The Rolling Stone article
here.

By century's end, rising sea levels will turn the nation's urban
fantasyland into an American Atlantis. But long before the city is completely
underwater, chaos will begin

When the water receded after Hurricane Milo of 2030, there was a foot of sand
covering the famous bow-tie floor in the lobby of the Fontaine­bleau hotel in
Miami Beach. A dead manatee floated in the pool where Elvis had once swum. Most
of the damage occurred not from the hurricane's 175-mph winds, but from the
24-foot storm surge that overwhelmed the low-lying city.

In South Beach, the old art-deco­ buildings were swept off their foundations.
Mansions on Star Island were flooded up to their cut-glass doorknobs. A 17-mile
stretch of Highway A1A that ran along the famous beaches up to Fort Lauderdale
disappeared into the Atlantic. The storm knocked out the wastewater-treatment
plant on Virginia Key, forcing the city to dump hundreds of millions of gallons
of raw sewage into Biscayne Bay.

Tampons and condoms littered the beaches, and the stench of human excrement
stoked fears of cholera. More than 800 people died, many of them swept away by
the surging waters that submerged much of Miami Beach and Fort Lauderdale; 13
people were killed in traffic accidents as they scrambled to escape the city
after the news spread – falsely, it turned out – that one of the nuclear
reactors at Turkey Point, an aging power plant 24 miles south of Miami, had been
destroyed by the surge and sent a radioactive cloud over the city.