Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Water slams over the building, blinding me from seeing through the windows. It reminds me of a car wash as you wait for it to clean your vehicle while you sit safely inside to keep from getting wet.
The glass splinters into a giant spiderweb on one of the windows. And then another. Then, because this can’t get any more horrifying, a hole the size of a quarter pops open and water starts rushing into my office. Around the hole, the cracks grow bigger and more plentiful. I take that as my cue to look away. Falling to my ass beside the kid, I let out a strangled groan.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” he asks, brown eyes wide.
Rather than answering his question, I gently take his hand, an unusual urge to offer him some sort of comfort—and maybe myself for that matter—and shake my head.
Liar.
It’s only a matter of time.
We’ll all be dead soon.
“What’s your name, kid?” I rasp out, squeezing his hand.
“T-Tyler,” he stammers. “You’re Kellen. The app told me.”
Sounds of water as it rushes into my office through what now seems to be multiple holes are distracting. He shudders and my blood turns to ice. Rather than letting fear consume us, I meet his gaze.
“Don’t worry. You’ll still get your tip,” I deadpan.
He blinks several times and his features transform from the scared little boy to the taunting guy who’d walked into my office with my cold-ass sandwich.
“Better be the best damn tip of my life,” Tyler says, flashing me a grin that feels out of place due to our situation. “After all I went through to get h—”
His words are drowned out—pun intended—as icy-cold water rushes past us, submerging us to our chests. I’m still holding his hand, but this time I’m clutching onto it as if my life depends on it.
Because it does.
What little life I have left.
“Is this a bad time to let you know I can’t swim?” I yell, clenching my eyes shut.
“Fuck!”
His response echoes inside my head as we’re swept away from the cover of my desk and are both slammed into the wall by my door. Water surges up over us and completely reaches the ceiling, trapping us in this tank of despair. Something hard slams into my side—and sharp—tearing through parts of my suit in an instant. I’m jolted with it, but Tyler’s hold on me is unrelenting. He yanks me away from the debris.
It’s too late.
We’re underwater and we’re going to die.
Then we’re being sucked in the opposite direction, like suds being pulled down into a drain. The thought of getting dragged back out to sea is so terrifying, I nearly black out. My other side crashes into what I think is my desk and then I’m being heaved out the window.
Out. The. Fucking. Window.
I’m dead.
A sharp pain in my shoulder has me exhaling what little breath I had left in my lungs. As the water rushes out of my office and attempts to take me along with it, I realize I’m still holding on to Tyler. Or, better yet, he’s holding on to me.
The water recedes out of my office just as quickly as it came in and I’m immediately aware that I’m on the outside of my building. When this water finally drains away, it’ll be a long-ass drop to the pavement.
I suck in much-needed gulps of air as I try to process my situation.
Pain assaults me from every direction, but right now, I’m more focused on staying inside my office where the water is leaving. Where there’s air and relative safety.
“I’ve got you,” Tyler hisses, pulling with all his might. “This tip better be really fucking good.”
I bark out a hysterical laugh. It’s better than blacking out in terror.
“Is thirty percent not the standard when someone brings you a cold, now-wet sandwich but saves your life instead?”
He grunts, not bothering to answer, and drags me back into my office with a splash. Another wave tries to pull me back out, but he finds purchase and drags me away from the window. The building appears to be leaning. One corner of my office isn’t dry per se, but isn’t knee deep in water. He pulls us over to the corner, both of us stumbling and falling into a heap of exhaustion.
It takes only seconds for me to realize I’m half on top of this stranger, gasping for air like I may not ever get it again. He’s trembling so hard I have the urge to hug him to me to make him stop.
Despite being completely exhausted from my near escape of death, I manage to sit up and put my back against the wall. My eyes travel to the windows—or where they once were—and I survey the damage.
I’ve never in my forty years seen anything like it.
San Francisco is completely flooded.