Tell him I’ll climb as high as I can, but he needs to go. The waves are getting larger; the next one will easily reach this perch.

The cephaloped rose, extending one of its powerful arms around Dharma’s waist.

“Ike, wait—”

“You take the elevator. I’ll manage the stairs.”

And up they went, Oscar’s sucker pads adhering to the small crevices and creases in the rock, the cephaloped drawing four to five feet higher with each extension, the fatigued creature adding a second appendage to secure Dharma as the first one tired.

I watched until they melded into the stone, then reached up to find my first handhold—a four-inch wedge of slab that led to nowhere, forcing me to retreat back to the boulder.

EIGHTEEN MINUTES UNTIL THE NEXT WAVE.

“Shut up, ABE!” Taking a moment to survey the potential routes, I made my way to another boulder and reached up with my right hand to a crack in the rock … yet was unable to muster the strength to pull myself up.

Get your mind right. You’re relying on Oscar. You need to climb … now!

I fought on scraped knees and elbows for the next perch, refocusing my eyes on the rock directly above me. For several minutes I bore down, no songs in my head, only ABE’s intermittent warnings.

TWELVE MINUTES UNTIL THE NEXT WAVE.

The cliff face was still warm, the sun a yellow-white glare in the western sky. Sweat poured off my face and down my arms to my hands, forcing me to wipe them dry on my pants before feeling for the next ledge.

SIX MINUTES UNTIL THE NEXT WAVE.

ABE, estimate the height of the next wave upon impact. How much higher do I need to climb to be safe?

EIGHTY-TWO FEET.

My heart pounded in my chest. Reaching inside my pocket, I squeezed the transhuman’s severed finger hard enough to drain pus. “Andie, I’m on the cliffs. Now would be a really good time to come and get me.”

Pressing my face to the rock, I reached higher. Three successive ledges raised me a pitiful fifteen feet. I contemplated using the Superman protocol, but excessive adrenaline and free climbing made for a deadly cocktail.

TWO MINUTES UNTIL THE NEXT WAVE. FORTY-ONE FEET TO SAFETY ZONE.

Can’t make it. Need to find a fissure … wedge your arms in and hold on tight.

Looking up, I scanned the slab above my head, spotting only a two-inch-wide jagged slice in the rock. With no other options, I wedged the toes of my left shoe onto a higher ledge and inched my way up, my muscles trembling.

ONE MINUTE UNTIL THE NEXT WAVE.

Balancing my feet on an uneven knob of rock, I shoved eight fingers two inches deep into the sharp fissure, feeling the faint rumble of the approaching tidal surge reverberate in the stone.

THIRTY SECONDS …