Rubio shook his head, like he might hear different afterward. “What, it’s not enough they already control the flow since Hasan and the quarantines—checkpoints, documents, bridge closings? Why make it harder now?”

“Bigger storms, more refugees, pressing further inland,” Jake said. “The usual.”

“Ten years since Hasan.” Daniel wasn’t smiling now. “There’s less inland to share. With everyone running for the hills, the reasonable people aren’t in charge anymore. My source didn’t want to go into it.”

“He could at least say who’s running things!”

“Depends on where you are—local control winning out over national. Governors, even mayors, declaring sovereignty.” Daniel set down his fork, eased his plate away. “Besides, my guy lives there. Under pressures we can only guess at, the situation changing daily. He needs to . . . get along. I don’t push him, in case he clams up on me.”

I dearly hoped Jenn was in deep enough with Breakers not to hear any of this.

Head in hands, Rubio was practically vibrating. “How could we not have known . . . ?”

“Too busy surviving,” said Jake. “Our heads in the sand.”

Daniel nodded. “It snuck up on us—quiet hirings and firings, resignations, assassinations, executive orders. Machinations under the surface while the big news has been floods, storms, crop failures—the stuff you can see and are affected by directly.”

“We got way too reliant on the internet being always up and running,” Rubio added.

I was still processing the idea of camps. “Risky housing refugees along the coast . . .”

Their silence told me I was one big step behind.

“Exactly the point,” Rubio said finally.

“But . . .” Once the token dropped, I fell mute before visions of Hurricane Joe scouring the crowded coastline. Joe’s Wave, they’d be calling it, if anyone was left to remember it.

Daniel saw it, too. “Locked in, no escape, the so-called shelters too flimsy to protect them! No attempts to rescue, even warn them.” His fists worked, open and closed. “Too many mouths to feed? If the pandemics aren’t doing enough, let the weather take over your population control.”

“Maybe being isolated down here has its advantages,” murmured Jake.

Daniel shook his head. “Don’t get feeling too safe. Now there’re guys going around selling ‘security’ to the Souk vendors.”

“Is that a bad idea?”

“Read the small print. Next time, it won’t be voluntary.”

“Protection rackets!” Rubio was grimly delighted. “A fine old New York tradition.”

“You going to pay?” Jake asked.

“Not a chance.” Daniel showed his teeth, a sudden morphing from easygoing to hard as nails. I sat back a bit. “Where would it end? The Merchants’ Association, once your basic coffee klatch, is busy writing bylaws and vendors’ contracts. Talking about charging rent.”

“They don’t own the park.”

“But who’s there to stop them?”

Jake sighed. “The end of the Souk as we know it.”

“And there’s talk of going on a total cash economy.”