Rescue Squad

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“Nobody’s using rowboats,” Gerlach sighed. He glopped his oars into the gelantinous bay.

Uranium sirens drowned out the sound of gooped up outboard motors.

“Southeast,” he pointed. “They’re fleeing the Staten Caldera.”

Aaron pointed the magnesium lamp toward the Verrazzano Narrows.

He thought of his boyhood in the Water Time.