Warning: Collateral Damage

Water Flow Bank's remaining few functional alarms dispersed into the giant hole through the center.

Water cascaded into the split vault and crashed over a bubble. Paper currency shreds soaked amidst runoff. Metal sand swirled across the polished metal floor. A canyon cut down to the soil drained water, slushy paper, metal splinters, and sands. But it looked to be filling fast.

Mop threads swayed like Medusa’s hair as Darius pointed it toward the floor. Glass, wood, cement, broken pipes, and shattered furniture pieces rained.

Darius removed five hands from the glowering handle, but held it with one. The threads ran like a faucet someone forgot to close. A miniature waterfall poured. Boots crunched over fallen gold doubloons. He crouched for one but stopped before touching it.

The cart wasn't behind him.

Much of the basement lighting was knocked out. Slitted pupils needed time to adjust. That cart had the doctor’s bag. He needed that bag. Without it, this was pointless. Darius turned away from the vault.

His hand squeezed the handle until claws scratched the wood. 

Zenobia groaned; the flow slowed to a trickle.

“That wasn’t control. Stupid mop! That was the furthest thing from control! Help me find my cart and the holding bag before I snap you for firewood!”

Lights flickered from the upper floors. 

Air became heavy with vapor as steam formed from the summer heat. Huffing flames through his nostrils wasn’t enough to dry it. Slitted pupils opened widely. They scanned the broken vault doors.

Pieces of the cart were smashed over bodie in the lower hall. He darted over the debris, stepped over the bodies, and picked up a steel bucket folded in on itself. He threw it like a shuriken across the hall. It clattered against the wall then splashed in rising water.

The red light of a nearby alarm twirled silently. He adjusted his hat to make sure it didn’t slip. The bag caught his eye. It stuck within a wall indent. He struggled to peel it free, then confirmed it survived intact by brushing it.

“Dry yourself!” Darius held the mop out with a straight arm, “Keep enough to stay comfortable.”

Water rushed until the threads were barely damp. A wrist flick opened the bag. He  dropped the mop inside, threads first. Bag remained opened as he splashed back into the vault. Gold doubloons scooped inside. He cursed repeatedly. He couldn’t find the gold bars, though the specks glinting when he shone his pen light. They'd been blasted to dust.

Helicopters rotors whirred. Sirens approached.

Darius focused on the gold, silver, and platinum doubloon. Everything he could see slid into the bag. He threw open a few drawers to find a small collection of diamonds and gems. He dumped the bins and tossed them aside.

The paper currency piles were shredded to a wet mush, though a few surviving bills clung to the walls. He grabbed the only clean stack of ten thousand doubloon notes as a memento. 

Whirring helicopter rotors echoed into the basement. A search light flickered from overhead. It shone into a vault cracked like a walnut. Nobody stood amidst rising water.

The elevator to the surface was disabled, so Darius reached into the doctor’s bag for his mop. 

“No stairs. They don’t have to follow normal building codes. You’re up mop. Shred through these doors, raise the elevator, with me inside it, to the ground floor. We’ll cut our way out without hurting anyone else, got it?”

The threads went into rising water reaching his ankles.

“No, you don’t get your name back until you shape up. That unnecessary display cost us.”

The mop swirled in the water but nothing happened.

“If they catch us, you’ll be sealed until you fade away. That what you want?”

Within moments the water level dropped. He mopped the elevators door clean. The spraying force pushed his boots back. Jets from the sides prevented backsplash from harming him.

The elevator doors were so clean, part of them didn’t exist. Sands sunk to the bottom of the pool. Darius stepped through the gap. He tapped the mop on the floor. The elevator shot up with jittery screeching. Sparks flew through the broken door.

True to command, Zenobia brought him to the first floor. It took him another minute to cut through the sealing doors. By now the sirens and helicopter rotors were overwhelming.

“Tshk,” A deep smoky exhale escape tense nostrils, “Only one way out. You will absolutely not go insane, got it? A little at a time.”

He held the mop like a machine gun while aiming it at the wall. With shifts of his hands, he commanded the water. Once the wall crumbled, he confirmed the other side was empty and ran through. His back rolled against the wall outside the building. The mop tucked against his chest like a loaded gun.

The police were still setting up the perimeter. Mop dropped back into the leather satchel. He wound his way through an alley without finding any barricades and into a gathering crowd. A firetruck whizzed by blaring an alarm. Helicopters swarmed the night sky as Darius strolled away from the scene of the crime.

The twenty-four-hour parking lot's neon sign flickered. A slight ocean breeze cut the humidity. His boxy white pick-up truck waited. Murky water bubbled from the drainage system as he paid a machine to release his vehicle. The bag bounced on the passenger seat. The cap limped over top it.

“I hate hats. Sorry, but not you. You did a good job.”

Darius shifted out of park and pulled onto the ramp. The truck rumbled as if a bucket rolled against the back plate of the cab. Or it sounded like someone hit him from behind. Darius jumped against his safety belt. He looked to the right, to the left, and then back through the rear window. Since he saw nothing, he turned left and then right at the intersection toward the factory islands.

Wet pant legs dripped over his floor mats.