It took several minutes to distance myself from the clouds of flies swarming around the deceased colossus. Once clear, I set a steady pace. Looming ahead was a horizon of basalt rock—a near vertical cliff face towering two thousand feet—almost twice the height of the mountain Andria and I had climbed back in Virginia. My throat was parched and my feet sore, but I ignored the pain and continued on, concerned about the lateness of the day. The cliffs reinforced my fear that the tidal surge would soon span the entire beach, and I refused to stop until I had reached the first boulder that marked the rise.

Thirty minutes later, I collapsed at the foot of the cliffs, the base of which was piled with boulders, each roundish hunk of rock ten to twenty feet in circumference, angled along the lower third of the rise like a natural barrier. There were clumps of seaweed and dead fish strewn between the rocks—evidence that the ocean would indeed reach this far inland at high tide.

The next question—how high would the tide rise?

I gazed up at the rock face. The thought of the climb was unnerving. If I fell and died in this dream, would I emerge in another?

The sun at my back broke gold beneath the horizon’s ceiling of clouds, its descent over the ocean offering me its western bearing and a basic time frame before I’d lose the light. A noticeable chill accompanied the late afternoon.

Cold, thirsty, hungry, exhausted, and still very much in pain, I hoisted myself atop one of the smaller boulders to begin the climb, fearing the tidal surge more than a potential fall.

At first the going was easy as I was able to move steadily from one rock to the next, the cold touch of stone soothing my battered feet. But the angle of ascent grew steeper, and before long I had gone as far as I could, reaching the uppermost layer of rocks at what I estimated was a good four hundred feet above sea level—a height that surpassed the highest wave I had seen.

Trembling from exhaustion and the cold, I settled myself on a flat portion of basalt, then aimed the binoculars at the spectacular golden sunset.

As I watched, the orange-red ball of fire disappeared behind a dark wall of water that easily towered five hundred feet. The monster crashed silently as it exploded into white water, its thunderous clap reaching me seconds before the earth trembled beneath the rocks. Racing inland like a seventy-foot tsunami, the tidal surge quickly devoured miles of beach, scattering winged creatures until it sizzled over the cliff’s first line of boulders before it died out.

There was no choice. Trapped, I would have to reach the summit.