Not Flesh Nor Feathers

“But it’s a few whole blocks. Don’t get all girlie on me, damn it. You’re high and dry right now, and I’m high and dry right now, and the cops are down by the water keeping people out of it—right?”

“They’re trying. But it’s dark, and not everyone knows that there are things down there. But I shit thee not, Eden. There are things down there.”

And then I could almost hear his frantic, shifting gaze, and I could recognize his horror. It was the horror of someone who had long believed but never known. This was a man who knew, now. And it had rattled something loose inside him. I wondered what he’d seen, and if he’d ever tell me—but if I could pull it out of him, it wouldn’t be over the phone.

“Eden?”

“I’m still here.”

“Eden, get here. I need to understand this. I think Caroline understands it. I think she might even be able to help.”

“You’re guessing.”

“What choice is there? And come on—what else are you doing tonight? Sleeping?”

“I was sleeping,” I informed him with a grumble. “But I can come out. Let me warn my company here, and I’ll do my best to be out there within an hour.”

“An hour? It’s not that far away.”

“No, but I’ve got to go to the bathroom, and it’s dark, all right? I’m not even sure if my flashlight still works. Give me an hour and I’ll do my best. I’ll get there. Just don’t freak out on me if it takes more time than you think it should. I’m tired, and slow. I’m really tired,” I repeated. It bore repeating.

I closed the phone. I’d lost my potato chip bag but I located a large Little Debbie wrapper and made do. I couldn’t tell if it was raining or not, but it was bound to be wet off and on, and my purse had been so thoroughly soaked that it’d never be the same.

I pushed against Harry and woke him up. He looked at me like he didn’t know who I was. “What? Um, what? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing really. I just wanted to warn you—I’m going to take a little field trip.”

“What? Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not. A friend of mine is stuck over at the Read House and I’m going to try to catch up with him.”

“Do you know what ‘martial law’ means?”

“I do, yes. But I hear the cops are headed down towards the river right now. It ought to be quiet between here and the hotel, and it’s only a couple of blocks,” I told him, betting he didn’t know the exact distance.

“All right. Sure. But why? What time is it?” He patted himself down, feeling for his watch or a cell phone.

“It’s about eleven. It’s not that late. I won’t be gone but a few hours, probably,” I said, but even as it came out of my mouth, I knew there was no telling if it was true.

He sighed and leaned back, putting his hand over his eyes for a minute as if he were trying to think. “All right. Do what you’re going to. There’s nothing happening here, anyway. And don’t get me wrong—I’m glad you took the time to try and work with nervous-boy over here, but I’m not one hundred percent crushed that the family meeting fell through. Granted, I couldn’t have anticipated how spectacularly it would fall through, and I wish that the circumstances could have been different, obviously—”

“Well, obviously, yeah.”

“Yes. But. Maybe a rescheduling isn’t the worst of all possible ideas.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say it.”

We both looked down at the sleeping Malachi, as if he were our own weird child. “You want to wake him up and say goodbye?” Harry asked, and I knew that he knew I wasn’t coming back any time soon. I don’t know why I’d bothered to try to reassure him otherwise.

“No. Better not. He’ll only make a stink. I think you two should pack up and make your way out as soon as they let you. Get back to Florida safely. There’s nothing y’all can do here except be refugees. If you can get out, get out.”

“There ought to be shuttles before long, or buses,” he murmured. “Something to take us outside the city, past the ridges.”

“One would think,” I agreed.

“We can’t stay here forever. They’ll have to start shipping us out soon. Worst comes to worst, when the rain lets up and we’re awake good, we’ll make a walk for it. Once we get beyond the tunnels, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I hope not,” I said, and I kissed him on the cheek. “Look, I’m going to go. If it looks like I’ll be able to come back before morning, I will. If I can’t, I can’t. I’ll call.”

I took one last look at my sleeping brother and nodded at Harry, who nodded back. Then, with carefully-placed steps, I began to tiptoe my way through the sprawled people and their improvised camping places.

The bathroom was up front near the entrance, past the big dome. Getting there was a trick, because it felt like every square foot was occupied. And even late at night there was a short line; it wasn’t a restroom designed to serve hundreds of people at a time.

While I waited for a stall I busied myself at a sink. I washed my face and shook out my hair, then tied it back again in a filthy scarf. What else was I going to do?

I finally scored a stall and spent entirely too long peeling my sticky-damp clothes away. I’d gotten mud and bits of dead grass into crevices I wouldn’t have admitted to knowing about. But there weren’t any showers except in the hotel rooms, and those were being parceled out to the elderly and to people with small children.

But I would have really loved a shower.

People were waiting. I finished up and left the stall to someone else. Outside the big swinging door, the lobby was piled with people, and I picked my way past them to the front door.

Someone at the front desk saw me. She was on the phone and she waved a finger at me, like she wanted me to stop and come talk to her. I ignored her and pushed on the entrance until it gave way. I slipped myself outside.

It wasn’t too cold, but with my clothes still clinging to my skin it felt chillier than it should have. I shivered and closed my arms around myself.

“Miss?” It was a young guy in a security uniform that didn’t fit him well. “Miss? What’s your business out here? We’re trying to keep everyone indoors if possible.” He beamed a light towards me, but not into my face.

To my right, I saw a couple of guys smoking. Before I could even ask, one of them offered me a cigarette and I took it. I held it up at the security guy and he nodded.

“Thanks,” I said to the guy who’d shared.

“No problem. It’s too crowded in there, man.” He didn’t look at me when he spoke; he stared out across the train loading zone, packed with cars and blocked off by a big fire engine.

He looked familiar. I thought I placed him, so I asked, “Don’t you work down at Greyfriar’s?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Did?”

He turned to face me and he looked as tired as I felt. He was a tall guy with a long, lean torso and a shock of red hair that matched his beard. “It’s probably under water by now.”

“Nah,” I said, unwilling to even consider the possibility. “No way. TVA will get its act together and—”

“Are you kidding?” He took a deep drag, then gestured as he exhaled. “TVA. It’s bullshit. On the radio they were talking about a problem at the dam. The locks are broken or something. Can’t let any water in or out. They’re working on it, sure, but it won’t get fixed in time to undo any of this. We’re all fucked. Look around, sister. Or, hell, just ask Brian over there. He knows how fucked we are.”

The other smoker rubbed his cigarette butt against the building wall and slipped back inside as if he didn’t know we were talking about him—or he didn’t care.

“Why? What would he know?”

“You know he moved here from New Orleans, right?”

“This isn’t New Orleans. And the water’s got to go down someday,” I said. “The river’s got to run regular eventually.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he said, as he stubbed out his own butt and went back inside.

I didn’t see where the security boy ran off to, so I took this as my cue to leave while the leaving was good. I walked fast around the cars in the traffic circle, past a fire engine, and out into Market Street, where more cars were parked and abandoned.

Inside some of them I saw people sleeping or sitting up talking. Made sense. There was no point in crushing inside the Choo-Choo with the rest of the masses if you had an enclosed space of your own.

Across the street from the old train station there’s a strip of abandoned stores and an old hotel that saw better days fifty years ago. Most of the boards had been pulled off the windows and a lot of them were broken. People were camping inside, burning fires in steel construction drums. The firelight sent weird shadows sprouting from the broken windows, cutting themselves into orange rainbows on the glass.

At least it wasn’t raining anymore. But as soon as I began to feel a chilly sort of happiness over that fact, a distant growl of thunder promised more water to come. God. How much more could there be?

I didn’t break out my little flashlight because I didn’t really need it. Most of the streetlamps were still lit and I didn’t need to draw extra attention to myself. No one paid me any mind and I liked it that way. I was just one more person on the sidewalk.

I tucked my hands under my armpits to warm them up and walked with my head down, mentally daring anybody to stop me or bother me, or say one word in my general direction.

I knew the area and I walked it fast. Everywhere people were talking, sometimes loud, sometimes crying, sometimes whispering and worried. Everybody was scared, not least of all because rumors were flying quickly from the river to the outlying areas, and to the deeper corners downtown. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">