Millie found us wandering about in the dark, lost, wet and hungry. She led us back to the winery with a half-crazed look in her eyes, muttering to herself. “I can’t believe it finally happened.”
Last night—about a week after the waters rose—Michelle arrived on horseback at our settlement at dusk. She sought me out and we sat side-by-side in front of a roaring fire. I waited for her to speak, listening to the loud crackle of the flames.
“You know, perversely, you saved us, right?” she finally said to me.
“The water?” I asked her.
“Yes. If you hadn’t destroyed Washington, we would not have been able to evacuate in time. The waters rose before dawn and our home would have been completely submerged with all of us inside, fast asleep.”
“I’m glad you all got away. We were almost caught on the beach when it happened. It was beyond anything I could have imagined. Delphine’s been talking about this for so long. But I never really expected to see it happen.”
“I guess those who lived before felt the same way,” she mused.
Michelle didn’t stay long and left through the darkened forest after she thanked me once more. I slept fitfully after her visit, feeling a strong urge to return to the island one last time. Did the devastating floods destroy it?
It’s morning now, and the sun provides sweet relief to my insomnia. I wake Birch gently and tell her my plan. We find Rich, Abigail and Delphine, and rouse them from sleep. “It’s time,” I say to them. “We need to go back to the island once more, like we discussed. I need to see if our father is really gone. I need to see if the island is still there.”
We take the small sailboat that we salvaged from where it was caught in the branches of a fig tree. The flood damaged it but the five of us have been repairing it over the last week. We intended to return it to Morris’ neighbor, but we need to borrow it one last time.
“Here we go again,” I say to the others as we launch the small sailboat into the water. The edge of the ocean is now only twenty chains from the winery. We use oars to maneuver through the drowned forest, paddling around trees that are submerged the full height of a man.
The water is brown and waves agitate the flotsam as we pass. We finally clear the forest and Rich instructs me how to unfurl the sail. He nurses his healing arm in his lap and wears a leather patch over his eye.
There is a good wind and it doesn’t take us long to reach the island. The sight that greets us causes my heart to lurch. Our island home has been transformed into an underwater relic, like a sunken ship lost to the depths of the ocean.
“Is that Peaked Hill?” asks Abigail.
It’s the highest point of the island. Let’s sail closer and see if anyone survived.
We approach the rugged hilltop in silence. Some of the surrounding land remains visible, but the rest of the island is completely submerged by seawater. The forest has been destroyed. Trees have been flattened, and debris and mud cover every surface. We sail around Peaked Hill, staring at all that is left of our home. It’s clear that no one could have survived the devastation of the flood.
Our father and the other elders are gone.
We sail along the ridge of surviving land and continue to trace the outline of Martha’s Vineyard below us. Every so often a small island peak can be seen jutting out of the water. I’m scanning the ocean for any other remnants of the island when I see something several hundred chains away
“Is that the top of the West Chop Light?” I say.
“Where?” asks Rich, standing and using his remaining hand to shield his eye against the sun.
I point out the small, white-walled, black-roofed turret that’s just visible in the ocean beyond. Delphine stands and looks where I am pointing. She lets out an audible gasp, and when I look at her, tears are running down her face. Abigail puts her arm around Delphine and holds her until we are circling the lantern room of the lighthouse.
“Push the mainsail out,” says Rich. “I want to anchor us for a moment.”
We stop the sailboat and throw out the anchor. We’re only a chain from the lantern room now.
“Let’s go over there,” he says. “For old time’s sake.”
“Your arm, Rich,” I say to him. “You can’t swim that distance.”
“I can. And if I can’t, you’ll help me.”
And just like that, my brother stands on the edge of the boat and dives into the blue, choppy water.
“He’s crazy!” yells Abigail. “Race you there!”
And then we are all in the water paddling to the West Chop Light. The waves rise up almost to the bottom of the glass windows. Except, there’s no glass anymore. So we are able to haul ourselves through an opening and land with a splash inside the lantern room, the floor of which is covered in a cubit of seawater.
At the side of the room, there is a large circle in the floor with stairs that lead down into the murky depths of the submerged lighthouse. We stand around the circle somberly, dripping wet and listening to the constant sloshing of the water against the outside of the lighthouse.
Abigail starts to speak, “We should probably think about heading ba—”
“What’s that?” interrupts Birch. She leans down and picks up a hand-sized plastic envelope that has been sealed shut. It was floating on the surface of the water against the curved wall of the lighthouse. There’s a piece of paper inside. Birch examines the paper through the plastic envelope before passing it to Delphine silently.
“What is it?” asks Rich.
“It’s a note from her mother,” says Birch in a low voice. “The water must have knocked it loose from its hiding place and it floated up from inside the lighthouse. It must have been hidden in there for years.”
We wait for Delphine to finish reading the note. She’s sobbing by the time she gets to the end and passes it to Abigail. Delphine nods: read it.
Abigail holds the note carefully in her hands and begins to read aloud to the rest of us.
To my dearest Delphine,
If you are reading this, it means something terrible has happened to your father and me. We thought we would have time to warn the islanders and then leave the island with you. But I’m scared that we were wrong and we have made a horrible mistake.
If we do not return tonight, please leave the island immediately and find Morris and Prue on the mainland. Do not take on my burden. Do not remain on the island and try to save the others.
Being your mother has been one of my most treasured roles. You have been my greatest source of joy. Never be anything less than the magnificent woman you were born to be.
Please know that I chose you. I would never let any harm come to you. My love for you transcends everything else.
Isabella
Abigail’s voice trails off and we all look out of the windows of the lantern room at the sunken island beyond. Delphine wipes her face with the back of her wet sleeve and draws a deep breath.
“You can rest, now.” I say to Delphine. “You continued your mother’s work. You saved everyone that could be saved.”
Then we link arms, surrounded by the legacy of our ancestors who heated up the planet beyond the point of no return.
* * *
Postscript
Thank you so much for reading Hothouse, Insularity Book 3. If you liked this book, I would love it if you leave a review. As a new author, reviews are really helpful in convincing other readers to take a chance on one of my books. Plus, you’ll have my undying gratitude!
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