The storm slammed against the building, shaking it like prey till the floor shuddered. We climbed a ramp into dimmer light, switchbacked and climbed another, jostled by the upward-fleeing throng. We shoved past a trio from Gimme Shelter, coaxing their freaked-out goats up to safety. Up ahead, their cow lowed anxiously. Some of the Joe lads loped by, shouldering crates of squawking ducks and chickens.

“Noah’s friggin’ ark,” a man complained beside me, avoiding a soft pile of animal leave-behind.

“Gonna need some cats,” said his friend.

Above the sea of bobbing heads, thin, leafy stalks waved back and forth. Anyone with a free hand had been given a baby tree or young tomato plant to carry uplevel.

The stadium stretched out vastly around us, the wind screaming through the overhead beams and trusses. No one was sure where to go. Anywhere safe. For now, just up, up, up, away from the pounding, invading sea. In, in, find shelter from the tearing, icy blasts.

When the faded wall signs read ‘Tier 3,’ our medic turned right. The Smiths carrying Julian were panting. We hurried along a debris-littered inner concourse lined with derelict shops. Fancy signage, glass partitions, empty ransacked shelving, scattered mannequin parts. A wreck and still windswept, but dry. Busy Smiths and Joes were clearing space and hauling in the sea-soaked cargo from the rafts. Small clots of denfolk drifted like fall leaves into sheltered corners, too tired to go another step, digging in wherever to ride out the storm.

The Empire medic took a left. “In here.”

The thrown-together medical ward filled a large former store with double glass doors still on their hinges. Here at last the wind was kept at bay. Swept clean, it made a roughshod ER with a multi-bed recovery space, using display counters and the few cots and gurneys that had come upriver. The room smelled of blood and salt, and every one of a dozen working surfaces was occupied. Less critical patients waited in folding chairs or slumped against the walls. Four or five docs, all Joes and Empires, and twice as many helpers raced back and forth, unpacking, washing and stitching up gun wounds and blade cuts hastily staunched during and after the ambush. The occasional agonized cry suggested bone breaks being set. The docs lacked proper anesthesia and decent light and enough skilled hands for the work but were making do as fast as they could. A steady stream of supplies and equipment kept arriving from the boats, adding to the noise and bustle. A biodiesel generator chugged away in a corner, powering a sterilizer.

As we brought Julian in, I noticed a glass-fronted room next door that had also been cleared. It was lit by a single lantern and was empty but for a half-dozen shrouded forms laid out on the floor in a respectful row. A scattering of stooped figures moved or knelt among them. Shoulders shook, but the weeping was drowned out by the wind.