Much has been speculated about the kendrimer's role as a "failed" strain, whose contradictory conditions prevented it (with inevitable certainty) from attaining even a fraction of its supposed lifespan. Another sub-strain of the kendride, the stretched-sheet stranger would have made itself a profane sight strung out on barbed wire above the roofs of the warehouses that became new museums and experimentation test sites for both the sensitives and the less-than-scrupulous non-sensitive exploiteers who still hoped to profit from the supposed existence of the various strangers.
Aside from this and several other visceral but tangential details, nothing remains to describe the kendrimer's behaviour, territory, or effect. During the flood, its body would have bobbed in frozen gulp pantomime from just beneath the waves, until it sank along with church and theater bricks as the currents churned. With the waters covering a world that turned redder by the second, the waterlogged kendrimer's corpse would have settled heavy at the bottom of the sea, even as the lifeboats bobbed above.
It is not without a touch of perversity that much of what is known about the flood itself comes largely through the deaths of the kendrimer and other such lost strains. Were the strain not snuffed out by the waters, so too would the crumbling of the billboards and the highway-scrapes go unremarked, as would all depiction of the darkening clouds above the banks and hilltop-mansions (where the churning brood of the gold-lipped privateers seeped static-charged out barred-over windows) – and for that, we thank it.