Jason stood on the edge of the cliff at Griffith Observatory, watching the end of the world in slow motion.
Below him, the city of Los Angeles glittered like a circuit board—silent, orderly, and doomed.
On the western horizon, the ocean had vanished. The waterline had receded for nearly a mile, exposing the wet, black skeleton of the seabed. Floundering fish and the rusted hulls of old wrecks lay exposed to the dying sun.
Then, the ocean returned.
It wasn't a wave. It was a wall.
A white line of foam, fifty feet high, stretching from Malibu to Long Beach. It moved with the terrifying, unstoppable momentum of a freight train.
"Don't look," Sarah whispered, burying her face in Jason's shoulder.
"I have to look," Jason said, his voice hollow. "We bought this."
The tsunami hit the Santa Monica Pier first.
There was no cinematic splash. The pier simply disintegrated. The Ferris wheel, the roller coaster, the boardwalk—they vanished into a cloud of white spray and debris.
The water didn't stop. It roared inland, consuming the grid of the city.
The pristine white buildings of Gates's "Silent City" crumpled like paper. The "Hypnosis Screens" on the street corners shorted out in showers of blue sparks before being swallowed by the gray sludge.
The silence of the city broke.
The roar of the water was deafening. It echoed up the canyon walls, shaking the ground beneath Jason's feet.
Then came the other sound.
The neon "HOLLYWOODLAND" sign on the distant hill shorted out, letter by letter. H... O... L... ZZZT. Darkness.
"The programming is broken," Einstein said, watching through a pair of binoculars. "The water destroyed the signal emitters. The people are waking up."
Jason grabbed the binoculars.
Down in the flooded streets, he saw tiny specks struggling in the swirling water. People. Thousands of them. The hypnosis was gone, replaced by the primal panic of drowning.
"We saved the continent," Jason muttered. "But we drowned the population."
"It was binary, Jason," Einstein said gently. "The earthquake would have killed everyone. The water gives them a chance."
"A chance to swim?" Jason snapped. He turned to the Icarus, hovering above the parking lot, its Tesla coil smoking and burnt.
"Get us in the air!" Jason yelled into his radio. "We're doing search and rescue!"
"The stealth drive is fried!" Hughes argued. "We're a sitting duck!"
"There's no one left to shoot at us!" Jason roared. "Launch!"
The Icarus lifted off, engines straining. They flew low over the flooded ruins of Los Angeles.
The devastation was absolute. The water was black with oil, debris, and bodies. Cars floated like bobbers.
"Mayday! Mayday! Any station!"
A voice crackled over the emergency frequency. It was calm, disciplined, and utterly out of place in the chaos.
"This is Lieutenant Commander Chester Nimitz, commanding Naval Station San Pedro. We have refugees. The seawall has collapsed. We are taking on water. Requesting immediate assistance."
"Nimitz?" O'Malley asked. "The Admiral?"
"Not yet," Jason said. "He's still just a sub driver."
Jason grabbed the mic. "This is the airship Icarus. We hear you, Commander. What is your status?"
"We are submerged," Nimitz replied. "The dry docks are flooded. I have three diesel boats operational. But the grid is dead. I can't start the engines. The electric starters are offline."
"He needs a jump," Jason realized. "Like a car."
"Set course for San Pedro!" Jason ordered. "Prepare the Tesla umbilical!"
The Naval Station was a disaster zone. The gray concrete docks were underwater.
Three massive submarines—primitive S-class boats—rocked in the turbulent swell. Their hatches were open.
Hundreds of civilians huddled on the conning towers and the roofs of the flooding warehouses. They were shivering, wet, and terrified.
Some of them weren't shivering.
Jason looked closer through the window.
On a floating crate, a police officer in a Keystone Kop uniform was twitching violently. Sparks flew from his eyes. His limbs jerked in impossible angles.
"Android," Sarah noted. "Saltwater and circuits don't mix."
The robot convulsed one last time and slid into the dark water, sinking like a stone.
"Drop the cable!" Jason ordered.
A heavy copper cable, attached to the Icarus's main generator, unspooled from the belly of the airship. It swung in the wind, dangling toward the lead submarine.
A man in a white uniform stood on the conning tower. Nimitz. He looked up at the massive airship without flinching. He grabbed the cable with gloved hands.
"Hook it to the main bus!" Jason shouted over the loudspeaker. "We're giving you a direct injection!"
Nimitz scrambled down the hatch with the cable.
"Oppenheimer!" Jason yelled to the engine room. "Divert all power to the auxiliary line! Give him everything!"
"It'll drain the coil!" Oppenheimer warned.
"Do it!"
HUMMMMMM.
The Icarus shuddered. The lights on the bridge dimmed. The massive capacitor banks discharged.
Below them, the submarine shuddered.
CHUG-CHUG-CHUG-ROAR.
A plume of black diesel smoke erupted from the submarine's exhaust stack. The engine caught.
Then the second sub. Then the third.
"Engines active!" Nimitz's voice came over the radio. "We have power! Loading survivors now!"
The refugees scrambled into the open hatches. It was a desperate scene—a vertical Dunkirk. Men pulling women out of the water. Nimitz directing traffic with a flashlight, calm amidst the storm.
"They're full!" Nimitz called out ten minutes later. "We have to dive! The debris field is incoming!"
A massive raft of smashed houses and cars was drifting toward the subs.
"Go!" Jason yelled. "We'll cover you!"
The hatches slammed shut. The submarines vented ballast. They slipped beneath the oily black surface, vanishing into the deep.
Jason watched them go. Three steel cigars carrying the last of Los Angeles.
The Icarus hovered alone over the dead city.
The radio crackled again. Not Nimitz.
"Impressive," a voice hissed.
Digital. Distorted.
Gates.
Jason stared at the radio console.
"You're still alive?" Jason asked.
"I am everywhere, Jason. The network is redundant."
"I washed your city away," Jason said. "Your slaves are free. Or dead."
"You cleaned the slate," Gates replied. There was no anger in his voice. Just cold calculation. "Thank you. Los Angeles was... messy. Too much flesh. I didn't want the people anyway. I wanted the Silence."
"Where are you?" Jason demanded.
"North," Gates said. "Come find me. If you can cross the barrier."
"I'm coming for you, Gates," Jason promised. "And I'm bringing a hammer."
"Bring a magnet," Gates mocked. "You'll need it."
Click.
The signal died.
Jason looked out at the endless expanse of water covering what used to be Hollywood.
"He retreated," Einstein said. "He pulled back to his fortress."
"San Francisco," Jason said. "Silicon Valley."
He turned to Hughes.
"Get us north. And stay low. We're done sneaking around."
The Icarus turned its nose toward the dark coastline. The sun had set. The only light came from the lightning storms brewing over the ocean.
"He wants a war?" O'Malley asked, racking his gun.
"No," Jason said, watching the lightning flash. "He wants an upgrade. And we're going to unplug him."