Room inside the line
When the storm rises, Surge Shelter becomes a market in space. Tarp owners, shelter wardens, and entry-taxing gangs charge for the inches the water has not reached. Blankets, medicine, and someone willing to guard a queue can buy more time beneath the cover.
Families mark a square in chalk, take turns sleeping, and leave their shoes pointed toward the exit. The line of shoes around a sleeping household is not to be crossed. Older women sometimes make a child's square larger by pretending not to see where its chalk boundary ends.
The floor keeps shrinking
Each leak reduces capacity. Wardens redraw the dry-space borders while people are still trying to settle, and a corner sold to one arrival may already have been promised to two others. Those who arrive late, have nothing to trade, or need room for someone ill bear the cost.
Drain-clearing tools can be more useful than a payment: labor may earn floor space. The shelter's approaches connect with market gutters, shelter stairs, and runoff from Sump Gate. Dryness is measured for the present moment, not guaranteed for the night. When the people move on, overlapping chalk rectangles remain on the concrete.
