A houseboat. Finegan Fine

deck of the houseboat, washing off remaining fish guts and blood. He

pulls the fishing netting flung on top of the tarp pile and hangs it

over an unused corner line.

All is now ready for a trip up one of the new bays that have been

formed by the flooding, peddling wares and looking for barter. Finegan

pulls on the rope securing the houseboat to a flooded tree, going hand

over hand to pull the houseboat close. Noting that the tie point is an

inch below water Finegan looks at Barney and mutters,

S till rising.

At the rear of the houseboat is an extension with a water wheel, half

in the water, half out. Finegan has rigged the large wooden paddles so

they turn when he pedals on some bike pedals – powered by lean muscle

and determination.

Sitting on the bike seat, leaning back against a seat backstop he has

rigged, Finegan reverse pedals to pull away from the tree. He is

steering the houseboat by a rudder attached to a lever. Satisfied that

he is clear, Finegan leans back heavily into the chair’s backstop,

pushing with his lean legs aggressively, and the houseboat moves up a

newly flooded ravine along what is now the new coastline.

5

A country road at one side of the ravine is dipping down and

disappearing into the murky floodwaters. Trees and shrubs are clustered

on the hillside pasturelands and sink into the floodwaters too, so that

only the tips of the trees are visible further out. The flood is

recent, but persistent.

Finegan is keeping the houseboat centered in the flooded ravine, being

careful to avoid being snagged by flooded trees. Though the houseboat

moves slowly, it moves steadily. Finegan strips his shirt off,

overheated from the exercise, and tosses it onto a pile of boxes

nearby.

The houseboat is approaching a rooftop sticking up above the water.

Over here. Over here!

An elderly woman is sitting on her rooftop, barefoot and clinging to

the roof peak with one trembling hand while waving at Finegan with the

other. She is wearing a summer dress, lightweight and slightly damp

around her thin frame.

Finegan lets the houseboat drift, closing the gap. He strides to the

front and grabs a large grappling hook on a rope and throws it onto the

rooftop on the extreme left. He jerks on the rope so the hooks catch on

the roof, then throws another to the extreme right, doing the same.

Disappearing into the house, Finegan comes out with a battered

stepladder. He steps up, grabs the knob at the end of the roof peak,

and heaves himself onto the rooftop.

Trust me now. I won’t drop you into the water.

In a tremulous voice, May relays her plight.

My son-in-law took the family to shore

yesterday. He was supposed to come back for me.

Finegan takes her free hand, holding it high so she can cling to his

hand instead of the roof peak.

Ease yourself over to the boat now. I’m going

to help you down. You can’t stay here.

May scuffs along the roof, clinging to the roof peak with one hand

while gripping Finegan’s hand with the other. When they get to the edge

of the rooftop, she freezes. After a slight pause, Finegan suddenly

grabs both her hands and swings her out over the boat, so she is

hanging over the stepladder.

Get your footing now.

Seeing that she has her footing, Finegan releases first one hand and

then the other. Finegan steps over to the grappling hooks and frees

6

them, first on one side and then the other, and swings down onto the

stepladder just as the houseboat is starting to drift away.

Just to ask, you didn’t happen to have any

booze in that house, did you?

May has a look on her face like he had invited the Devil himself into

their midst.

Alcohol? Oh lord no!

______________________________

Further up the ravine the terrain is relatively free of trees and

shrubs, though is still plunging into the water. A farmhouse is beyond

the pasture, at the high crest of a hill. The farmhouse is leaning at a

tilt, with part of the roof torn off and thrown into the yard.

There are tents in the yard, mostly made from tarps and blankets. About

a dozen people – men, women and children - are emerging from the tents

and rising from where they have been seated at a picnic table, pointing

toward the approaching houseboat.

Finegan moors the houseboat with his pair of grapping hooks and pulls a

plank from between some boxes, shoving it out onto the shoreline. He

strids over to greet those who are running down from the farmhouse.

Finegan Fine here, trader. I’ve got stuff

you’re no doubt looking for. And what useless

things have you got that you’d like to get rid

of?