“They’ll go stir up the ants’ nest,” Jenn fretted, then turned her back on the wannabe warriors as if they weren’t there. “Yes, the East Side was always different. I grew up on the West Side, and going east was like visiting another planet. They were much more proactive when the weather got really bad.”

“West Side is blessed with higher ground. Bedrock.” Rubio watched the canoes as their circles widened, in and out of the darker corners where the side streets crossed and taller buildings threw an opaque shade. The crews were stoking up their courage. “But the East Side had the resources. They’d lived through the failure of the Big U, so they started earlier, got the pass-thrus legislated and built before the water was too high. My firm designed a few of them.”

“Cool!” I’d never seen a pass-thru, but knew them from picker training. Whole floors cleared in neighboring high-rises, creating a public footpath above the high-water mark on a north/south diagonal up the East Side.

“We did some of the footbridges across the streets and avenues, too. Not always in the most logical place, thanks to various deniers who refused to give up their gazillion-dollar digs for the public good. It helps to know your way around them.”

On a roll again: New-York-born-and-bred, can’t imagine living anywhere else. But the details of how Rube got left behind aren’t so upbeat. His malaria acted up during Superstorm Misha’s approach. His firm’s Mainland office sent a ’copter to evacuate the diehard remaining staff. But Rube was so sick, the pilot decided he was contagious and took off without him. After the storm, no one came looking for him. He called it ‘culling,’ like it was a rational thing to do. Even when his city dumped him like garbage, he stayed loyal. Manhattan was Rubio’s true den.

“I’ll manage,” I said. “I have a map.”

“They’re handing out maps now?”

I grinned and tapped my temple.

Jenn said, “Least you’ll be under cover if it rains.”

We looked to the sky in unison. Another heavy moist night like the last one, just as hot and even stiller. Ominously still.

“Make that a ‘when,’ ” Rubio said.

Our roof station only gave us local conditions. We looked to AM radio for long-range data, though broadcasts were irregular, so home-site prediction was a matter of instinct and experience.

“Where’re you headed?” I asked Jenn.

“45th and Broadway. Jake’s old-time beat.”

I’d worked that area on occasion. “Those old theatres give me the creeps. So big and dark, and there’s nothing much in ’em.”

“There’s ghosts. Jake swears they’re haunted. Hey, we’re scaring me! Good picking! See you at downtime.” She gave a mock salute and strode off along the walkway, heading uptown.