The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,1

in your boat and steer north toward Tuscany, leaving this sinking city behind. . . . Only it’s not so simple. The rising tides and rough waves make the hours-long trip a risky one, and those who do arrive in the Tuscany region find it an overcrowded mess. It’s not exactly an easy glide from there to the train station or airport, either. There’s a months-long waiting list to escape, and only those flush with euros can afford it. Even if you do manage to get out, who’s to say your new city or country of refuge won’t be the next one hit by the climate’s destructive sweep?

I wasn’t always a quitter. In the first months following the flood, I was like any other survivor, scrambling to stay alive. Some of my neighbors had a safety net—relatives from dry regions who could take them in, or bank accounts filled with savings to help them rebuild. Not me. There was nothing to do but wait for the EU Disaster Relief funds to trickle their way toward me, if they came at all. So I found my own way.

I knew there were treasures at the bottom of the sea, mementos my neighbors would pay a mint for, but none of them would venture into the water where so many of us drowned. Only I was hungry enough, desperate enough—and could survive the deep dives. I’d done it before without any breathing equipment, back in my competitive swimming days, only then I was just showing off for my teammates. Now, my skill could actually keep me alive. So I became a scavenger.

My first week, I unearthed Raphael’s Madonna of Foligno from the wreckage of the Vatican. It was so water-damaged that you could barely make out the Virgin Mary and child in the foreground, but I knew someone would see its value. I was right. The painting paid for a month of my meals. And in my second week I found a purse of commemorative coins from 2004, their emblem featuring the centenary of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly. They were worth only five euros each, but being collector’s items, I was able to fetch double. I kept going, scavenging and selling as each day bled into the next—until I found the true riches, curled up together in a bed of algae.

Papà’s slippers, Mamma’s book, and Angelica’s photograph were all right there, waiting for me. It had to be more than a coincidence that these three small relics managed to stay entwined. It was a sign. And in that moment, with my sister’s face staring up at me, I realized just what I’d been doing: ransacking and profiting from the dead. The guilt replaced the hunger in my stomach, and I promised myself I would never do it again.

Since then, all I’ve wanted to do is join them.

I strap my heavy backpack over my shoulders and open the door, stepping out onto the ledge of the pensione. The cold water rushes at my feet, the dark sky closing in around me. And then I jump.

The murky water rises to my neck. I could just let myself go, right here . . . but I can’t do it in front of my home. Instead I begin to swim, persisting against the weight of my backpack as I head for the deeper center, where the half-sunken Colosseum rests in the middle of the waves. The words of a Lord Byron poem I learned in school echo in my mind as I swim, making my way closer and closer to the ruins.

While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;

And when Rome falls—the World.

I grasp one of the arches of the Colosseum and rest my forehead against the stone in a silent good-bye. And then I let go—slipping my head underwater, relaxing my body like a limp rag. I let myself fall.

The disgusting taste of seawater fills my mouth, threatening to choke me if I don’t drown first. I can hear the waves crashing overhead, feel the tide beginning to perform its job, pulling me down, down, down.

My adrenaline briefly spikes, and I could swear I hear Angelica’s voice snapping in my ear: “Swim, you idiot! Swim!” But I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring every physical instinct that begs me to move, letting the water snatch me instead.

If you saw me now, you wouldn’t believe the swimmer and athlete I used to be. The truth is, I could propel myself up to the surface