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houses and other debris floated by, like a parade of chaos. Tim began to count how many cars he saw and if he could tell what the make was. Rachel listened, Tim’s voice cutting through the rushing current and rolls of thunder. She half-heartedly wondered if they were at risk for getting struck by lightning, sitting there exposed. And the water rose.
    “Hey, the rain is stopping!”
    Rachel was startled by Tim shouting. She hadn’t exactly been sleeping - that would have been impossible - but she had unconsciously entered a sort of trance-like state in an effort to forget where she was and that she couldn’t do anything to change it. She was also getting so cold. All the rain and ocean water transformed the usually steamy heat into a wet, freezing cold that soaked its way through Rachel’s summer clothes deep into her bones. Was it possible to get hypothermia in paradise?
    “The rain is stopping!” Tim repeated.
    Rachel tilted her face upwards. It was true. The rain had lessened to an occasional drip and the clouds changed from a black hue to a softer gray. The sun was still nowhere to be seen.
    “I can’t stand sitting here anymore,” Tim complained, gingerly standing. “Let’s go look for help in the kayak.”
    “What if it starts up again?” Rachel asked. “I think we should stay here and keep waiting.”
    “You said we should keep heading inland,” Tim reminded her. “There will be other places if we need to stop.”
    “True.”
    By now, the water was high enough for Tim to push the kayak right off the roof and carefully sit himself down. He held unto the gutter to stabilize the kayak while Rachel got in. She still had her backpack in front. It had blocked some of the rain. Tim let the current take the kayak, using his paddle to avoid running into uprooted trees or cars. He kept looking up as if expecting an angelic army of choppers to swoop down and rescue them. Rachel was not so optimistic. She knew enough about disasters to know help was never there when you wanted them and rarely there when you needed them. So often the waiting lasted much longer than the actual disaster itself. Rachel and Tim followed the trail of debris for at least a half hour. As they passed a series of houses, Rachel thought she heard a sound.
    “Wait!” she cried, grabbing Tim’s arm from behind. “Did you hear that?”
    “What?”
    “Shh!”
    They sat as still as possible. Through the sound of water and occasional bump of debris against debris, it started up again. A weak cry for help.
    “There!”
    Tim paddled in the direction of the cry.
    “Over here!” Rachel said.
    Tim grabbed hold of the porch railing and pulled the kayak closer to the house. The water had buried the stairs, hiding the door knob. The door was slightly ajar.
    “Hello?” he called. “Is someone there?”
    “Help!” the voice cried.
    Tim pushed the door further open, moving a piece of furniture that had fallen against the door. The water was up so high that Tim and Rachel had to lower their heads to avoid striking the top of the door. Inside, there were only a few feet of space above the water before the ceiling. Empty jars and cans floated around. The water was murky, but Rachel could make out some dark outlines of furniture below the surface. There was no one in sight.
    “Where are you?” Tim called.
    “Kitchen!”
    Tim paddled forward, hunched over the kayak. They drifted into the room that had once been the kitchen to see a middle-aged woman in the water, clinging to the top of the refrigerator. She had bruises on her face and mascara streaming down. She began to cry when she saw the kayak.
    “Thank God,” she sobbed. “I’ve been calling and no one would come.”
    “How long have you been here? Are you hurt?”
    “My leg,” the woman said. “I think it’s broken.”
    Tim and Rachel looked at each other. There wasn’t space in the kayak for more than two people.
    “Here, put her up between us, on this divider,” Rachel