He reached the access point and shone the light down. The pipe was surging. It was a dark, churning column of water pushing upward.

The brass door snapped shut. The water backed up slightly behind it, then stopped. It had nowhere to go. It couldn't enter Elias’s yard.

But the water was winning. A thin stream of murky runoff was already spilling over the rim, creeping toward his prized buffalo grass.