Was Unca Joe the first official den? Many Joes would claim it. Midway through the Melt, Rousseau and some pals got washed out of a flood zone B community center and were squatting in a chunky building at the top of Lafayette Street. It was old and deserted, its ground floor flooded, so no one noticed, and they settled in. Even the law had moved uptown, with zones A, B, and now C awash from sea-level rise. Several years later, Hurricane Misha’s stunning high tides brought a massive surge which never fully receded. Lucky for Rousseau and friends, the Lafayette squat stayed dry above the second floor, but their numbers swelled with rescues and refugees. Had to move to larger quarters. Soon after came Abel. And my new life began.

I asked Rubio one time, “If the dens have been going so long, how come people still talk like it’s a short-term thing, like, till the climate gets fixed and the water goes down?”

“You mean, people like Rousseau?”

“Well . . . among others.” Rube and I had differing views about Rousseau.

“I don’t.”

“You don’t think anything good can happen.”

Rubio sniffed and glanced away. “Rousseau just can’t face the music.”

“What music?”

His laugh wasn’t always nice.

I sighed. “Do you hang out with me hoping I’ll say something stupid?”

“Doesn’t happen as often as it used to.”

“Sorry to ruin your fun.”

He was like that when he wasn’t feeling good.

Right after Abel, the Joes could’ve moved further uptown. Along with one more zone of services drowned—power, sewage, water—the midtown barriers and checkpoints lay shattered. Underground, the Hudson and East rivers had merged into a grand estuary. But Midtown was tidal—alternately wet and dry, a problem for feet or boats—and soon uptown was being gated off into walled districts, what Rubio called ‘city states.’ Downtown was left to the dens. They’d evolved there, knew how to deal with it, and at that point, nobody else wanted it. Unca Joe’s new den filled an entire block, offering space to expand, and the flooded streets around it formed a protective moat, just when BlackAdder formed up and den security was becoming a concern. The Joes stayed put.

The building had tall, airy rooms, a few still holding on to the elaborate plaster work of three centuries earlier. Even its newer sections were built to last. The thick foundations stood up to the storms and raging river currents while steel and glass thrown up two hundred years later went under from corrosion, undermining, and crap construction.