Outside, the rain intensified, drenching the asphalt and creating a symphony of pitter-patters on the roof. The wind howled, rattling the roofs of buildings and sending sheets of water cascading down the car windows. I turned the key in the ignition, feeling the engine roar to life as I set off toward Pacifica.

  “So, why are we headed to Pacifica?” Henry asked, his tone laced with curiosity as he adjusted his seatbelt.

  “Eva’s sister is there,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the slick road ahead. “She wants to check on her, make sure she’s safe. Plus, Jade will be there.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow, clearly baffled. “I didn’t realize Eva had a sister.”

  “Yeah, she has a twin named Michelle. Eva calls her the 'good twin.'” I clarified, skimming over the nuances of their relationship.

  “And what’s she doing in Pacifica?” His tone was incredulous as if he couldn’t fathom why anyone would willingly travel to such a place.

  “All I know is it has something to do with charity,” I said quickly, maintaining my focus on navigating the winding roads.

  As we drew closer to Pacifica, our progress slowed to a crawl, a long line of cars stretching ahead of us like a snake. At the front of the queue, the flashing lights of the NCPD illuminated the dreary scene.

  “Shit, badges,” I remarked, glancing at Henry, who was peering out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

  “Doesn’t look too serious. Just play it cool,” he advised, his voice steady.

  The line inched forward, and eventually, we found ourselves face-to-face with two officers. One stepped forward, his uniform crisp against the stormy backdrop, and rapped on my window. I rolled it down, the cool air rushing in, mingling with the scent of rain-drenched earth.

  The officer illuminated our interior with a flashlight, the beam cutting through the dimness. “What are you fellas doing out here?” he inquired, his tone neutral yet probing.

  “It’s my sister, Officer,” Henry interjected from the back seat, his voice rising in urgency. “Her place is starting to flood. She called me for help, and I was out getting supplies!”

  The officer trained his flashlight on my face, assessing me for any sign of suspicion. “And you? What’s your story?”

  I felt the pressure mounting and needed to think fast.

  “Me? I’m the soon-to-be husband,” I replied, mustering a grin. “But don’t let anyone know, Officer Pittman. I want to keep it a surprise!”

  Officer Pittman glanced down at his badge, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Okay. I’ll need to see some identification.”

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  “Of course.” I obliged, producing my ID along with Henry’s.

  “Max Carver?” He chuckled lightly; the sound was rich with familiarity. “Sorry, it’s just that name—it makes you sound like you belong in a superhero comic book.”

  The officer launched into a tangent about his son, a little boy who idolized superheroes, his voice warm and animated. “Every day he goes on about why this hero is the best. It’s hard to keep up!”

  Before the conversation could wander further, the second officer, clearly annoyed, called out from his post, “Hey! Pittman, hurry this up! I’m freezing my fucking balls out here!”

  Pittman handed back our ID cards and wished us a safe journey.

  Once we entered Pacifica, we quickly passed seven guys, all holding ARs, all watching us pass by.

  “Fucking hell. I don't like this.” Henry said as we drove past.

  “Make sure your gun is loaded...I have a feeling we’re going to need it.” I instructed as I glanced out the window.

  Henry leaned forward, reaching under his seat to retrieve the submachine gun he had stashed there. With steady hands, he ejected the spent magazine, before loading a fresh magazine. Satisfied with his preparations, he carefully wrapped a sturdy strap around the weapon and secured it across his back, ensuring it was out of sight yet within easy reach, ready for whatever lay ahead.

  As we navigated through the streets of Pacifica, our journey came to an abrupt halt. A group of young kids, each sporting intricate sleeve tattoos that told stories of rebellion and identity, blocked the road ahead. Their eyes were fierce and defiant as they aimed their guns at us.

  “Here we go...” I said knowing that things were going to get messy.

  The leader of the group walked over to my side of the car window. I lowered the window and was met with the gun lodged in my face.

  He started speaking in a language that I couldn’t understand.

  “Kid, I can’t understand what you're saying.” I said hoping that he could understand what I was saying.

  The leader looked past what I said and responded by pushed the gun further into my face, the barrel of the gun pressing against my left cheek. They raised their voice in anger and rage. In the heat of the moment, I grabbed the barrel of the gun and pulled the kid forward, causing the kid to lose his grip on the gun.

  Their skin went pain and they began to panic. Once the gun was no longer in their hands.

  “Look, kid, I'm not in the mood for these games so why don't you do me a favor and fuck off!” I said while aiming their gun back at them.

  The leader and his group walked away yelling out what I assumed were threats; with the gun still in my hand, I unloaded the ammo clip before tossing the gun out of the car window.

  As we drove through Pacifica, an unsettling scene unfolded around us—streets were swarming with people holding weapons, and buildings bore the scars of violence, with gaping bullet holes and smashed windows. We pressed on, eventually parking near the amusement park, which loomed in the distance, its vibrant colors dulled by the storm.

  The area surrounding the park was cordoned off with bright yellow tape, an indicator of the flooding that had ravaged the landscape. Stepping out of the car, we were struck by the sheer extent of the devastation that had befallen the amusement park. The ocean's relentless waves had surged onto the streets, leaving behind a murky layer of knee-high water that lapped at our feet.

  Homes were submerged, their lower levels completely submerged, while several structures had succumbed to the force of the flood, collapsing under the immense weight of the water, a haunting reminder of nature's fury.

  “Poor people,” Henry said as he watched one of the buildings collapse.

  We walked to a homeless shelter, thinking back to what Eva told me; I figured that this was where we would find her sister.