but the boat jerked forward and he fell over the side, banging his shoulder as it sped off.

The cold choked the air out of him and for a moment he thought he might sink. But then he felt his arms fight through the numbness, and he began to tread water. He floated for a minute holding his shoulder, moving with the waves. At least I disposed of the boat, he thought as he started the long swim to shore.

The throbbing in his shoulder intensified with every stroke and Allander realized he had underestimated his injury. He began to thrash, fighting with the rise of the waves to pull his body nearer to land.

The water splashed over his face, forcing itself into his eyes and nose and stinging horribly. His throat became raw from taking in water in little gulps. The cut on his finger throbbed as the saltwater entered the wound. The small lights of houses in the hilltops above the beach twinkled at him, as though jeering at him in his precarious situation.

Be calm. Just calm yourself, he thought. He rolled his tired neck from side to side and inhaled deeply, clearing his mind.

He kicked off his shoes when he'd first landed in the water, and now he stripped off his socks, his shirt, and even his thin prison pants. He tied one leg of his pants in a knot and shoved his socks and shirt into it before throwing the whole ball of cloth aside.

Wearing only his underwear, Allander gave in to the rhythm of the ocean, letting his body flow with the swirling water, letting it seize his limbs and take him under its sway. He rose, barely moving his arms and legs, and twirled on the surface before dipping below again, his exhausted body washed about like a leaf riding a harsh autumn wind. But the ocean continued to press him upward. He drank the air greedily before the ocean moved him down, forcefully sweeping him to shore. He felt his limbs grow stiff with the cold and he hoped they'd keep moving.

Finally, he noticed that the waves were breaking and he had to fight for breath as they crashed, spouting a white mist into the humid air. His torso actually broke through the surface as he neared shore, pushed into the air by the force of a wave, and he saw the lights clearly before his body hit the water again. At last, he felt the sand beneath his feet, and the thick pebbles and grains surrounding his toes. He touched the ground with both knees and still the ocean pushed him forward, seething up his back and through his legs, propelling him to shore.

Suddenly, his legs and waist were seized by a large, dark mass. A slimy substance wrapped itself around him and squeezed him tightly, tying up his limbs and sucking him back out to sea. Allander dug his fingers into the sand and pulled himself forward, screaming and thrashing.

The mass slid from Allander's waist and briefly held his knees before he kicked free. He turned on his hip to watch as it slid from view. It was a patch of dark green seaweed, glittering moistly in the moonlight.

He pulled himself free of the water as it retreated to gather itself for another surge onto the beach. Scrambling on all fours and wearing only a ragged pair of underpants, Allander was delivered to shore at three minutes past midnight.

The water climbed gently to where his body lay and barely touched his side, as if sniffing him curiously. Allander stirred, coughing deeply, and winced at the dull ache in his throat and head. His finger throbbed even more now. He drew himself up to his knees and peered around the beach, admiring its fine, open expanse, its irregular shape and sloppy curves. Overhead, the moon broke through the clouds. Throwing his head back, he shrieked, something between a sob and a cackle.