Inevitable

It was raining. But then again, it always was. Or so it felt. It was the kind of rain that clung to your skin and made you smell like wet dog. You couldn't go anywhere nowadays without that scent tickling your nostrils. Everything smelled of damp and mold. Even my fiancès fancy house with its marble floors smelled of the black mold that grew between the crevices and under the Italian terracotta tiles. No one could escape it. Just like the floods. Or so we thought. I am pulled from my lament by a familiar screeching voice that sounds reminiscent to nails on a chalkboard. "Raine! I don't pay you to stand around lollygagging!" The offending voice was my manager, Shanice. Probably younger than she looked, her pale skin was sallow and a cloud of cigarette smoke perpetually hung in the air around her, coalescing in the premature lines that spread across her face like canyons through a dry desert. She wore her thinning bleached hair in a ponytail, and large hoops in her ears. Both were sore attempts to revive a youth long since passed. "Sorry," I murmur, shrugging. Money was truly the least of my worries. My fiancé, Cliff Jones, was one of the richest men in the country, famous for his climate change technology that would help us to survive as the floods take hold. Already much of America's coastline has disappeared beneath the waves. There was a crisis last year when a nuclear power plant that a rival of Cliff's owned, was destroyed by a tsunami which later claimed kilometers of land. Radiation leaked out to sea, and the effects on wildlife are still largely unknown, but scientists are worried. Anyhow, perhaps it is my stubborn working-class mentality, but I refuse to take any handouts from Cliff, or to move in with him until after our wedding. Though, that part might be my Abuela's influence. She's more than happy to accept the handouts, though. I finish cleaning the tables I'd been assigned, then punch my time card, giving Shanice a half hearted wave that she, as usual, does not return. She chews on her strongly scented peppermint gum, and grunts an acknowledgement in my general direction. Thankfully, this is a satisfied grunt, not a pissed off grunt. I sling my purse over my shoulder and head out the door and into the grey, rainy outdoors. I'm relieved to find that the street is only knee deep in murky water today, rather than thigh high as it has been. This is about as low as it gets nowadays. According to Abuela, the streets never used to be flooded, except when the rain was bad. Apparently they used land vehicles called 'cars' which had wheels like a utility dolly. I've never seen one, though. All I have ever known is taking a boat to work and school, and walking through streets made of algae and cholera as the rain pisses down and drenches me. I walk to the edge of the marine road, already soaked, and hold my arm out to hail the nearest kayak. There are speedboats available, and jet skis at the Marina, but Shanice doesn't pay me enough for any of that. I help the kayak paddle, because it makes the ride cheaper, and once I get to my stop, I hand him a crumpled hundred dollar bill. He nods, and we part ways. I love it when they don't try to talk to me. Satisfied with my utilitarian trip, I wade down the street to Abuela's house. Only the top two steps up to the platformed house are submerged, but a slippery green line five steps up indicates the concerning increase of late. I climb up twenty steps before I reach the front door. Our home is lower than others, but it was all Abuelo thought would be necessary when he built it. Thankfully, we have only ever been fully flooded three times so far, so the need to move to higher ground is not yet necessary. I think Cliff would have better luck convincing Abuela to leave than I ever would. "Abuelita!?" I call as I enter, placing my bag on the counter. My grandmother pops her head around the corner, greeting me with her ready smile. "Ah, querida, you are home." I nod to her as I throw the wrapper from my granola bar lunch into the bin. My stomach rumbles in objection to the lackluster snack. "Sí, Abuelita. Cuándo est la cena?" "Dinner is in the fridge already, nieta. I saved some for you. Is that man of yours coming tonight?" "Not tonight Abuela," I chuckle as I head over to the fridge, locating her famous mofongo and arroz con pollo combination. She 'tsks' as I wolf down the mofongo. I had thought of virtually nothing else all day. "You remembered I requested it!" I point out, trying to get her to avert her judgemental gaze. She chuckles, turning from me and switching on the TV instead. The wires in our houses were all attached to power points on the roof, away from where any floods could reach. It did mean, though, that we had to stand on chairs to turn anything off or on, or attach anything new. "Fisherpeople have been saying they've pulled up fish with six eyes and two heads. Of course, the media won't discuss it." "That's because they're all in the pockets of the folks responsible." I roll my eyes. Admittedly, the Septimii family have been villainized by the people of California. They knew their nuclear power plant was at risk of being flooded, but they continued to operate without taking measures to prevent leakage or improve structural integrity because they were too frugal. So, we aren't especially pleased with them. Least of all us, because the Septimii are Cliff's biggest rivals. They come from old money though, from before the flood. Cliff is new to all of it, after he became renowned for his line of water repellent clothing that looks almost identical to cotton and viscose blends. Nothing like the uncomfortable, loud nylon and plastic coated materials that became common at the start of the Floods. My autism was grateful for this. Ironically, so was his. My grandmother grunts her disapproval. "Seems like everyone's in the pockets of the Septimii nowadays. You tell that boy of yours to watch out, nieta. They're dangerous. No good will come to either of you if he goes crossing the likes of them." I know Abuela is only trying to express concern for Cliff, so I smile and stare down at my plate. "Neita, that one required a response." I look up at Abuela but no words cross my lips. Instead, I continue to smile at her. She tsks, knowing I'm just socially exhausted from work. She ruffles my dark, curly hair affectionately as she strides away from me towards the couch. If it was anyone other than her or Cliff ruffling my hair like that, I would probably lose my s**t. I kiss Abuela goodbye, and head out again. this time, Cliff is waiting, on a jet skii, brown hair slicked back against his skull from the rain, and sea-green eyes smiling. "Just on time," he grins up at me. I smile as I walk down the stairs and made out to his jet skii, straddling it and wrapping my arms around his solid abdomen. "I missed you," I say, burying my face in the space between his neck and shoulder, where his intoxicating scent was strongest. "I missed you, too," he replied, before starting the engine. my thighs tighten around his as we speed up, racing past people on kayaks, canoes and rowboats. the wind whips my hair, pulling my dark curls out of their bindings. I laugh, shaking my head when my hair tickles my nose too much. Cliff turns back to check on me, but noting my smile, grins before looking back down at the submerged street. We finally stop, at a large white yacht that dwarfs the surrounding stilted buildings and smaller house-boats. Cliff moors the boat before I scamper off, accepting the hand he offers me. When I look up towards the door to the cabin, I see Cliff's mother emerge. She is a tall, thin, blonde woman, wearing a diaphanous white robe over a white cami and perfectly tailored white slacks. She looks almost like a ghost against the Gothic, grey sky. Her pink lips are set in a deep frown. "Oh good, Raine. You're here too." She sighs deeply. "Cliff, we have a problem."